It’s a sky clash out there. Heavy clouds are taking on the western mountains. Sunshine is bullying the east. It’s a mixed scene of rain and wet fuzz, bright light and cold hopes. Temperatures are revolving around the mid forties, but ‘lo, they’ll heave up to the low fifties later today.
This, friends, is Ashlandia on Tuesday, October 29, 2024.
Happy birthday, Mom!
I’ll call her later to chat. I called Dad for his b-day, which is tomorrow. I told him that I can only endure chatting with one of you a day. He laughed and understood. It was part humor and truth. Humuth.
And then I turn around and see that Teri Garr died. Just 79, she was an actor I enjoyed since I was a young high schooler. (Just for the record, I don’t divide the world in actors and actresses. They’re all actors to me.) I really enjoyed Teri Garr in several roles but Full Moon in Blue Water was a personal favorite.
“I Wanna Be Adored” by The Stone Roses is today’s music. Don’t know why The Neurons have it in the morning mental music stream (Trademark shaky). Song was released in 1989. The lyrics are not much. The song starts with a quiet build. First times hearing it, my reaction was, what happened to the music? But then it unfolds into something else. Always manifests dreamy nuances, like the lyrics are far-away thoughts trying to find focus.
Be strong, stay positive, and vote blue. Coffee and I have again achieved a mutual support agreement. Here’s the music. Cheers
It’s Saturday morning. October 26, 2024. 51 F, 73 F on the horizon. Yesterday’s clouds slipped away to do other things, depositing a clear sky afterwards. We still have that blue sky, and the sun has come up to light everything up and warm us a bit.
While I was out yesterday, I heard someone through the coffee house glass calling another. “Hey. Hey.” My mind began buzzing with a little of Pink Floyd’s “Hey You” after that incident. If you remember, that song came out on their album, “The Wall” in 1979.
Then we headed to Empty Bowls. Arriving fifteen minutes after doors opened, we discovered a packed place. Almost every seat was taken, and the food line circled around three sides of the place. I was told that they’d originally reduced the tables from 12 to 9 but then put the last three back in at the last minute. Good thing. Not only were they needed, but additional tables were put on the stage. In my years of attending this thing, that’s the first time that happened.
I sample two soups and enjoyed both. A pianist played in the corner, offering slow piano versions of rock songs like “Free Bird” and “Running On Empty”. BTW, myMy wife and a friend created the centerpieces, with gorgeous results.
By luck, we ended up sitting with the same guy from last year, Benjy, a data analyst for Harry & David who lives in Talent. We were at the same table, too. Such a coincidence.
As we talked, he mentioned how we — liberals, progressives, Democrats — needed to fight for the Constitution with this election. That comment cemented “Hey You” in my mind, and now it’s playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark not free). That comes around from the combo of ‘hey you’ and the other line, ‘don’t give in without a fight’.
Coffee and I have reach an agreement whereby I’ll allow some to stream down my throat and it will give me energy. Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue. Here’s the music. Cheers
It’s Wed-nesday, which originally meant wedding day. People of another age and era ‘wedded’ when the signs were most auspicious for success. That included planting crops, starting a new endeavor or business, starting a new journey, etc. But so many people waited for this day to be declared so they could wed that it became known as Wed-day. The ‘nes’ aspect was added in as adjustments between different dialects, cultures, and eras. True story which I just made up.
It’s October 23, 2024. You know what that means. That’s right, it’s almost time to set our clocks back in ‘Merica. No, I’m not making a clever reference about the election; we are not going back.
It’s cloudy, rainy, chilly. Autumn has thrown its full effects at us. Some of the foliage is wonderfully bright with sizzling scarlets and other red shades to brilliant lime greens and golds. Also spotted pumpkin-hued leaves on a tree. That tree was thinking outside of the bark. But alas, some trees have already dropped their splendor. Brown, curling leaves hang limply, drifting off when the right wing pulls them with a whisper.
45 F right now, we’re almost at our high of 49 F.
I’ll take that rain, though. Fill the reservoirs and cisterns. Replenish water tables. Ease us out of the drought. It’s needed.
Busy day. The centerpiece is a pre-op appointment for my foot issue. The office didn’t co-ordinate with me, which irritates me, but that’s more first world blues, innit? So I’m to be there at 12:25 for a 12:40. Right in the middle of my writing schedule. Add in the commute, etc, and the timing screws up the day.
But it had me propositioning myself about what to wear on a chilly day when I’ll be outside often but also inside, meeting with med staff, blah, blah, blah. The Neurons responded by firing up “Outside” by the Foo Fighters in my morning mental music stream (Trademark wet).
The song came out in 2014. Ima Joe Walsh and Foo Fighters fan. Been a Walsh fan since he and the James gang were rocking. This Foo song had a Joe Walsh guitar solo in it when it was released. Thrilled me to hear ol’ Joe rocking. Couldn’t find a copy of it online so I’m forcing this recording of a live version on you.
Be strong, stay positive, vote blue. Coffee and I have begun our latest collaboration. Here’s the music. Cheers
An endless duvet of clouds challenges the sky. Flat and almost featureless, the clouds vary in tones of blue, white, and gray. Sunshine is out there because it’s daytime but the heat and light are undercover. A cold layer has settled across Ashlandia’s soul and the trees’ colors are fading as they shed leaves. 48 F now, we’ll clock out at 58 F today.
Received my molasses mail for my planned surgery yesterday. Gotta call it molasses mail because snail mail conjures too much speed for how slow local mail is in this age. Been waiting and waiting for that piece from my surgeon’s office, wondering where it was.
My surgeon’s office is about twenty miles up the Interstate from Ashland, in our region’s largest city, Medford. Recent local posts claim that mail between Medford and Ashland now requires seventeen days. That’s because Louis DeJoy reorganized things to make the USPS more like a business. So our mail takes days of traveling, handling, and waiting. It’s picked up in Medford, goes north up I-5, gets processed, and comes back down south via I-5 to travel the final twenty miles. I can’t testify that seventeen days is accurate, but that package did take over ten days.
Hell, twenty miles, they could have walked it over in less time. This is the GOP idea of ‘progress’.
Meantime, not having that letter caused confusion. It informed me that they would be reaching out to me to make a pre-op appointment, and what would happen during it. The document set up milestones and provided instructions. Meanwhile, the electronic side of the system hummed along. I received email notification of the pre-op last week, along with the post-op appointments. I guessed the gist of all of that but it sure would have been nice to have the explanatory documents beforehand. Guess the med system needs to change its methodology now that Louis DeJoy broke the postal system. It’s another reason to give thanks to D.J. Trump, who appointed jackass DeJoy.
Makes you shudder to think of how badly Trump would break the government with Project 2025 as his instruction manual.
With the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame happenings taking place, The Neurons revisited music by the various inductees. Dionne Warwick, Mary J. Blige, Kool & The Gang, A Tribe Called Quest, and the Dave Mathews Band. Cher, Ozzy Osborne, Foreigner, and Peter Frampton. Awesome music and a wide range of superb tunes were put out by these performers.
I ended up with A Tribe Called Quest playing “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark famous). It was a confluence of factors guiding the choice. My wife and I went to leave the house, and I said, “Oh, wait, I left my wallet in the office.” As I’d just been reading and remembering songs, Der Neurons instantly pounced with “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo”. The song has a steady, hip moving beat and humorous lyrics about a road trip that goes askew. Who hasn’t had something like that happen? Well, I imagine there are a number of people who haven’t had one askew, but came close enough to identify.
Here we go, time to rock and roll. Coffee and I are bopping along ago, and my pulse has acquired some strength to it. Be strong, stay positive, test negative, and vote blue. Here’s the music. Cheers
Sunday, October 20, 2024 has slotted in. It’s 61 F outside and we expect a mid seventies high amid a surfeit of autumn furnishings and clouds.
We’re off to see a Halloween concert this afternoon. Rogue Valley Symphonic Band. Several friends play in the band so we go and support them. They’re usually inventive fun, although they have a new musical director, so we’re not sure what we’ll get. We’re mildly agitated that it’s so many days before Halloween. Few are in a Halloween spirit yet.
We’re also vexed that this was scheduled at the same time as Ashland’s celebration for being 150 years old. Here’s the thing about that latter; we didn’t hear any or see any advertisement for that until last week. Holy cow, an event like this, and they kept it under wraps. We asked our friends and all said, “Nope. Didn’t hear about it.” Many weren’t aware of it until we asked. My wife blames the advertising gap on the lack of a local physical newspaper. She’s been mourning the demise of the Ashland Daily Tidings since it went under. After it failed, so did the Medford Mail Tribune, causing an even larger local news gap. It’s a sigh inducing product of the modern world and electronic information age.
I’m basically over my COVab (COVID-19 vaccination shot, or jab). Jab point is still singing, “Ow. Ow. Owww.” And that arm/shoulder remains stiff as dried leather. But my energy has jumped back up and my thinking has cleared, and my appetite, which was mildly cut yesterday, has had a resurgence. In fact, I think that giving myself permission to sleep because I wasn’t feel well was beneficial overall.
My wife suggested we go east to Pittsburgh, PA, December to visit with family for the holidays. That brought a grimace to my soul. I’ve traveled during that time of year, and the ugh moments just pile up. Congestion, crowds, coughing and sneezing, weather delays. Oy. But Mom keeps aging, keeps adding on health issues, and has a new crises every several months, and time keeps on ticking. Probably a good idea. I just worry about the execution.
Today’s music came after I’d left the boudoir and was in the kitchen. “Well, here we are,” I told myself. “Another day.”
Click. The Neurons delivered the Brothers Gibb singing, “Here we are. In a room full of strangers.” As I recognized the lyrics, “Nights of Broadway” filled the morning mental music stream (Trademark bright). Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees wrote the 1975 disco song and reported that it came to him in a dream. Pretty cool, innit?
Coffee has been invited into my body, where it received a warm reception. Stay positive and remain strong. We’re almost to the election day finish line. Then it’ll all be over except for the screaming and shouting, lawsuits, accusations, commnentary and analysis. Vote blue. Here’s the music.
Beautifully autumn outside. Trees blaze, showing off fab colors. Blue sky highlights the look as the sun beams on it like a doting father. We’re up to 62 F after an overnight shift into the upper thirties. 74 F degrees is being held out a possible high.
My floofs are on this weather like children going after their Halloween candy. It’s perfect feline weather for the moment. Each boi has staked out sunny spots and are living up to their stereotypes as well-groomed, sun-loving beasts.
We received our latest COVID Jab — or COVAB, as I put to others but it’s not catching on. Went much like our first jab back into 2021. First hours, okay. Last night, the vax slammed me down and wouldn’t let me up. I crashed in a big way. Wrapped up in sheets and blankets, my head felt like a match that’d been struck and was burning. Then I spent a period of shivering uncontrollably.
After about thirteen hours of sleep, I forced myself out of bed. The cats helped. They’re like, “Dude, we must be fed and let out. Come on, get your priorities straight and get your ass out of bed.”
So I arose like a creaking suit of armor. Made my path to the kitchen where coffee was administered. Coffee is a wonder drug, don’tcha know. Anyway, I thought along the lines of being out of sync physically and mentally, a condition that borders on being called ‘sick’. The Neurons began playing Jackson Browne and “Doctor My Eyes”. Grazing through the net, I found this version from “Playing for Change”. Hope you like it.
Stay positive and test negative. Get the jab, as it will help, in the long run. Here’s the music. Where is my coffee?
It’s a stillish fall morning outside the windows. Rain’s been falling from darkly loaded clouds. They’ve overtaken the blue and sun today.
It’s Thursday, October 17, 2024. Chilly with that rain, the high will be 61 and the low will be 37 F. Freeze warnings are in effect for tomorrow morning’s early hours. On the bright side of matters, our air quality is excellent, just single digits.
Got a call this morning from the county emergency system. Today is the great shake-out. They wanted us to pretend an earthquake was underway and practice surviving it. I’ve been through a few smaller quakes so I easily imagined the shaking.
The situation provoked some pre-coffee thinking. When I was a child in Wilkinsburg, PA, I remember us doing a duck and cover under my desk, in case the commies launched their nukes. Then, in the military, we were always practicing surviving war and natural disasters. There were fake NBC attacks. Fake unexploded ordinance to deal with. And of course, nukes and EMP. What would happen if we lost our telecommunications; how would we survive? We practiced decoding messages which would send us to war, and other exercises to receive notification hostilities were over. My career’s final years saw me fighting simulated space wars. Throughout, I was engaged in war planning, getting ready to deploy equipment to some theater’s front lines, etc., and reporting on our efforts to get ready and be ready, briefing the general who was our commander five days a week at one assignment, and getting ready to brief him.
Naturally, here in southern Oregon, we stay ready for wildfires. We have checklists and go-bags for evacuation. I’m fairly prepared in that regard, as I wrote local plans, checklists, and guidance for evacuating bases for wherver I was, and trained others in executing that stuff.
Seems like a lot of my life has been about getting ready. I was getting ready to be an adult as a teen. Beyond getting ready for war and natural disasters during, I was constantly getting ready for flu season, to move to another assignment, and I was getting ready for retirement.
Now I’m getting ready for my foot surgery. Getting ready for Mom and Dad to pass. That could be my life motto: “Get ready.”
Of course, as I reflect on my needs to get ready as a child and adult, I think it’s better than the active shooter drills so many children now go through to get ready for the real deal. Their need is driven by people with guns walking into schools and committing mass murder. My need to get ready was much more abstract and distant.
I have a pre-op appointment for my foot surgery next Wednesday. It’s to get me ready for the surgery. Actual surgery takes place the following Wednesday. The pre-op appointment came out of the blue. No phone call or coordination about what time works best for me; just a sudden message through Mychart telling me that the appointment was made. Poor communication, to me, and sort of arrogant, and annoying. Like, hey, what if I was out of town that day? Fortunately, I’m not, but still…
Today’s music comes via Tom MacInnes’s website. I enjoy Tom’s posts about music history, along with his experiences as a teacher and a father, particularly his stories about reading with his daughter and his students. Yesterday’s post was “The Great Canadian Road Trip…Song #76/250: Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne”. I ended up with “Sk83r Boi” in my morning mental music stream (Trademark bopping). It’s a lively, energetic song, and completely free and clear of political nuances, so I latched onto that. I need a political break from scanning news on either side of the schism, and tales of polls, rumors, innuendoes, and courts. Just give me some simple teenage offering.
I’m pretty pleased with it as a song choice. The Neurons had been offering “The Monkey’s Uncle” from the Disney movie with the same title. I don’t know why the hell The Neurons chose that song. Never saw the movie, but I knew of its elements, and obviously that song and some of the other songs the movie offered. That was from an era of beach movies. I never dug ’em.
Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue in 2024. Coffee has been introduced to my systems once again and I believe I have a pulse. Here’s the music. Get ready for the election.
I found myself thinking about my parents as I dressed this morning. One is from Iowa and resides in Pennsylvania. The other is from Pennsylvania and lives in Texas. They divorced way back in the mid 1960s. Were friends or friendly off and on. Now Mom is bitter and angry about Dad; Dad is reflective about Mom.
I left their homes when I was 17. I’ve visited both as they moved around, remarried, and raised other families. As they’ve aged, Dad tells me he’d like to be closer to me. Mom tells me she’d like to hear from me more often because she worries about me.
But a large elephant marches through their desires. I’ve been married 49 years. Mom visited me once, when I bought her an airline ticket and forced it to happen. Dad visited me once in my first year of marriage, dropping by with my father-in-law for thirty minutes while they happened to be in the area. It just didn’t seem like they were deeply invested in being part of my life.
I don’t feel abandoned by them. Dad admits he wasn’t a good father and wasn’t there. Mom insists she was there as much as she could be. I do see their sides but I’m indifferent to Dad’s efforts for us to be closer or to Mom’s request for me to alleviate worries. I could employ simple sophistry and claim, they made me who I am, but really, I head little from them across my decades of living. Sure, they always sent birthday and holiday cards, but mostly there were months of silence. Yes, I know they each raised other children and went on through a few more marriages.
I get all of that. My feelings about them slice along a spectrum. I love them as they love me, from a distance. I know they made sacrifices on my behalf to ensure I had food and shelter security and a place to call home. But at an early age, as I watched their fights and listened to their arguments, I made a decision to be independent of them. Sure, there are days when I surf the spectrum of our relationships when I want to help them out of guilt or empathy. They become less as I move through my life, age, and deal with my own issues.
My parents both have been supportive in many ways. They tell me they’re proud of me. My wife points out that it all would’ve probably been different if she and I had children.
But we didn’t, and this is where my parents and I stand, like many other parents and their offspring, at a complex crossroads which we never leave.
Clouds and sky share uneven, uneasy streaks. Blue and white. A muted sun brings light but not much fresh heat. Shadows barely break out of the ground at the sun’s touch, faded dreams of being on the grass and asphalt. A smoky nuance curses the air’s freshness. I don’t know where the fire is but I suspect someone has their fireplace going.
This is autumn. This is fall.
It’s Friday, October 12, 2024. While we’ll see a high of 77 F, right now it’s 52 and feels more like 48.
Those shadow thoughts, along with dream remnants brought up a song by Joy Division. Joy Division was a group of hugh promise and potential in my eyes. I heard them while stationed at Brooks AFB in San Antonio, Texas, after returning from my Philippines assignment. San Antonio had a terrific rock FM station where I’d hear music way different from the chart busting rotation of the more commercialized stations.
“Shadowplay” from 1976 is circulating in the morning mental music stream (Trademark faded). Don’t think I’ve ever heard it on any venue outside of a movie once or twice. I didn’t have any Joy Division albums that I recall but many years later, when stationed in Germany, a friend had the album which featured this song. We listened to it and reminisced.
Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue in 2024. I’m working out some coffee now, testing how it fits in with my taste buds, see if it’s a keeper. Here’s the music. Cheers
October 9, 2024, is under autumn’s spell. Clouds dab the blue sky, reflecting sunlight and lined in gold. Lemony appearing leaves dapple across the backyard’s grass, thickening into a carpet as more leaves join the exodus from the tree.
It’s Wednesday. 54 F, we’ll graze the low 70s today for our high today before the sun’s trip sends us back into darkness.
Checked on Hurricane Milton first thing on the net. Grew back into a cat 5 last night and has dipped back into a 4. Due to cross over Florida sometime this evening as present expectations go.
This dip into history. Remember when Donald Trump said this back in 2016 when first running for POTUS?
“Hillary Clinton may be the most corrupt person ever to seek the Presidency of the United States. …she’s been taking plenty of money out for herself. Hillary Clinton has perfected the politics of personal profit and even theft.”
I won’t rhetorically wonder what his supporters think of Trump’s grifting since he made that declaration about the “politics of personal profit and even theft” back in 2016; we know Trump supporters aren’t deep on thinking about him and his actions, except when it mocks, villifies, and denigrates others.
What about this quote, also from 2016: “A candidate under federal investigation ‘has no right to be running.’ Further, it would be ‘virtually impossible for (a president under indictment) to govern.'”
Yes, he said it, baby. But under Donald Trump’s Silly Putty moral standards, such declarations don’t apply to himself. Why, he’s a victim of the deep state, he squeals. Totally innocent! They’ve weaponized the DOJ against him.
Never his fault. Never, never, never. He can only take credit, not criticism, and certainly not failure, despite his long string of failures.
Thinking about Donald Trump and his endless lying litany, whining, and empty bragging and boasting brought The Neurons awake. They went along the lines of, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Next thing you know, they have The Cult with “Fire Woman” from 1989 rocking the morning mental music stream (Trademark burning). It’s a classic wall of sound thumping beat stadium rock offering.
While the song is about temptation, love, and sex, it’s also about being hypnotized by something to the point that you’ve lost control. While it goes on, “Fire woman, you’re to blame,” my mind paraphrased, “Fire man, you’re to blame.” I was thinking of the deep polarization we’re experiencing as a nation, and the schisms Trump has created and widened through constant lying and wheedling. But his folks can’t see — or won’t. He’s got the power over them. Got them satisfied and pleased about being openly and defiantly hateful, racist, bigoted, and sexist.
Moving on.
Stay positive. Be strong. Vote blue in 2024. Coffee has come by on its mercy mission. Here’s the music. Just as a note, I don’t think I’ve heard this song on the radio in years. Well, there’s so much music out there, isn’t there?
Michael Seidel, writer 