In my mid-twenties, I’d been somewhere, had a few drinks, went home. At home was an old girlfriend, visiting someone else, staying the night. Morning broke with sunshine through windows. I realized she was leaving and wanted to get up to say good-bye.
I could not move.
Paralyzed isn’t quite the word. I had no control. My limbs were flopping, weak, uncoordinated.
How did this happen? I kept asking myself. I didn’t much the night before, struggling to remember what I’d eaten, concluding, not much. I suspected someone had spiked my drink.
Thinking over the previous night, my memory pulled up a hypothetical scene where a man dropped something into my dream. I couldn’t guess his motivation and speculated he thought my drink belonged to someone else.
Then, damn – I’m late for work.
In the military again, I scrambled to find a clean uniform and shit, shower, shave.
Rushing out of the house, I headed for a train station and realized, I’m in Germany and I don’t know where I’m going. Nor did I speak the language.
There were long lines and a byzantine system of turns and steps. Putting together clues from what I saw others do, but screwing up, I sometimes got scolded – in German. I studied landmarks for more evidence about where I was, where I was going, then made it to work.
I was just a little late. Eventually I explained to the commander that I thought someone else had spiked my drink. He eagerly agreed, recapping my symptoms and then explaining the same thing happened to him the night before. That greatly relieved me, knowing someone else had gone this. I sensed that he felt the same.
I need to go somewhere else, they told me. Out in the system again, I tried putting pieces together to get to the right place and ended up going too far. Figuring that out, I backtracked until I found the right station. I realized we were sometimes going through people’s personal lands. They were very particular about what was permitted but sometimes changed it. For example, one old, white hair man opened up a door as a shortcut, apparently on a whim. An elderly gray-haired female chastised us when we considered using part of her walk as a shortcut.
Then it was time to go home. I had to figure out where to go, what to do, but fewer people were available. I had to figure it out on my own.
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.
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.
Our first snowfall of the season has arrived. 32 F, about 3 inches have accumulated in my area. Heavier accumulations are expected in the mountains, but much more is needed. We depend on the snowbanks for our summer water.
It’s a pretty scene out there. At this temperature and elevation, heavy, fat flakes fall without stop. We’re expected to warm up to 41 today and the snow is forecast to become rain. Temperatures tonight are projected to drop into the upper twenties, and more snow is possible.
Speaking for himself, Papi offered a disdainful sniff and found a place inside to groom.
I had my best night sleep in days last, and my mind moves through concerns. My cold is winding down, as expected for day 6. Only one nostril is blocked, no sinus pressure is felt, and the violent sneezes that left my abdomen sore have subsided.
My wife asked yesterday, “Which is worse, cold pain or your oral surgery pain?”
Oh, easy, the cold by far. I feel next to nothing from the oral surgery. The surgical team did a good job. I still have stitches, but they’ll fall out on their own.
My wife’s cold seemed to be gone by Sunday. I had it worse than her but for both it was an upper respiratory infection.
Mom’s situation has occupied me more than my health and weather. After her suicide attempt on Saturday, we had a mandatory stay put on her for evaluation. A psychiatrist reversed that yesterday and the hospital said she could be discharged.
It seemed like the hospital was falling short in several areas. Mom was supposed to be evaluated for 72 hours for mental health and physical issues. They also said they had to wait to see if her urine tested negative for infections, which was supposed to be four days. Their rushed timeline alarmed us.
Besides Mom’s health, we have questions over where she will live and how she’ll get care. Yesterday involved phone calls and texts, trying to sort information and get answers. Today we have more methodical movement.
Essentially, because no family members would pick Mom up, the hospital was forced to house her again. It’s a painful way to say it but that’s the truth.
Physical and occupational therapists evaluated her today. They recommend assisted living or a skilled nursing home for Mom. The social worker seemed remote and disengaged yesterday. Today, she provided recommendations and contacts for finding housing and assistance for Mom.
Venting a little, I foresaw this years ago and tried getting Mom into a better place but she, bolstered by Frank’s presence, didn’t want to address it. Now it’s a crisis. It could have gone so much better, but yes, I know, it’s an emotional issue for most of us. I worry that I’ll be like Mom if I have to make such decisions in my future.
I’m hopeful that with the focus on Mom, we’ll finally get her somewhere that can provide her with satisfactory arrangement. An agency has been contacted to work out the arrangements to see what Mom wants and needs, and review the financial part. It’s progress.
Dad’s wife reached out to me yesterday via text. He was writing Christmas cards when he suddenly became ill and died. The cards were never sent.
His wife told me that he loved doing the cards each year, which surprised me, and that his card to me and my wife was in the mail. I think it sweet of him and her extra effort moves me.
In other focus areas, I’m concerned with the different military buildups happening around the world. More war machines are being shifted to the Arctic area. Additional U.S. troops are in Africa in advisory and training capacities. History shows that such involvement can easily rise into armed conflicts.
It’s a great concern with Trump. When Americans — two military members and a translator — were killed by ISIS, Trump ordered attacks in December. Operation Hawkeye Strike against 70 ISIS targets in Syria was conducted in early days but the military campaign is still active.
Just as worrying, a second U.S. carrier group is being sent to that region. It seems like the world is moving from trying diplomatic channels to manage disagreements to using military force.
Finally, to complete the circle of concerns, got my auto insurance bill yesterday. Premiums jumped $50, adding to our general affordability worries.
Jumping onto the idea of circles, The Neurons ordered some Billy Preston. “Will It Go Round in Circles” from 1973 is playing in the morning mental music stream. I also enjoy the song’s musical intricacies, and the lyrics make me grin. Here’s my favorite part.
Lyrics
I’ve got a dance I ain’t got no steps, no I’m gonna let the music move me around I’ve got a dance I ain’t got no steps I’m gonna let the music move me around
Yes, just let the music move me around.
Now I got my coffee. I had a cup yesterday, first since my surgery, but today, I’m drinking it hot out of the pot.
Hope your day finds a groove that takes you to a place where peace and grace join you and makes your life a little better.
Ashland, Oregon – Monday, February 16, 2026. 41 F under a blend of blue skies and clouds. 54% percent chance of snow, with a a high of 48 and a low of 30. Showers are possible.
The Mom saga resumed. Despite Mom’s talk of suicide Saturday and her wild accusations, she’s being discharged today.
She has nowhere to go. Mom called sis to get a ride. Sis is adamant that Mom is not returning to her house. No one else can take her in. I’m amazed that the medical authorities so quickly decided that Mom is physically and mentally capable. I have a long list of reasons why I don’t think she is. I guess their requirements are different.
New update: My other sister called the hospital to confirm they were letting Mom out. The hospital ‘had their wires crossed’ and did not know about Mom’s suicide. A 302 process had been started but the hospital missed that part. The hearing was scheduled and has not been held.
I made a number of calls and spoke with people involved, and then passed that info back to my sisters, who were the 302 petitioners. They must talk to the hospital and stop them from discharging Mom.
It’s frustrating, trying to cut through the fog of information and bureaucracy, a situation compounded by distance.
Here’s a little Jimi Hendrix with “Manic Depression” to lift your spirits. Hope you all find some peace and grace today and that it keeps answering the call for you.
Colder but dry, Friday the 13th stole into Ashland. Sunlight and warmth are now missing, shrouded by thin clouds.
It’s February 13, 2026, 48 F in Ashland, but that ‘feels like’ index probably shows a colder picture. Today’s high will be in the low 50s, still better than many areas.
Pivoting from weather to Mom, it pains me to report that Mom, 90 years old, texted me that sis is slapping her, shouting at her, being mean, etc. Mom also accuses her son-in-law of sneaking in at night to hide her remote control, lock the brakes on her wheelchair, and other cruel things.
None of it is true. Sis has sent me several recordings of her interactions with Mom. Mom insists her stories about the SIL of doing things to her is ‘absolutely true’, adding, “Why would I make it up?”
But Mom is staying up all night, sleeping all day, exhibiting classic sundowner syndrome, including confusion about what’s going on and the date. She texts other sisters in the middle of the night, asking them where they’re at, asking them to bring her things to eat and drink, when she has both available.
Sis is again angry and frustrated with Mom and wants Mom gone, based on what Mom is saying about sis’s husband. The managed decline in their relationship and Mom’s situation continues.
All that about Mom has The Neurons playing “Slip Slidin’ Away” by Paul Simon in the morning mental music stream. Lyrics like these make it feel like the song fits the day.
Lyrics
I know a woman Became a wife These are the very words she uses To describe her life She said a good day Ain’t got no rain She said a bad day’s when I lie in bed And think of things that might have been
I feel Mom is doing a lot of looking back, wondering what happened and pondering what’s going on.
I hope you all have a strong day of health and safety. Cheers
Wednesday, February 11, 2026, and it feels like spring is launching in Ashland. Let’s call it a false spring. 51 F with unchallenged blue skies and sunshine, 60 F is the expected high. Papi would be so happy, except a balmy breeze, which chases him back inside to nap his misery away.
I have dental surgery tomorrow, disrupting the normal flow, and spent time this morning responding to texts about Mom’s mental issues. Connecting dots, my thoughts turned toward an overheard conversation from yesterday.
Sitting in the coffee shop, typing and thinking, two women of about my age shared a table to my right. Music and conversations were cooking but now the room was empty. The two women’s conversation floated to me through the sudden quiet.
One chatted for a while about health concerns regarding her mother, daughter, and herself. The tone changed a little as the other one talked about her concerns over Trump’s policies, ICE, and the general news tone, which she referenced as ‘disturbing’.
The first woman agreed with her and they both addressed concerns about being tired and depressed. Then they touched hands and smiled, telling each other how much it meant to meet and have moments like this.
I studiously tried to stay out of their circle. But one glanced at me and smiled as they rose to leave. Smiling back, I said, “I hope you have a beautiful day.” Thanking me, she wished the same for me.
Their conversation resonated because it feels like an echo of my life, and other people I know. We’re all sailors trying to navigate change. Some of it is about aging, maturing, dying, not necessarily depressing but certainly generally somber matters. Norms for me and them are shifting, and so are expectations. Our emotions become compressed under the loads we carry.
With all that rolling through me, along with dreams, The Neurons’ morning mental music stream offering is Harry Styles singing, “As It Was”.
Chorus
In this world, it’s just us You know it’s not the same as it was In this world, it’s just us You know it’s not the same as it was As it was, as it was You know it’s not the same
That about sums up my reflections this morning: it’s not the same.
Hope peace and grace find and carry you forward into a better future.
Despite not working for anyone since 2016, I had another work-related dream last night. This wasn’t from my last employment with IBM but was with one of the medical startups from earlier, shortly after retiring from the U.S. Air Force.
We were in a large, clean, bright room. The company’s engineering section, thirteen people, including their director, were at tables shoved together across the room. I, the lone marketing person, sat on the room’s other side, alone.
Wanting to be involved, I moved over there and asked for permission to sit in on their meeting. They were developing the product I would market, after all, and I was part of the team that collected input on the product’s design. The director and others said, “Sure,” so I sat at the edge, so I wouldn’t be intrusive.
Note that all of these people were known co-workers from real life from two different medical device startups.
Not feeling included, I left after a short period, returning to my space. But I had nothing to do; no assignments, no emails, no phone calls.
With no warning, children suddenly swarmed our workspace. I don’t know why they were there. Crossing back to the engineers, I discovered that they were gone, then spotted them leaving the building.
I followed them out. They were going up a dirt path into the mountains, past large boulders and pine trees. One said, “Look, there’s a huge bald eagle up there.” He pointed.
I nodded; I’d heard about the bird earlier and had seen it. I didn’t know what the engineers were doing. Seemed like it could’ve been some team-building exercise, so I left again.
Heading back down to our office, I realized that my boss was in Paris for a trade show. I’d not heard anything from her, which was unusual. Then I realized that she hadn’t included me in any of the show prep.
Deciding that I didn’t really have a job, I thought that I should probably look for new employment and began compiling a resignation letter in my mind as I walked.
Frida finds our Ashland home peaceful. Alexa says it’s 55 F outside, but my systems put it at 38. Other locations report it’s 48. The invisible fog has lifted, leaving sunbeams a clear path to spread warmth and light through the blue sky.
Today is January 16, 2026. 60 is our projected high, kicking off a week of days in the low to mid 60s. We’ll see if that holds, given weather’s changing ways.
Whatever the temperature, Papi is in good spirits. Patio sunshine glows off his white and orange as he grooms after breakfast.
After a night of a long series of dreams, I’m in a very good mood. One had me with Jerry Seinfeld and George Constanza going to a small, intimate open-air comedy festival. I was with Jerry, who was driving, while George followed in his own car. Although an interesting time, I lost my sunglasses. I kept thinking I’d lost them in the water but consoled myself, it’s only a dream.
I also feel very good with where my health is — today. I’ve kept my lost weight off and still run and exercise. My feet, legs, and ankles stay almost pain-free, with twinges sometimes remarking on what I’m doing. Aided by supplements, my abdominal discomfort and bloating have diminished. I remain careful about what I eat and always give myself time to digest before thinking about eating something else.
While I continue to percolate with dream details, feeling healthy and peaceful, I’ve avoided looking at the news. Trump has a habit of making a good day bad, and a bad day — worse. I’ll eventually scan headlines, hoping that ICE violence isn’t climbing, the U.S. hasn’t attacked another nation, or measles aren’t spreading.
Looking at Trump statements over the last several years, remarks made by him counter history or demonstrate a weak grasp the government. I calculated that Trump has been alive for about 32% of the United States’ age as a nation. You’d think he would’ve picked up that information by now. He is college educated.
Now, for no particular reason at all, The Neurons are playing “The Passenger” in the morning mental music stream. Iggy Pop wrote, performed, and released it in 1977. As it plays, I think, here we go, off on another daily journey.
Hope your journey today is happy and carefree, graced with peace and hope. Cheers
We’ve come to a new 2026 Satryda.Falling on January 10, nothing in my introduction to it portends to anything significant — yet; the day is early.
46 F outside, with clouds and stagnant air planning to shuffle us into the low to mid 50s. Despite storm warnings about snow, none materialized in our town. The surrounding mountains received a chunk. As that’s where the snowbank resides, it’s reassuring that some moisture has been stocked up for the summer. More is still needed.
I’m thinking about patterns today — life, daily, political, weather. A dream inspired the initial thought flow. Then my usual consultation of temperatures, my weather cat — Papi — and the view outside intersected.
Weather shapes our lives, as does technology, relationships, and modern politics. Each day is a snapshot of the present, but we can see the past and future in it. Interpretations of those depends on which details we notice and how we apply knowledge to what we see.
More, some let themselves try to see less to force it into a preconceived framework. They work to strengthen their framework by challenging less.
Conversely, I think knowing less weakens our framework. I always fear that I’m limiting myself, that I’m chasing facts to support assumptions. I know I have biases which emerge to curtail my views.
I can see that happen in the entire spectrum of myself, whether the thoughts are about writing, fiction, sports, weather, politics, or personal relationships. All these things have their own spectrums. I move along them, and they move along me. The resulting dynamics are always complex.
I want to have a fidelity to truth, facts, honesty, and history. But it seems like we’re living in a period in which those elements are under consistent attack.
At the same time, I remind myself that I’ve never lived in another period. I can easily visualize hundreds or thousands of years ago when people struggled to understand and learn the truth and apply it to their lives, just as I’m doing now.
The more things change, the more they remain the same. That’s the essence of all of these thoughts about patterns.
Getting involved with my thoughts, The Neurons planted “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac in the mental morning music stream. The Neurons weren’t focused on the dream aspect, though; they came through with the song’s first lines.
“Well there you go again, you say you want your freedom. Well, who am I to keep you down? It’s only right that you should play the way you feel it.”
Because, you know, beyond all those facts and truths, we’re always dealing too with emotions.
Hope this Satyrda finds you safe and comfortable in your patterns, ready to move forward in positive ways. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 