Don’t know what’s in my water. Dreams continue rolling through me. This one featured a deceased but appreciated and missed Uncle. Died of a brain tumor ’bout a decade ago or so. He was one of those people who always demonstrated belief in what I could do and pride in when I do things, a good person to have around when you’re young and feeling your way.
We were at a celebration. Seemed to be a family birthday party. My uncle was hosting. He was young, energetic, and charming, the perpetual image contained in my memories of him, sunglasses covering his eyes, teeth clamped on a cigar. Don’t know who the party was for. Seemed like cousins were there. Weird thing is, it seemed to be held in a Japan or Mexico.
It came time for the cake. That was prepared for a local bakery. My uncle asked if anyone could pay for it. Yes, I volunteered; I can. I scrambled to find the money, just $25. Impatiently, he left, and went to get the cake. Finding the money at last, I rushed after him, encountering him as he left the store. “I have the money,” I told him.
“Too late,” he replied. “I paid.”
He seemed sad, disappointed. I suggested that I could pay the shopkeeper and he could give my uncle his money back. The shopkeeper, watching and listening in this tiny establishment, agreed. No, my uncle decided. It’d be too complicated. What’s done is done.
I’d turned on the water, apparently to water the lawn, a problematic decision because snow and ice loaded the land. I realized all that when I went back and discovered that everything was flooded by a couple inches because I’d left the water on. People were looking out their windows like genuine looky lous. I could hear them commenting, telling each other, “Oh, poor Michael. Look at him. What’s wrong with him?”
The house where I turned on the water belong to Mom. So I figured I needed to turn off that water and reimburse her for what was sure to be an expensive water bill. I had a small paper bag with some money in it, but first things first: I was naked. I needed to dress. I had clothes. Most of it was very fancy. So I dressed out there in the flooded yard in front of the watching neighbors, first with undies, then with a pressed pink dress shirt, finally black dress pants.
Before I could get to my shoes, I saw Mom and accosted her. Her children, my sisters, were with her, as young children. I explained about turning the water on and leaving it on, and that I owed her, so I wanted to give her some money. Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a bundle of money, estimating it as $40,000, and gave it to Mom. She protested, “That’s too much,” but I insisted she take it.
She left and put on my shoes. As I finished that, ‘Dad’ approached. This father was a squat, chunky guy, no at all like my real father. Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and short black tie, he wore a black bowler hat. I knew he was a drunk and was dismissive and scornful of him. He knew this but still approached, asking, “Can you spare ten dollars for me?” I knew he’d use it for booze but I said, “Yes, of course,” and ended up giving him $40. He profusely thanked me. I replied, “I can spare it.”
As Dad thanked me again and again and walked away, I opened my bag to get a sandwich and eat. As I pulled the sandwich out, I realized the bag was larger than first thought, and full of newly bundled money. As I gawked at the bundles of cash, I thought, there must be four million dollars in there.
Sometimes a dream comes along that sparks happiness when you awaken and remember. So it was this morning, with four positive things happening to me in a dream last night.
I was given a chocolate cupcake
A major league baseball team signed me up a new pitcher
I signed a book deal with an agent
and I received a check for 33,000 dollars
Fun reviewing it all in the AM. The cupcake was dark and decadent. A stranger, female, gave it to me with a smile. She was going along, passing them out from a silver tray. The energy coming from her felt so positive, I never hesitated to eat it. And man, was it good. I offered some to my wife, but she declined.
I didn’t remember trying out for a baseball team, especially as a pitcher. As a young player, I had a strong arm but it was made more for the outfield than the mound. I got an email on my phone that it was probably going to happen: the Cincinnati Reds were going to sign me. Then a phone call was received that verified, yep, it was in the works. “Come in this afternoon to sign the paperwork.” My wife was on her phone when I tried to share that good news with her.
Then, though, after she was off her phone and I began telling her, I received another phone call. This was a literary agent. They’d read my manuscript, wanted to rep me, and already had a publisher eager to buy it. I was floored. As I jubilantly shared that with my wife, a man walked up and handed me a check for $33,000.
Another sunny summer day has been born in Ashlandia. We shall name this day Thirstda, July 24, 2025. Temps right now are moderate at 83 F but if you stand in that sunshine and let it beam down on you, the sweat comes fast. Today’s high will peak at about 92, 93 F, I think. Clouds, dust, or smoke hazes some of the sky’s blue, but I don’t smell smoke. The ol’ schnoz seems unafflicted by particulates today. Yea for me, I guess.
Hulk Hogan has passed away. I greet that with a shrug. Ozzy Osbourne passed a couple days ago. I mourn him more, but it’s remote mourning. I’ve been expecting him to pass. Thanks for the music and entertainment, Oz.
A net friend, Annette, posted a reflective post about family, wealth, and change. It melded well with my mood and thoughts after long exchanges with my sister about my mother, Mom’s health, and her living situation. Life, mortality, and death seem to be draping themselves all over me as I observe others’ situations and reflect upon my own. Make hay while the sun shines, right? Because storms can crash in and change everything in an eyeblink.
Over on the political spectrum of my existence, I grimace to more news about the enshittification of things. Yes, it makes me unhappy. Reading opposing opinions about things like cuts to NPR and public broadcasting, the celebration of their potential demise depresses me. Others are scornful and dismissive of any positive impact they may have on people, communities, and civilization. Some things seem to be strictly defined through a narrow scope of costs, profits, and losses, as if this is what life is about. The debt, the debt, some scream, we must do something about the debt! More tariffs! More tax cuts for the wealthy! More tax write-offs for the ultra wealthy. Less help for the states! Less help for the poor! And so it will go until they need help from other states, need help from the poor, say, in a war, for example, or to work. Yes, I’m disgusting by the right-wing tilt going on. I think it counterproductive to common goals and needs. The tilt benefits a few at the expense of the nation.
Today’s theme music is both homage to Ozzy’s memory, my own life, and how I view the current world situation. Yes, it’s “Crazy Train” from 1980. I told others while commenting on Ozzy last night that I’ve been on the crazy train. I’ve seen my family on the crazy train, and friends. A friend replied, “I think we’ve all spent some time on the crazy train.” Now I think the world is climbing on the crazy train.
Crazy, but that’s how it goes Millions of people living as foes Maybe it’s not too late To learn how to love and forget how to hate
Mental wounds not healing Life’s a bitter shame
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train I’m going off the rails on a crazy train (Let’s go)
I’ve listened to preachers, I’ve listened to fools I’ve watched all the dropouts, who make their own rules One person conditioned to rule and control The media sells it and you live the role
Mental wounds still screaming Driving me insane
I’m going off the rails on a crazy train I’m going off the rails on a crazy train
I know that things are going wrong for me You gotta listen to my words, yeah, yeah
Heirs of a cold war, that’s what we’ve become Inheriting troubles, I’m mentally numb Crazy, I just cannot bear I’m living with something that just isn’t fair
Coffee has infiltrated me again. Time to rock another day, even if it’s only a gentle rock, just a little more than a nudge. Hope your day fulfills you in ways you need. Cheers
It was a fascinating little play. Two young girls entered the coffee shop. Each in shorts and tank tops. Brown hair over their shoulders. Eleven and twelve, I thought with a measuring glance as I typed. They zipped to a table, pulling out chairs and sitting. One had a phone. She said, “Wait. Let me ask Mom.”
Deftly she thumbed a message into the phone. The younger child gazed around the shop as the older did this. In about a minute, the other said, “Mom said we can have ten dollars. She’s sending the money now.”
Seconds more came and went. “Got it,” the young girl in the red shorts said.
The two girls rose as one, passed to the counter and put in an order.
Modern life. Much different than what I’d experienced, back when I was eleven or twelve, collecting glass soda bottles to turn in and buy a treat. But then, look further back, to before there were glass bottles. Before we had stores offering ‘treats’ for sale. Before we, as children, wandered on such missions, which even now, is beyond starving children, even starving adults, elsewhere in the world.
Life really is a continually evolving spectrum of different existences even as we co-exist, together but apart.
We were at the store to buy supplies for my wife. I was bagging as she was paying. The whole thing was less than $20. She was going through her, taking things out and mumbling how hard it is to find things in her purse, a familiar song. I dove a hand into my pocket and whipped out a twenty.
My wife said, “It worked.”
“What?”
“I was hoping that if I took too long to get my money out, you’d pay.”
“We’re seeing as a result that ports here in the U.S., the traffic has really slowed and now thousands of dockworkers and truck drivers are worried about their jobs,” a reporter said in the press briefing.
“That means we lose less money,” Trump said. “When you say it slowed down, that’s a good thing, not a bad thing.”
I agree with PINO Trump.
I have found that having my bank account, refrigerator, freezer, and pantry all almost empty is a good thing. Without money, I can’t buy replacement stuff for my pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Things like food, and “eggs”, as PINO Trump likes to write it.
Having less food is so much healthier. Thanks to less food, I’m losing weight. With less food, I have less energy, so I’m sleeping more. That keeps me more sated with doing nothing, so I’m not out there, spending money, contributing to the local economy, accumulating stuff which I’d just need to get rid of. Thanks to having less money, I’m using my car less, buying less gas. With others like me also buying less gas and things, we keep prices down. Since we’re buying less, businesses are able to fire employees. That means those former employees are also buying less, staying home more often, and sleeping more. Win, win, win!
We’re also helping to save the environment. We don’t have the cash or means to go places. That keeps the air, land, and water, free from our cars’ pollutants. Since we don’t have money or energy, we also go on vacation less, further keeping the air clean of pollutants from aircraft. It all makes sense, in an Alice-in-Wonderland way that I’ve never realized before.
What a stable genius PINO Trump is. I so admire his brilliant logic.
This snark was brought to you by coffee. Coffee: it’s what’s for breakfast, and writing.
I’m just a Venn diagram. I’m at a point where massive disappointment in my nation fills me. I didn’t expect the GOP to fight Trump. It saddens me that I’m right. They just rolled over and became the Grand Ol’ Trump Party.
Pisses me off that the Trump Regime thumbs its nose at the law, treating elements like due process as something beneath them. Unfortunately, I predicted this when Trump was campaigning in 2024. So did many others. They laughed at us. But Trump said he would be a dictator on day one. We knew that wasn’t a joke.
Politically, I’m angry, disgusted, disappointed, and a whole dark rainbow of other negative energies about what’s going on from bullshit tariffs to the damaged economy to the ridiculous and unlawful gutting of the Federal government to — well, fill in the blank.
But it’s a sunny and warm spring day. Promise is in the air. I’m getting ready for beer with friends on Wednesday. They’re intelligent, good friends. I’m looking forward to seeing them. Preparing for a secular Easter brunch with friends on Sunday. That’ll have bittersweet toppings drizzled over it. Some of the regulars are gone. Others are in hospice.
Writing is fun and full of promise. That puts me in a very positive frame. A novel draft is finished, and so many other novels are lined up, eager to be written. But will that finished draft hold up in the next round of editing and revision? Then there’s the publishing game. That closes the damper on my enthusiasm.
Mom texts me and reminds me that she wants to be cremated. Do what we will with the ashes. Play Glenn Miller at her service. Hold it in the garden. She’s lived almost nine decades but she endures hourly pain and discomfort. Her quality of life can be categorized as miserable.
Down to one cat, my cativities are truncated from what they once were. An air of depression clouds that aspect of life.
Financially, my wife and I are okay. Viewing my health, I can be better or worse. Got all my limbs. They function well. I endure little regular pain on a daily basis. I’m not as strong nor limber as I used to be, and my hair is trekking away from my forehead. Memory still works for most of the time on most of the days.
My wife’s health is not as good. She searches for words more often and doesn’t find them. She’s developed a new habit of forgetting to turn things on or off. She’s bitter and angry with the world, especially with Trump, and the Roberts Court. She’s furious and anxious about women’s rights. Shoulder and back pain are building up their frequent flier miles with her.
So, I am here. In the middle of it all, happy and sad. Worried and hopeful. Bitter and angry. Joyful and loving. Loved and frustrated. I read of far worse situations for people. Like those in Gaza. Ukraine. Immigrants hunting a better existence for themselves and those they love. War and disaster refugees trying to find a home. People working hard and struggling harder. Sleeping in cars and hanging on for meals and help. Women and people of color hiding, living in fear, beaten and killed for who they are. People with a gender that doesn’t fall cleanly into male or female dismissed as less than equal, unaccepted by narrow-minded bigots. People starving to death as billionaires pile up more money and more property, self-pleasuring themselves with mindless greed.
We seem so far away from Star Trek‘s ideals and so much closer to Mad Max, Solyent Green, and The Handmaid’s Tale.
Michael Seidel, writer 