Autumn is in through the door. The temperature slipped to the upper 40s. Even stoic Papi came inside to slip, nesting in the living room Malabar chair, where a pillow case is draped over the cushions as a fur collector. 74 F, we expect 86 F as today’s upper limit in Ashlandia. Summer will not go easily. Trees are shedding leaves though. The ones hanging onto the branches are leaving their greens behind. This is Munda, September 22, 2025.
I’m off to a late posting start. We did our monthly Food & Friends delivery this morn. Then my wife wished for breakie so we went to a restaurant for that. Back home, it was 73 F in the house with sunshine streaming in, but she was cold and cranked up the office space heater, poor dear.
Right-wing insanity offers me deep reasons for new headshaking. We have a Catholic cardinal comparing Charlie Kirk, spreader of hate and bigotry, to St. Paul. Even as that ‘say-whaat?’ is processing, I read an excellent Daily Kos piece about Nebraska, Arkansas, and Tennessee FAFO farmers lamenting Trump’s tariffs and their impact on their soybean crops.
Just as Trump and the GOP are claiming free speech for them but not for thee, meaning anyone who opposes their right-wing authoritarianism, these farmers want their safety nets for them but not for everyone else.
Today’s theme music is born from thinking about MAGA et al. “Hey You” by Pink Floyd from The Wall from 1979 was brought into the morning mental music stream by The Neurons based principally on a few lines: “Hey, you! Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all. Together we stand, divided we fall.” Enuff said.
Back in the saddle again. Time write and roll. Hope grace and peace find us, and soon, damn it. grumble grumble old man mutterings, etc. Cheers
Another still chill morning embraces Ashlandia. Sunda, September 21, 2025. Awakening at 7:07 AM, I stare at the time and the light, noting how much morning light we’ve already shed as we edge forward and autumn gets ready to pounce on us. 66 F, 76 F is the day’s expected high, with muddled clouds squatting on us.
My wife is angry with her phone today. Not a phone savvy person. It makes noises at her and she barks, “What,” and picks it up with a malevolent gaze. It wouldn’t surprise me if she throws it down. She and phones are not friends. She plays a video of the “We Don’t Care Club” which has us laughing. Here’s a sample.
Sis shared photos of Mom in her new room. Looks warm, full of light, but cozy. I think Mom will be happy there for a while. We hope being on one level will reduce her fall risk. We’re all at least mollified for a while that she should move into assisted living.
Trump’s continued attacks on the United States has me infuriated. More Americans disapprove of his actions. A gap is growing between MAGA and non-MAGA Republicans. MAGA think Trump will deliver them to the land of milk and honey. Polls show that the wealthy, with the financial padding and income to pay more for goods, are increasingly happy with Trump’s policies. Not a surprise. Trump is exercising leverage and power through the Federal structure. The latest is his H1B 100K plan. That’s sure to gouge the U.S. healthcare system, technology development, higher education, and the economy. Trump and the GOP powers will be happy. As the fallout trickles down to the MAGAs, they’ll get upset but they’ll reliably blame Obama, Biden, and Democrats in general. Then Trump will attack another ship or place, kill a few more in the name of peace, and MAGA attention will wander away. Meanwhile, Trump makes himself richer at all others’ expense.
Meanwhile, my wife and I were just discussing someone’s bizarre explanation about how an earthquake shows that God was upset with Charlie Kirk’s death. Next, we might start hearing that Kirk actually rose after three days.
Today’s song emerges from Papi and I doing late night stargazing. Just considering the stars last night, I wondered about those far-off gems. They seem so docile out here but to consider them as explosive places, places with gravity that can suck me in, crush me like a can under a garbage truck, trips the mind into deep wonder. That brought up the line, “Someday you will find me caught beneath a landslide in a champagne supernova in the sky.” And here we are, with the song still playing in my morning mental music stream.
May peace and grace find you, and do it soon, damn it. Off I go, into the mildly cloudy day. Cheers
Munda, September 15, 2025, has settled in against a backdrop of clear blue skies and warm sunshine. Summer is hanging on, taking us from overnight lows in the lower fifties to an 85 F high. All things end, though, and summer’s last days are coming on in the northern hemes.
I spoke to Dad this morning. He’s still in the rehab center. His voice was not strong. This latest ordeal really seemed to suck his life energy out of him. But…it might also be that he had just gotten out of a very hot shower and said he was sleepy. On a more positive side, my wife seems over her illness. She ate yesterday, picked up a book and read, and went to exercise class this morning.
Had a storm of dreams again last night. Went from being in the military trying to get a haircut to being in charge of a process with IBM and ISS, the Internet security companies where I worked, to recover and shut down security equipment. The latter was a messy, disorganized affair, and no one had done anything, so I was taking it on. Out of the blue toward the end, three young women, teenagers, really, appeared to help me with the computers. They weren’t much assistance at first, as they lacked knowledge but they were eager and energetic. With their help, I began wrangling the mess into something bearing some coherency.
Back to some rock ‘n roll for Munda. I was singing “Honky Tonk Kitty” to Papi this morning after he chirped appreciation for the food being delivered to him. Naturally, my song inspired The Neurons to fire up memory of the Rolling Stones tune in the morning mental music stream, as it’s quite similar to what I was singing.
Today’s project is about getting tree branches cut back from the neighboring apartment complex. I’d do it but realized that some of the branches are higher than my reach, even if I’m standing on a pile of books on top of a ladder where they tell you not to stand because it’s unsafe. I’ve reached out to the apartment complex to start a dialogue about my needs and intentions. They were out of office, so I left a message. Next steps would be to talk with them and then get estimates and get ‘er done.
Hope peace and grace find and lift you up today and every day. Coffee is doing some heavy lifting in me today. Time to bounce on into the day. Cheers
So we have come to another Sunda. This is September 14, 2025. Thirty days hath September (just checked in my head), so tomorrow reaches the month’s halfway point. With the month’s end, we dip into 2025’s final quarter. It’s 65 F. Rain is in the clouds competing with the sunshine. Wind and trees are into a brisk dance.
Autumn is making solid inroads into our Pacific Northwest outlook. Today’s high will drift toward the mid seventies. My wife said, “I don’t mind it if the temperature drops but I dislike it when it’s so dark in the morning. I miss the morning light.” I totally get that and agree. As she went on to point out, the daylight savings situation doesn’t help, with us facing longer hours of early darkness as we begin our days.
My wife and I are trying to plan a trip back home for Mom’s 90th birthday do. However, my spouse said she experienced flashes of light in her eyes the other day as we went around Crater Lake and descended. She wants to have our eyes checked for problems before committing to flying. She’s not had incidents since that day, a week ago yesterday, and it was storming that day, with thunder and lightning. But she’s quite risk adverse. Having her eyes checked is the prudent thing to do.
I read a Politico piece titled,Trump loves AI, and the MAGA world is getting worried. It’s an interesting topic. I’m not surprised MAGA is generally against AI, as they tend to be people who dislike change and are slow to embrace technology. AI promises both fast change, and it’s advanced technology. Of course, Hollywood and television has fed us a dystopian diet of dire developments from AI. We have fears laced with worries baked into our cultural soul.
Other than that, I turned away from the news. It’s Sunda, a slow news day by design in the digital age. It’s more of a day of recap and reflection. I decided I’d do the same. I don’t know how the rest of the world does these things, but I’ll do it with a cuppa coffee, do some writing, read a book, clean, and converse with my wife. It feels like a good chillin’ day.
I dreamed of many cats last night. As I was digesting all that nocturnal churn, Papi and I went out for an early dose of sunshine and deep breathing. That ginger floof acted kittenish, galloping about, tail swishing, and then bounding into the house and across the rooms as I walked in behind him and laughed at his antics. With the sunshine and Papi’s attitude affecting them, The Neurons burst into the morning mental music stream with “Beautiful Day”. This is a U2 song from 2000, before this mess in America flared to its aggravating proportions. I played a U2 melody yesterday. Normally, I don’t present music from the same group two days in a row but this one worked for the moment, and I let Der Neurons’ choice stand.
Coffee has made incursions into my body. May grace and peace be with you and me and the world today and always. Cheers
Summer is crawling through on a final look see. We’ll strike the low 80s, lifting us from the sunny and mild 66 F where we now reside. Leaves are still green against the summer blue sky but some of those leaves have lost their luster. It’s Satyrda, children, September 13, 2025.
No home-front changes for me with a friend in hospice, Mom on mute, Dad in rehab, as is another friend, and my wife under the weather.
I listened to Trump’s speech from the NATO summit’s closing day. He claimed he ‘rebuilt the entire military’ during his first term. WTF does that even mean? If you take the literal words and their literal definitions, then the United States has a military which is just a few years old. Leaves me confused. Where did he get all those old B-52s, aircraft carriers, F14s, F15s, and F15s if he rebuilt it? How did he get new C5s and why are old ones still in use if he rebuilt the military? He’s such a bombastic blowhard. Some will give Trump leniency and say, “Oh, he’s being metaphorical.” I call BS. It’s like me claiming, you know I rebuilt the entire house last week. Bottom line: no, he didn’t, and making such claims makes him look like a boastful fool. This is in line with other claims, like he’s going to lower drug prices by thousands of percent. Or that in many places, gas prices are below $1.99 a gallon. He just lies and boasts to make himself look good. While some worship his words as the gospel, a bigly number of people know the truth about him, the truth he reinforces whenever he speaks.
Of course, Trump was eager to blame Kirk’s murder on someone from the left. But guess what? It was another right-winger killing another of their own. No apologies from Trump and others for making wild and biased accusations, of course. Trump lacks the moral fortitude and honesty for anything like that.
BTW, how is that whole thing about Epstein going for Trump?
Papi inspires todays music selection. I opened the backdoor for fresh air and sunshine and he whipped around and sprinted over to me with a quick chirp of greeting. Sitting, he put his face to the sun and closed his eyes. As I offered some love touches, I asked, “Where you been, buddy? What are you out here looking for?” As Papi and I entered the house together, The Neurons summoned U2 with “Where the Streets Have No Name”.
Coffee has begun its rounds in my corporeal vessel. Let’s hope grace and peace find and keep us today and always. Cheers
I dreamed last night that one of my cats came back to me. His name is Quinn. He was a tiny, long-haired, blackfoot sweetheart. In the dream, I was cleaning a house, dusting, sweeping, etc. The house seemed to be mine although it was no house recognized from real life.
Quinn, back in the day.
Quinn, a meticulously groomed cat, was matted in my dream. Seeing that, I made plans to thoroughly wash him and brush his fur and get it unmatted. Per his personality, Quinn dashed around. An intelligent and inquisitive beast, he always was there to see what was going on, but he despised change, and loud noises unsettled him and sent him scurrying off to a quiet safe place. So, in my dream, I ceased cleaning and making noise and just worked on coaxing Quinn to me and gaining his trust to de-mat him. I was just beginning to do so when the dream ended.
Papi, my current floof-in-residence, asks, why are you dreaming of other cats?
Oddly, awakening from that dream and reflecting on it stirred memories of living with Mom when I was young. Mom’s home would be noisy with cleaning. She’d get up and leap into action. After scrubbing the kitchen, she’d turn on the dishwasher. Next, a load of wash would be started. While dishes and clothes washed, she’d vacuum, creating a cacophony of modern cleaning. Then would be dusting and a thorough attack on the bathroom. We only had one. If home, I’d often be volunteered to vacuum and dust. Mind you, the house was already spotless before Mom started cleaning, but she always cleaned to the nth degree. In reflection, part of her house-cleaning approach was that her home reflected her abilities in her mind. I also think she reveled in the routines and sounds, as well as the results.
The other thing, on days like this, where clouds handicap the sunshine and cool air dishes it to the land, Mom would busy herself with making hot food like chili. Her chili depended on several cans of dark red kidney beans, a large diced white onion, a chopped up green pepper, a tin of tomato paste and another of stewed tomatoes, and a couple pounds of browned hamburger. I know this because I was also volunteered to help with this process.
Howdy, sports fans. It’s Twozda, September 9, 2025. 62 degrees F holds forth in Ashlandia. Marbled clouds headline the moment. Never fear: it’s going to move to 69 degrees F by the day’s end, although we may need to navigate more thunder and rain while we get there. Feels like autumn has got its dandruff up and is out to end summer’s hold on Ashland.
Yesterday early afternoon found us with a huge downpour. People rushed into the coffee shop bursting with news about how intense, sudden, and cold the rain was. Brief was added to its description as the rain ceased after ten relentless minutes.
Then, 2:30 AM. A sound is covering the house. My sleepy mind thought it was a giant fan. Asking, what fan is that, I roamed through the house and realized, that giant fan sound was rain hissing down with Biblical efforts. I returned to bed and sleep only to awaken a while later to my wife in the kitchen getting water.
A sharp, high squeal noise had awakened me. I asked my wife if she’d heard it. “It’s raining,” she said.
I listened. “It stopped.”
“No, it’s still going.”
Papi and I went out back to prove the rain was stopped. It was. Cool breezes swept by with friendly helloes. Moonlight bright enough to walk on broke out. Rain clouds were splitting up and racing away in different directions, leaving a starry dark gray feast for my eyes. “This is nice,” I said. Papi didn’t disagree.
After I was back in bed, a sound like a brassy chord being strong on an electric guitar awakened me. “What the hell was that?” The Neurons asked the dark room. Nobody was giving any answers about noises.
Dad remains hospitalized. Not much can be done about a fractured pelvis. He’s due to be moved to a rehab center today. Andy is also being moved to a rehab center to help him recover from his hip fracture. Sis is mum about her medical procedure and its results.
Gritting my teeth and swallowing my GRRRRR, I peruse the news. Trump is suing the WSJ and anyone attached to the story about his ‘alleged’ birthday card/notes to Epstein. I’m sure Trump is betting that the story will be withdrawn and apologies issues. Meanwhile, he donated the Bible his mother presented to him in his boyhood to a Bible Museum. The net responded with laughter and mocking about the Bible. Most doubt that Trump opened his Bible, read it, and went to church, except for publicity when it suited his needs.
More attacks have been carried out in several wars. None of the war reporting arrives with a sense that the fighting is going to end soon. The major aggressors, Russia and Israel, are well past reasonable lines about their intentions. All can see that Russia will not stop until it has Ukraine. Israel won’t stop until Hamas are all dead. Neither nation displays concern or empathy for the innocents they’re killing.
Economic news will take over today’s media top spots. 911,000 fewer jobs were created between April 2024 and March 2025, BLS says. US job growth through March was significantly weaker than previously thought. Economists and analysts are telling us that it means the jobs markets was even worse than realized. A large downward revision was expected, with many citing sampling errors resulting from declining survey responses, weaker-than-inferred job creation at new firms, and adjustments related to asylum-seekers and other undocumented workers. The pandemic’s impact on the global labor market and residual adjustments were also blamed. Trump’s WH thinks that it proves Trump was right, the Biden economy was a disaster, and the BLS reporting is broken. That’s certainly puzzling, isn’t it: the Trump Regime is depending on a system they claim is broken to prove they’re right. Classic MAGAt non-thinking.
All this has culminated in The Neurons’ song choice for my morning mental music stream. It stormed in Ashland, with more storms coming. Trump is riding a storm of criticism about Jeffrey Epstein. We the People are riding through the storm of data about what’s going on with the economy. Hence, The Neurons summoned The Doors and “Riders on the Storm”.
Coffee has dropped in for an extended visit. May grace and peace visit and stay with us all for a while. Here we go again. Cheers
Oppressive humidity is doing in the morning. Not overly high humidity in the general sense. We’re just not used to humidity here.
It’s Frida, September 5, 2025. Temperature is 72 F but it feels warmer and less comfortable due to the humidity. We’ll peak in the low 90s today, unlike yesterday, when we clashed with 97 F.
My sister-in-law and her boyfriend arrived. Although they came in from Florida, they weren’t prepared for the heat. They’d been on the coast, then went inland to see the redwoods, and talked about the 30-degree temperature change they experienced in a short time and distance. The boyfriend, a year or two my senior, then asked as we walked around, “Can we go to somewhere with air-conditioning and sit down for a pint?” He’s an amiable individual. An engineer, we discovered that he and I grew up in Pittsburgh suburbs about four miles of each other. We’re both Steeler football fans. Besides three pints, he drank a tumbler of scotch during the space of dinner and the next two hours.
They’re sleeping in this morning after doing a lot of driving and traveling over the past three days. Once they call, we’ll take them somewhere local for food and then do local sightseeing.
I saw the jobs report this morning. Funny that firing the BLS person responsible for the last dismal jobs report didn’t change the dismal numbers. Just 22,000 jobs added. Oh, my. Not looking good for Trump’s economy. These hard numbers are backing up the anecdotes we’re hearing about business chains closing locations, small and medium businesses shuttering their doors, layoffs being announced. Lots of FAFO stories emerging. Of course, that could be the news services which I frequent catering to my interests and attitudes, at least to some degree. I try vesting such info as best as I can but that’s a challenge in this digital era.
Today’s music arrived from a confluence of events. One, Papi and I were out last night. I first was checking the moon, then looking for spaceships. Papi accompanied me. I’m not sure what he was checking out. Then, I dreamed that I was cooking. The meal was coming out looking good and smelled good. It was being done in this strange little apartment. But as I was cooking, several Russians stopped by. They were mostly talking to my wife but also addressing questions to me. This annoyed and distracted me.
The net of this, as I recalled last night and the dream, is that The Neurons rose up with a Jackson Browne song called “Lawyers in Love”. A satirical song about U.S. politics, consumerism, and U.S. pop culture, its lyrics feature both Russians and spaceships. I enjoy the song, but many friends thought it odd when it came out. Of course, that’s precisely why I enjoyed it.
I can’t keep up with what’s been going on I think my heart must just be slowing down Among the human beings in their designer jeans Am I the only one who hears the screams And the strangled cries of lawyers in love
God sends his spaceships to America, the beautiful They land at six o’clock and there we are, the dutiful Eating from TV trays, tuned in to Happy Days Waiting for World War III while Jesus slaves To the mating calls of lawyers in love
Last night I watched the news from Washington, the capitol The Russians escaped while we weren’t watching them, like Russians will Now we’ve got all this room, we’ve even got the moon And I hear the U.S.S.R. will be open soon As vacation land for lawyers in love
I find it humorous and love the musical flourishes which reflect different eras of pop music.
Time to rock and roll another day away. Hope that grace and peace finds and guides you. Have the best Frida possible. Cheers
I was in the kitchen, looking for a dropped blueberry. “What are you doing?” my wife asked as she came around the corner.
“I lost a blueberry. Do you see a blueberry on the floor?”
“No.” She and I squinted at the hardwood floor together. “You sure you lost i?”
“Pretty sure.” I missed Quinn. Anything hit the floor and black paws was after it fast. Almost everything scared him but he was always willing to approach and sniff before giving things a bat. His ability to spot these things was useful. Papi, on the other hand, has no interest in anything falling on the ground. I once dropped some treats on the floor to see what he would do. He sat and stared at the treat before turning a puzzled expression onto me.
Without Quinn, I could not find the blueberry. Nor could my wife. While I had her, I asked, “Should I change?” We were going to dinner. I was rocking light grey slacks and a white shirt.
Her eyes went nuclear. “Absolutely. Go put on your nice blue shirt.”
She walked off.
I looked down. Something was on the floor. I picked it up. Piece of granola. I remembered dropping it two days ago. I couldn’t find it.
Probably find the blueberry in two more days. I certainly can’t depend on Papi.
Today is Wenzda, September 3, 2025. Keeping up with the pace set by the previous months, the days are whipping by. Some temp sources say it’s now 80 F or 77 F. My Oregon Scientific station declares that it’s 72 F under a brooding, sunless sky. Today’s upper edge will tap the mid 90s F.
Today is Visit Eve for us. Wife’s sister and her boyfriend arrive tomorrow for a three-day visit. We’ve dusted, vacuumed, swept, mopped, polished, and shined all we can. It’s in Fate’s hands now.
Strong winds woke me at 2 AM. I jumped up for a situation check and closed windows. When I opened a door to see what was going down, Papi bolted in past me, telling me with his feet and tail that he didn’t like the wind as he disappeared down the hall to his safe zone. That strong wind was warm, almost hot, completely void of the usual cool mountain breezes we know at night. It departed the area about an hour later. I found no damages this morning. Papi acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about when I mentioned it to him.
Yesterday was a day for visiting with family. Sis and I texted for an hour to get caught up on the happenings. Sis had a Labor Day cookout. Mom couldn’t attend because she was in too much pain. A second sister and several nieces and nephews were absent because ‘they have colds’. I hope it’s not more than colds. Mom’s 90th natal day is in October. A big do is planned. My wife and I are discussing going back for it. We’re in favor of doing so but my wife is unsure if she can handle a long aircraft flight. She’s in a lot of pain and discomfort these days, and is generally weak.
Dad called yesterday, too. We spoke for an hour on the phone. My stepbrother and his wife flew in, surprising Dad and his wife. Dad said they had a good visit. Beyond that, Dad just reminisced about his old military career. I just let him talk. It felt like that’s what he needed. He’s doing okay with his health, but must monitor his failing heart and kidneys.
Today’s song is “Messy” by Lola Young. Released in 2024, I like its stream-of-consciousness approach about herself and her relationship. The Neurons have it going in the morning mental music stream because they note that life under the Trump Regime is messy. He and they are the most combative, destructive, chaotic administration in my lifetime, which only goes back to 1956. Trump gives the finger to history and due process. Just last weekend, he was caught trying to illegally deport children. Children, unaccompanied by any adults. He and his henchmen thought they’d use Labor Day to ship these children out to Guatemala. Like WTF? Only evil shitheels in movies act like this. Beyond Trump’s outright evil, we can never tell where his greed and grifting will take us. We only know that it’ll take us further away from any norms in culture, class, democracy, and economics.
Here’s some “Messy” song lyrics.
You know I’m impatient So why would you leave me waiting outside the station When it was like minus four degrees? And I I get what you’re saying I just really don’t wanna hear it right now Can you shut up for like once in your life?
Listen to me, I took your nice words of advice About how you think I’m gonna die, lucky if I turned 33 Okay, so, yeah, I smoke like a chimney I’m not skinny and I pull a Britney every other week But cut me some slack Who do you want me to be?
‘Cause I’m too messy And then I’m just too damn clean You told me, “Get a job,” then you ask where the hell I’ve been And I’m too perfect ’til I open my big mouth I want to be me Is that not allowed?
And I’m too clever And then I’m too stupid, dumb You hate it when I cry unless it’s that time of the month And I’m too perfect ’til I show you that I’m not A thousand people I could be for you And you hate the whole damn lot
Coffee has leaped in to save me once again. Hope that grace and peace hold you and yours through it all today and forever. Let’s rock this Wenzda. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 