It’s Thirstda, Mai 15, 2025. The weather flipped last night as a cold front jumped into the Ashlandia area. Gone is the rain. Blue sky and sunshine fill the vacated space. That translates to a cold but clear night and day, but one that gives the sun permission to warm us. 68 F is our suspected high for the day. For now, it’s 55 F.
Papi has mixed feelings about it. He’s, “No rain, yea!” But, “Cold air, boo, hiss.” Then he adds, “Sunshine, yea!” He searches for a warm and sunny spot in the backyard. Then he comes into the house and yells for treats and attention. He’s such a sweet-chirping cute floof, our wills melt like ice cubes in hot coffee, and we do as he requests.
Starbucks, where I usually write, was closed yesterday. I found out this morning that it was due to a strike. I support them. They can strike as much as needed to gain contracts and improve their conditions. Meantime, we have other coffee shops in Ashlandia. I went to Roco and staked out a place and did my writing thing, as needed.
Another coffee shop is across the street from Starbucks. I like their products but their space doesn’t work for my writing needs. They supported the SB strikers by giving them coffee. How cool is that?
Today’s music is an old favorite by the late Gary Moore. Seeing sunshine and blue skies, The Neurons fed the song, “Still Got the Blues (for You)” into my morning mental music scene. Yes, despite better weather, the blues still weigh me down. Part of this is due to Mom. She’s become such a bitter and angry person that nobody wants to spend any time with her. She can’t see her own part in her isolation, instead blaming everyone else. I believe she needs counseling to help her deal with longtime issues. She fixates on things and never lets anything go. Her history of what happened when is at huge odds with everyone else involved. Suggesting she needs therapy, though, just sends her into a greater rage and accusations that everybody hates her.
Other part of the blues is all about the political thing. It’s amazing that progress begun over two hundred years ago is getting shredded by one megalomaniac backed by right wingers. That they’re quite willing to do whatever is necessary to break down the foundations of individual freedoms and democracy to gain power for themselves, including wreck the world economy and the planet’s environment. Empathy is not in their wheelhouse. Lust for greed and power dominates their intentions. So, yeah, I’ve got the blues.
Despite the blues, I have plans. They begin with coffee. I can check that off my list of things to do for today. Have the best day you can. Cheers
Wenzda, Mai 14, 2025, is Grayda in Ashland. Gray hangs over us with gravity’s weight. Sunshine comes in and leaves quick. No rain is expected, but neither was Grayda. This is Ashlandia. We’re supposed to be basking in warmth. It has risen to 56 F. 61 F is on the menu. All these gray clouds do something to my mood. Their impact is much different if its over a crashing sea, but that scene is a coupla hundred miles away.
Today’s tune was brought to me by nature. Nature; when you want the very best.
I was out looking for pollinators. My wife and I are down. “I’ve seen one fat bumble bee,” she said, “and one dragonfly, and a looper, but that’s not really a butterfly. So I haven’t seen any butterflies.”
I recounted my count: two bees, no dragonflies, butterflies, wasps, hornets, or hummingbirds. Even the birds are frequenting our area less. We’re used to being a buzzbox of activity. This non-activity disconcerts and worries us.
Papi was with me during my pollinator watch. “Where are the butterflies?” I asked him. He rolled around on his back on the patio cement, his eyes scrunched closed and his paws working the air.
A dog barked. Papi flipped over and studied the area, his ears finetuning themselves to the dog’s position. Not in the backyard, which is fenced. And it wasn’t either of his mortal enemies, the dog to the east, or the wicked dog to the north, Cowdog.
And then, “Dog & Butterfly” by Heart started in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons’ thinking was clear in this instance. That’s often rare so I appreciated the linear clarity.
“I’m going back in, Papi,” I said. Papi yawned and stretched. A jay came to the yard and conversed. I closed the door on the scene.
Ann Wilson said about “Dog & Butterfly”, “This, like a log of songs, came from something iteral and changed to something more poetic. I was upstairs in my music room waiting for my muse. It doesn’t always happen on cue but, in hindsight, it did this time. I looked out of my window and saw the dog chasing a butterfly. He wouldn’t give up; he just kept chasing that butterfly. I thought it was impossible, yet he kept on going. The chase took on another meaning for me. Like so much in life, the spirit is undaunted, you keep going after it.
“Many people have said that it is that thought in this song that has helped them through rough times. When they’re up against the wall I life, thy could refer back to it and keep going.
“Nancy (Wilson) and I, as Heart, were new at the time in 1978 or so, and this became our personal theme song as well. Now if we don’t play it in our set, people are disappointed.” h/t to Wikipedia.org.
I think it’s a good day to help push through graydas. Sometimes these days in Trumpland feel gray and heavy despite the sunshine. I turn to music to help get through. Do what’s needed, without doing yourself harm.
Coffee has been consumed. Here we go again. Three…two…one…
When it rained, it poured. Ashlandia found itself in rain’s thrall this morning, Munda, Mai 12, 2025. Our usual rounds of complaints and hopes were expressed: rain is good, but so is sunshine, and the cisterns and reservoirs are full. It is nice to put done to the drought and have wet land and vegetation again. And soon, we remind each other, the sun will be turned on full and we’ll be drenched in sunny heat and triple digit temperatures. In other words, shut your mouth and enjoy what you got, we Ashlandplain to one another.
Temperature is 50 F. Mostly cloudy. Drying. Visibility has improved. Low clouds were embracing the ridge tops, bringing to mind the Allegheny Mountains in Western Pennsylvania, Eiffel Mountains in Germany, and the mountain ranges of South Korea. Now the cloud ceiling has lifted, but sunshine is still rationed like the last gallon of water. Ashlandia’s high will kiss 58 F.
Papi is not of a mind to enjoy the rain. He came into the house about dark rain thirty, yelling for company, food, and a towel. After testing the weather for half of the morning, he found a comfort zone on a bed and made it his temporary home.
Now, hey, look, sunshine has burst out on us.
Trumpland Munda has given us another mind-boggling start to the week. There’s his ‘big deal’ with China. Trump says he’s lowered the tariffs and made the greatest deal in the world; China says, “It’s a good first step.” Trump is actually undoing some of the mess he created. That brainless child called the stock markets responded with the giddy joy of a child being given a huge bag of their favorite sweets. Meanwhile, since it’s Trump, he could renege tomorrow. It’s also only temporary at this point, a pause, not a cancellation. Or it could just be another distraction, part of his long con.
Trump’s Regime is arguing that its plans to lay off, fire, or terminate government employees should not be released to the public. Why, you might ask. Well, of course for the best reason of all: it could cause “embarrassment” or “annoyance” for the Trump Regime. So what if it’s completely disrupting millions of lives? Woo boy, that administration embarrassment or annoyance is a powerful, powerful reason. Yes, that was snark, since you asked.
The week’s forecast calls for more chaos, lies, and bullshit in Trumpland.
Today’s music is “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan. This song came out in 2020 and was re-released in 2023. Now, suddenly, we’re hearing it all the time. Wikipedia labels it, “a pop, synth-pop, dance-pop, power pop, disco-pop, and disco track that describes the story of a woman moving to Southern California from her home residence of Tennessee, taking a job as a dancer in a gay club in West Hollywood despite her mother’s wishes.”
When my wife and I were on vacation on the Oregon Coast recently, this song came on whenever the radio was clicked on. Same thing happened today when we did our Food & Friends delivery. Not my style of music but its melody has gotten snarled in My Neuron’s morning mental music stream, and I can’t get it out. The best tactic in these situations is to share the song with others. That somehow loosens its hold on my brain.
The song has brought Chappell Roan significant commercial success and recognition. More importantly, in interviews, she talks about how freeing writing and performing the song was for her. She never felt like she belonged in her hometown. Creating this song empowered her. Congratulations to her. I hope she enjoys more success.
Sunda, Mai 11, 2025, has arrived, per schedule. Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers who celebrate it on this day. Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers even if you don’t celebrate it on this day.
I ordered Mom’s Mother’s Day present in April. It was delivered before the requested delivery date. I wasn’t overly concerned by that, except that Mom’s house was victimized by a wind storm that took out her power and caused her an electricity-free week plus of suffering and coping. I reported to my sister that Mom’s package was delivered, and if she has a chance, see if it’s there. I also told Mom, and repeated that message today. I didn’t call Mom but texted her. I didn’t call because she tends to drop into free verse laced with bitterness, anger, and suspicions, and doesn’t like talking on the telephone any longer because she can’t hear. Frustrating situation, as anyone who’s experienced things like this can attest.
I reminded Mom about how it used to be in my texts. Back in the day when travel was easier and less expensive, before the enshittification of so many travel aspects. I would have loved to go back there for Mother’s Day. We used to take her for brunch. She had her favorite places. In her later years, about the time she turned 70, she started eating dessert before main course, surprising me, cracking me up.
I haven’t heard back from her.
Ashlandia’s weather pulled a Trump on me.Flip flopping about the weather, one thing was promised and another thing was delivered. In the weather’s case, spring promised sunshine and warmth. Instead, we find the wind has fashioned wintry inflections. Instead of hyping “Summer is coming,” it’s singing, “Winter is coming,” ala Game of Thrones. Although it is 57 F outside right now, clouds are gathering and darkening, encouraging the wind. Today’s high will be a meager and un-Ashlandia May temperature of 64 F, if that.
Papi started today’s music. His nemesis came around last night. Gray and white, with a sneering attitude and chunky body, the interloper wasn’t moved by Papi’s loud demands for the other to surrender or leave. I went out and encouraged Papi to return inside. Papi loathed doing so. When Gray & white trotted away, Papi wanted pursuit. Finally, he surrendered to me and returned to the house’s safety.
Happening at pitch black AM, recalling the confrontation this morning invited The Neurons to add music. The music was “Surrender” by Cheap Trick. The song came onto the pop rock scene in 1978, when I was but twenty-two. It’s kind of an odd rock song as it addresses who his mother was before the narrator came on the scene versus who she is now. Then, reveal, Mom and Dad still have a wild streak that’s bared toward the son’gs finish.
But why that refrain? “Surrender, but don’t give yourself away”? Doesn’t it seem contradictory? Yes and no, to me. I think the surrender part is about giving up on some puzzling matters but leave your core values intact. But hey, it’s music. It’s rock. It doesn’t always necessarily make sense as long as it sounds good.
Coffee has been served and drunk. Shopping is on the horizon for my wife and I. Hope you have plans. Remember, doing nothing is still doing something. Cheers
Papi and I weren’t synced this morning. At some ridiculously early hour, he banged on the pet door. I let him in. He thundered through the house in a burst of spring energy. I stumbled back to bed.
Minutes later, he thumped to come back in. The pet door was on because of smoke. Controlled burning was the smoke source. Controlled burning is a lot like vaccinations. There’s some immediate reaction but benefits to doing it are established.
I took the pet door off and let Papi back in. He returned within minutes, banging to come back in. I talked to the floof about it. Showed him the door was off and the pet door was open. Reminded him how it worked. He galloped away as I was speaking.
So went Saturda’s dawn stage on May 10, 2025, for me in Ashlandia. A cooling trend has been embraced. Dropping our high to 79 F today. It’s 71 F and sunny now. Visibility for a long way and more. Clouds are negotiating with the blue skies and sunshine. I’m unfamiliar with their negotiating skills, so I don’t know how it’ll turn out.
Anyway, after that, I hung in bed for a while, revisiting a dream. Papi kept coming back to see if I was going to provide him fresh food and affection. While I finally acfloofesced to his antics, a song started playing in the morning mental music stream.
“Bang on the Drum All Day” is by Todd Rundgren. Came out in 1983. It’s a lively and happy song about the urge not to work. Don’t know if you’ve ever had that urge. It had a strong grip on me today. Probably because my sleep was floofrupted.
More stories about Trump’s United States are emerging. How ’bout those Newark airport radar failures? That’s some reassuring shit. Fits right in with the trend of increasing aircraft accidents. Many more accidents than in last year. So air travel was safer under President Biden. To channel my inner Trump’s voice, “Air travel is a LOT WORSE with TRUMP as President!!! This could be the GREATEST year for DEADLY plane crashes than ANY TIME in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD!!!” An ongoing shortage of air traffic controllers doesn’t alleviate MY worries about air travel in ‘Merica.
But, PINO Trump’s Regime is on it! Yes, the team that fired people and then rehired them because they found out they needed them is going to hire more air traffic controllers. Gonna supercharge the system, they claim. This is being brought to you by the same regime with Defense Secretary Hegseth giving away secrets on unsecured systems. The same gang who declares NOBODY IS ABOVE THE LAW while they elevate PINO Trump to a position ABOVE THE LAW. Same folks who think empty ports are great because then we’ll lose less money! Same people destroying the national parks system created through decades of work by people from both parties. Yes, tattoo me as cynical, but I don’t think that Trump Regime is up to fixing the air travel problems.
Coffee has engaged The Neurons. We now return to our normal programming. Hope it all goes well for you today, tomorrow, and so on. Here we go again. Cheers
Frida descended upon Ashlandia with lots of cloud and some precocious heat. 77 F now, May 9, 2025, is expected to crest in the low 80s as Fahrenheit measured it.
Another Papi experiment was conducted this morning. Papi is our housefloof, feline and orange in nature. He belonged to another family in the neighborhood. They left him behind when they moved. He’d already joined our household at that point.
So I learned this week that he responds well to “Psp, psp, psp.” It’s an electric change. I remember that his name when those others were supposed to be his people was Garfield. Like the comic strip and movies. So, after saying the “Psp, psp” thing, I called Papi, “Garfield.”
He was sitting in the dining room with his back toward me. I was entering the kitchen. On the “Psp, psp”, he cocked his ears and half turned his head. When I said, “Garfield,” he jerked completely around and issued a sharp, “Miaow.” To me, it seemed like acknowledgement that he knew that as his name from some once-upon-a-time period. I’ll continue calling him Papi. He knows that name as well.
I saw three stories yesterday that claimed that Trump is under pressure for various things. That, uh oh, the MAGA faithful were upset.
I laughed and scoffed under that. As long as he’s Trump, he’ll sooth them with some new lies. The right-wing media the faithful follow will read and return to their comfortable bubbles.
But hearing under pressure brought an enticement The Neurons were too weak to resist. That’s the song, “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie. Back in the Freddie Mercury days. I’ve always enjoyed the song. I’ve used it as theme music before. Last time was in July, 2024. Remember what was happening in ‘Merica at that time? Yes, the election campaigning. I wrote about how old and tired Trump looked. He won. Now he looks older and more tired. For that to matter, the faithful would need to step into the sunshine of information and critical thinking. That ain’t happening.
Anyway, this version of “Under Pressure” is Queen without Mercury, with Annie Lennox and David Bowie. Watching it, I thought how Brian May and the other Queen members must feel for at least a slice of time, performing these old songs without their lead vocalist, Freddie Mercury. I know were I them, I’d have a little ache.
Reflecting on all that, I assume you know who David Bowie, et al, are. I assume you know that Freddie Mercury and David Bowie were the song’s original vocalists. I assume you know that they passed away. So many assumptions.
Also, personal opinion, but Bowie, Mercury, and Lennox are fascinating, charismatic vocalists. I felt pretty moved when they moved forward on the stage and sang the outre at 3:26.
Coffee has been indulged anew. Frida is proceeding with the usual rhythms of my life. Hope yours is an uplifting and satisfying day. Over to you. Cheers
Sunshine and warm air is spilling throug Ashlandia once again. 61 F now, Thirstda, May 8, 2025, will overtake the gorgeous day known as May 7, 2025. 80 F will be bestowed on us. Sure, it’ll be windy, that but’s okay.
The cat is happy, if I’m judging his tail right. Standing upright, like a sundial gnomon, we could use it to tell the time but he won’t stand still long enough. After eating, visiting, and grooming, he resumed his back fence residency.
Being out back depressed me. Wasn’t the sunshine. No. That’s fine and welcomed. It’s the lack of bees and butterflies. No humming birds, either. Also missing were the regular Jay visitors. All have desserted us. I hope they come back soon.
We discussed politics last night at the beery thingy. Like, re-opening Alcatraz. Such a gennyus move…not. Only a simpleton would think it is. Right now, simpletons are running the nation.
I’m late to posting this because of computer issues. I suspect it’s update stuff but basically, I’ll be busy doing stuff and thump, the computer gets
Four songs hover in the extended morning mental music stream. A common theme threads through them: small towns.
From 1975: “My Little Town”, Simon & Garfunkel. “Billboard described the song as “a good, nostalgic Americana style song that builds throughout.”[4]Cash Box said it has “catchy piano beneath historic harmony growing into a brass hook ending” and that “you’ll remember the melody by the third time you hear it.”
From 1985: “My Hometown” by Bruce Springsteen. This was a sad reflection on the demise of small towns in the United States, the end of mills, the end of jobs, stores closed up and boarded up. Reflected in the lyrics are the tensions experienced in the 1960s over segregation and integration and the violence which resulted.
1985 also brought us, “Small Town” by John Mellencamp. “”I wanted to write a song that said, ‘You don’t have to live in New York or Los Angeles to live a full life or enjoy your life.’ I was never one of those guys that grew up and thought, ‘I need to get out of here.’ It never dawned on me. I just valued having a family and staying close to friends.” h/t to Wikipedia.org
Then, from 2023, “Try That In A Small Town,” performed by Jason Aldean and written by a committee. In a review of Highway Desperado for Allmusic, Stephen Thomas Erlewine stated “All its success was based on how the single and video deliberately pushed cultural buttons; strip those away, and ‘Try That in a Small Town’ is just another in a long line of crawling, glowering, arena-country from Aldean.”
Chris Willman of Variety called it “the most contemptible country song of the decade [and] the video is worse”, saying that the song “is close to being the most cynical song ever written about the implicit moral superiority of having a limited number of neighbors” and is “a list of hellishly dystopian tropes about city evils that seems half-borrowed from Hank Williams Jr.‘s ‘A Country Boy Can Survive‘, half-borrowed from the Book of Revelation“. He said that the video “conflates the act of protesting with violent crime”.[7] Marcus K. Dowling of The Tennessean wrote that “online critics highlighted the following song lyrics as emblematic of songs heightening pro-gun violence and lynching sentiments upon many in his rural, small-town fanbase”.
Tennessee state representative Justin Jones tweeted “As Tennessee lawmakers, we have an obligation to condemn Jason Aldean’s heinous song calling for racist violence … What a shameful vision of gun extremism and vigilantism.”[24] He explicitly referred to the song as a “heinous vile racist song” which attempts to normalize “racist, violence, vigilantism and white nationalism” in a later interview on CNN.
Kevin M. Kruse, professor of history at Princeton University specializing in 20th-century America, called out the song for “calling for people who aren’t law enforcement to mete out violence against people who haven’t broken any laws,” a callout to “law and order” that is “actually lawlessnness.” h/t to wikipedia.org
For me, the subject of small towns arose as my adopted small town copes with growth and development, rising costs and diminishing prospects. We’re wrestling with the need to change but can’t agree on how to change. As with many small towns, few want to abandon ‘what worked before’. That leaves us stymied about what to do and how to do it. As exhibited in “Try That In A Small Town”, the professed preference is to gut the other side.
I’m aware I do that a lot about the MAGAs myself. We don’t see eye to eye. We lack agreement about what are facts and history, and cause and effect. The polarization depicted in the last of these four songs is becoming the norm. Part of the background noise is about gun violence. As part of the left, I’m tired of hearing about thoughts and prayers and the need to arm teachers and increase security at schools, fairs, airports, malls, and other places whenever another mass shooting takes place. Put forward is this video is the threat to escalate violence.
How do we bridge these gaps?
It’s interesting, to, that the right wing is pushing to return to the values of previous years. To what year do they want to return? To the 1960s, when civil unrest and protests swept the nation and the small towns’ death rattles began? To further back, like the 1950s, when the United States entered into trade and defense agreements and taxes were high on the wealthy? Or earlier, when lynchings of Blacks were not uncommon, women lacked rights, and deaths from back street abortions were high, and the young died from measles and other diseases.
Let’s pause, perhaps, and remember how those big box stores, like Amazon, Walmart, Lowe’s, Home Depot, grand supporters of Trump and the GOTP, drove a spike through many small town businesses. Yes, and Starbucks and Costco, too.
The day is ending. Hope it was a good one for you. It was pretty good for me. Let’s do it again tomorrow. Cheers
Our cat sitter surprised us with her report on Papi.
Papi is our male orange cat. When I describe him, I use words like sweet but cautious. Wary.
The cat sitter said, “He’s such a sweet boy.”
Yep. We agree.
“He was always there waiting for me or showed up as soon as I called him,” the cat sitter said.
What? Papi shows up for me but often ignores my wife. We always thought Papi was distrustful of women.
“And he always wanted me to pet him and talk to me and purr, the sitter said.
Papi’s behavior was completely contrary to my wife’s experiences with him. Even though she bribes him with treats.
I noticed the cat sitter used a different sound when dealing with Papi. We use a kissing sound. She employed, “Psp, psp, psp.”
So I tried that on Papi.
The change was electric. He whirled around and hurried to me, tail up.
My wife’s eyes widened. She issued, “Psp, psp, psp.”
Papi turned and looked at her. “He usually ignores me,” my wife said.
We talked it over and agreed, that must have been the sound people used around him when he was young. Who knows, of course. We do know that the result is amazing. He’s a much friendlier and relaxed floof with sound employed.
Details matter. As always, the problem is in figuring them out.
Warm air, clouds, and sunshine mugged us this morning. It’s Wenzda, May 7, 2025. 57 F when the bed rejected a few more minutes of shuteye, it’s now 2 PM and 74 F, on its way to a 78 F now. Don’t know if that’s possible. Cloud are jumping the sunlight. The temperature climb has stalled.
Papi, the ginger blade, aka Butter Butt, loves this warm stretch. Some shade is needed so he’s back in Boinn’s spot. Boin is Boo & Quinn. They both enjoyed and utilized that space behind some bushes against the bac fence. Like them, all I need to do to draw Papi out is step outside and into the grass. Then, click, as if activiated by a motion detector, he’s out, talking and stretching, heading toward me.
A dental appointment threw off today’s timing. That all went well. This was intro work. Snaps to see what my mouth looks like. A new bridge is needed. That’ll be $4400. Oral surgery to remove three defunct molars. $2500 each. $7500 total. Then I’ll need either implants or flex bas for the missing teeth. Flex bas are $750 each. Only two are needed, so $1500. Implants are $2500 each. Three would be needed, so $7500 for those. Xrays were $247. Cleaning will be $250. It all adds up. I want to think about what I want done.
The dentist, staff, and facilities all impressed me. The doctor told me she had to give me bad news about what was needed and referred to herself as Debby Downer. Thereafter, I referred to her as Doctor Downer.
Today’s music is fresh from hearing a knock on the door. “Who Can It Be Now?” I wondered. Righteously awakened, The Neurons introduced Men At Work singing the 1980s hit song in the morning mental music stream. Later, singing the song in my head, I recalled, “Is it the man come to take me away. Why do they follow me. Is it my future that I can see. Or is it fantasy?” Those words are ripe for these times. It feels like Trump and his Trumpnistas are about to burn the Constitution and go after anyone who doesn’t say they love Trump. Like me. I don’t love him. Never did and never will.
Coffee has been enjoyed. Work on bushes is singing a siren song. Off I go. Enjoy the music, your day, and your life. Cheers
May 4, 2025, broke as a Sunda. Rain falling off in the night, blue sky and clouds mix it up in a friendly competition. Sunshine comes and goes with the clouds’ permission. The weather ‘they’ is hyping a high of 65 F, part of a warming trend for the week.
Dreams delivered today’s song. The dreams didn’t include the song. Disturbing as a loud animal roar in a coal-black night, the dreams had me scribbling details for well over an hour. Part of that was the phrase, “I’ve been thinking.” More usually followed. Now, though, The Neurons picked up the phrase, found where it belonged in a song, and rolled it for me. The result in the morning mental music stream was 1990’s song by Londonbeat, “I’ve Been Thinking About You”.
I’ve also been thinking about Mom. Her house is a mess without electricity. Day 5. She was convinced yesterday to go to my sister’s house and stay the night. Mom’s live-in boyfriend stayed at his daughter’s house. Taking care of her has been increasingly difficult for him. Her drugs and illnesses dull her mind and make her moody. She snaps at him. That’s worn thin. With her mobility lessening, he’s forced to carry her. She’s lost weight and doesn’t weigh more than a few birds these days. Still, weight is weight. Repetitive bending, lifting, and twisting is wearing out his 95-year-old body. Both have refused to leave her house and move into assisted living. But with her energy diminishing, his strength dropping, her senses dulling, and his eyesight and hearing worsening, will this be the straw that changes their mind?
We don’t know. More than anything, they’re independent and stubborn. I see so much of her in myself in these matters. Intellectually, I understand. Emotionally, it’s a far more complicated path.
My coffee is half gone. The cat has completed a few laps around the inside of the house. Now he’s gone to find sunshine. I want to do the same but I’ve planned a full agenda for myself. Who knows if I’ll stay with it.
I hope the best for you and your day, and us and our days. Deep breath; here we go. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 