The Lost Jacket: A Dream
Dreamed I was traveling but also that I’d arrived somewhere. It was both familiar but different. I was then again in the military. Several sisters and Mom traveled with me, yet I arrived before them so that I was there to greet them when they arrived.
I put them up in a room and then told them, “I have to go work. I’ll be back and then we’ll go out.” I also suggested to them that maybe they could come see where I work.
In parallel, I’d been out walking around. I took off my jacket: this was a brown leather ‘flight’ jacket. I’d left my money and my wallet with my ID in it.
I suddenly remembered, oh, no – I forgot about that.
I rushed back to get the jacket.
Gone!
I was frantic with worry. What am I going to do?
Casual friends who used to be co-workers arrived. One, a big guy, younger than me, said, “Hey we found this. Thought you might need it.” He gave me my brown leather jacket.
I was relieved but worried, and reached into the pockets.
Empty.
He then held up my wallet.
Relief rushed me.
Then he held up my folded cash in his other hand. “This was in your pocket, too.”
I thanked him, then hugged him, saying, “You are a true friend.”
Dream end.
Trump: Regression and Incompetence
Just a brief Trump note.
Trump and his cabal tend to think in simplistic terms.
Simplest to them is “Might makes right”. They started a war in Iran predicated on having a lot of sophisticated weapons and little intelligent planning. This manifests as:
- No clear objectives
- No Plan B in case Plan A goes wrong
- Underestimating the enemy’s strength and will
- Fighting the wrong kind of war
- Not anticipating collateral damage and issues
- No exit plan
Part of this is because of a Trump tendency that extends throughout his administration. Trump wants people who idolize him and protects him from the truth when things aren’t going well. That’s who he hires, promotes, and keeps.
We’re seeing this in tariffs, in court cases where ICE and their tactics keep getting batted down, in energy policy, and in Iran. All of those things are not going according to plan. But because Trump resists facts and truth, he will not adjust and correct to improve the situation; he’ll keep regressing, taking a sledgehammer to hit a nail. Even now, Trump plans to send more troops to Iran and escalate the confrontation.
I read a transcript of Paul Krugman’s video this morning about the Iran War. Krugman cites many of these things in a more coherent manner. Krugman sums up the Trump era in one clean observation:
So we have this kind of real extreme, not just political extremism, but complete lack of ability to do the job, which is almost, in a sense, incompetence is a job requirement.
That’s terrifying. First, that incompetence is a job requirement. Second, that Trump supporters endorse this a good direction.
That last piece is going to make it hard to restore the United States where it’s on a path toward the future, and not the past.
See you on the streets, March 28th. Let’s show the world, we aren’t supporting Trump’s Incompetent Regime.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Ashland, Oregon — Thursday, March 5, 2026.
We’re winding through winter’s last days toward spring in Ashland. History provides us reminders that Ashland often experiences late winter to mid-spring snowstorms. I’d like more snow in the area, especially in the Cascades where our snowbank resides.
Today, it’s overcast with uncertain, flexing sunshine. 48 F, it feels neither warm nor cold, and our high is arcing toward just 50.
My phone has developed problems with receiving text messages all of a sudden. I’ve added fixing that to my todo list. I did get some updates from my siblings about Mom before the system went tango unform on me.
Mom is reverting to the behavior displayed in January. I drift toward remembering who she was and the complex relationships my sisters and I have with her. I contrast what’s she’s enduring with who she was, what and who she was trying to be, and where she arrived as a person. Much of it now is beyond her control. Doesn’t stop my sisters from getting angry about it. But we saw this pattern emerging. There was little we could do, which we learned with time, because we tried to do things to change the course.
I smile at some things, like her potato salad. My wife insists nobody makes potato salad like Mom. My wife tried but when she asked for a recipe, Mom was more about the ingredients and less about the measurements. One thing I learned from helping her make it sometimes was that Mom depended on tasting it and how it looked — color, texture. That’s hard to translate through recipes.
I was just settling into checking on prices, the war that Republicans don’t want to call a war, and other matters when breaking news arrived.
Trump replaces Noem at DHS, taps Mullin for job
I think at first, “about time”. Her arrogance and attitude doesn’t fit with what I look for in public servants. I temper that, though, with the understanding that she was carrying out Trump and Miller’s policies, and generally working as a functionary for Project 2025. It’ll be interesting to see how much this change will actually manifest as change.
On the heels of that thinking, I scoff, but of course Trump has replaced Noem. She’s become a lightning rod for negative impressions about Trump. With his popularity falling, he made her his scapegoat.
Today’s music is “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones. When The Neurons first settled it into my morning mental music stream, I sang it as “Wild Kitties” for Papi’s entertainment. He did not seem entertained.
I’m not sure why the song is playing in me. I can see how its themes and melody is about yearning for another time, for a different outcome, even for hope. I suppose that’s where I reside now — wishing for other things than what now exists. It also came out in 1971, when I was fifteen, so I suppose remembering the song stirs some nostalgia for being back there — young, with Mom, facing a bright future.
I’ll close with best wishes for you and us to stay safe, be healthy and find new ways toward a peaceful, prosperous, and inclusive future.
Cheers
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Ashland, Oregon — Tuesday, February 24, 2026. February is winding down. The NFL ended its season and the Olympics ended. Rain pours from a flat gray sky. Mists swallow the mountains and the temperature hums along at 51 toward a possible high of 52 F.
The east coast’s blizzard stuns me with its strength, size, and the amount of snow. What staggering levels. I hope that all stay safe and recovery is quick and painless. Fingers crossed as I think that.
The weather doesn’t overly bother Papi. He goes out and stays under a protected area, sniffing, grooming, ears tuning. The wind isn’t blowing. Sunshine is absent so he comes in, finds his chair, commences his orange fur grooming.
I wade through the morning texts and muddle through the morning routines, eager to move on to other matters. I’m not looking forward to Trump’s State of the Union address at all. In my mind, the question will not be, will he lie? It’s a matter of how large the lies are, and how often he repeats them.
Looking back on news from the last few days, many positive reactions were seen when the Supreme Court struck down Trump’s use of one law to impose tariffs. Trump cursed and accused others of being ungrateful to him and then launched more tariffs under other laws. Markets spiraled down and trade partners reconsidered their position with the U.S. But Trump presses on.
I can only recall the snipper of one small dream last night. A woman was giving me a handful of silver change. I thought we were exchanging change and protest, laughing, she was giving me too much. But she insisted, “No, here, this is all for you.” I was like, what am I going to do with all this change?
Wakening, though, I thought about all the change going on and smiled at the messages my subconscious seems to be sending.
The Neurons have “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran playing in the morning mental music stream. Specific lyrics hooked me.
Lyrics h/t AZLyrics.com
Papers in the roadside
Tell of suffering and greed
Fear today, forgot tomorrow
Ooh, here beside the news
Of holy war and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrowed talk
(Just blown away)
And I don’t cry for yesterday
There’s an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive
The 1992 was written and recorded in the face of lingering low morale among the band’s members. Simon Le Bon’s built lyrics around “ordinary world” and a desire to regain a familiar and comfortable reality. I certainly get where they’re coming from.
I hope you survive and grow through this ordinary world and become happier and healthier. I’ll try to do the same, starting with a little coffee and a little writing.
Cheers
Another Michael Dream
I was at some resort/business conference, mixing business with pleasure. Younger, I was traveling alone but had met with a group, mostly male, but a few female acquaintances. No relatives were present.
Everything was going smoothly. Prizes were being given out, assignments made, directions planned. While off on my own to one side, sitting, I ran into a former female boss. She asked about my health. I told her about my tendon surgery, showing her where the incision had been made. Then I reminded her that she’d known about that. Agreeing, she wished me well and moved on.
I then moved to another place, a tall table with a chair, to wait for friends. A man passed. I knew of him – elderly, with silvery gray hair, dignified, and gay. I also knew his name was Michael, same as mine. We exchanged nods as greetings.
My name was called to pick up a package, I went to a counter cluttered with packages. One was given to me. As I looked at the name, I saw the first name was Michael but a Spanish surname followed. I knew it was the dignified man’s name and pointed out that this wasn’t my package. I was told that the other guy had turned it down, so it was being given to me, and that I should take it and like it because it was a better package than what I would get.
I went off with that and ran into friends, explaining the package thing with them. Then I returned to the tall table and chair.
The dignified Michael passed several more times. I chatted with him, flirting with him about his plans. He was amused but kept quiet.
I then went to be with another group. More prizes were being given out, and I was again given dignified Michael’s package. I then commented that I kept receiving his package instead of mine.
I stripped off my clothes and was in a neon orange speedo. I decided to walk a back over to where food was now being given out. Although I was almost naked and was drawing attention in my bright speedo, I was comfortable, and heard women whispering how good I looked, which made me grin inside. I then got to the counter where I was given a third, larger package for the other Michael.
Dream end.
The White Square Dream
I dreamed I was presented with a white vertical square.
The square floated in front of my head. Despite no evident attachments to the wall, floor, or ceiling, it was very stable.
Twenty-five photos in five-by-five columns and rows were in the square. All were the same photo of a young, bald, smiling black man — no one familiar to me. The picture reminded me of a high school photograph, but this man was an adult.
Puzzled, I investigated the white square and then the photographs, learning that pressing a photograph opened another set of smaller, identical photographs of the same person.
Trial and error led to discoveries that the man was twenty-five years old. Each photograph represented a different year of his life. Pressing on them opened up other sets of photographs. Although always looking like the same photograph, by pressing it, I learned of his past, present, and future for him at that time of his life.
Over that exploration, I realized that I could shift the man from where he was in his life to another place in his life, including his future and past.
Swiping left brought up another set of photos, only four, all the same, a grinning white man with tousled ginger hair in a green plaid shirt. Venturing to press photographs revealed he was only four years old, but that I could move into his future and past through the photos, and when I moved through them, I was moving him.
The experience was repeated several more times before I sat back to think about what I’d encountered. This was a system to move people in time or reality, maybe both.
With that understanding, I sat back, warning myself, be careful with what you do until I understand more about the ramifications.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 