My surgery has been over for hours. After catching up on sleep, I’m ravenous because I haven’t had food since ten last night. With a diet limited to cold soft foods, I’m eating sorbet and thinking about what I can eat.
My wife begins reading an article aloud. “Women are having problems creating intimate relationships with men because of men’s addiction to porn.” One part is about a woman asking men if they watch porn. They deny it until she shares what kind of porn she likes.
The story swerves into men spending hours in the bathroom. The writer mocks the idea that they’re having long bowel movements and mentions they probably wouldn’t be in there that long without their phones.
“They’re watching porn on their phones?” I ask.
My wife nods.
“I don’t get that. What in the world would you be able to see on that little screen?”
“I know.” My wife points at our television. “We have that big screen. I watch carefully and feel like I still miss a lot.”
“Yes, and people watch sports on their phones, too. I don’t get that. During football games, they’re always blowing up scenes to show, is the knee down? Was his toe out of bounds?”
“How do people see these things on phone screen?” my wife responds.
“Exactly.”
My wife puts her feet up and closes her eyes. It’s been a long day for her. She had to go in with me and stay for the entire surgery, then drive me home.
I finish my sorbet and wonder what to eat next that’s cold and soft and fantasize about a hot bowl of chile.
February 7, 2026. Ashland greets me and Saturday with overcast skies and 47 F. Yes, will it rain, snow? Not cold enough for the latter, it’s been a month since significant rain fell.
Today’s high will be in the mid-fifties and precipitation isn’t forecast for today. A Facebook graphic (posted at the bottom) gives visuals to our worries. We keep reminding ourselves, it’s still only February.
Playing with dreams, interacting with Papi, reading the news, and waiting for updates from sis occupies my morning. Papi remains a positive, casual spirit, slipping by my legs in an orange-fur kiss. Dreams are erotic and intriguing.
The news, ah. I enjoy reviews of how insipid the “Melania” documentary seems. Emerging as a vehicle to support Trump’s spin that Melania is so smart and interesting, the quotes and stills reminds me of how flat and empty she always appears.
The documentary set a record for opening day box office receipts for that category. Anecdotally, the theaters have been almost empty. Online, Rotten Tomatoes is a perfect metaphor for this era, critics there granting the movie an 8% approval while ‘audiences’ give it 99%.
That’s so perfectly aligned with this era.
Over in life with Mom, Mom is going through another breakdown. Sis recorded one of the conversations she and Mom had, when sis delivered Mom dinner.
Mom refused to eat and kept telling sis, “You’re not the boss of me.” The split arose because a nurse is coming to see Mom. Mom wanted more time to get ready but Sis works and had to be there to meet the nurse and let her in. Mom needed more time because she wants to hide her medication collection and clean herself up. Mom also accused sis of poisoning her.
Sis couldn’t change plans. Mom spent the night crying and moaning, “I don’t want to be here,” curling up at 6:30 this morning to go to sleep. The nurse was due at 10. The appointment should have taken place; I’m awaiting reports.
In reporting, though, I’ve noticed subtle shifts in sis’s attitude towards Mom. She’s become more reflective, tolerant, and patience.
UPDATE: Sis explained all to the nurse and suggested it sounds like — drum roll — dementia. It was an anti-climatic moment. She suggested Mom needs to see a neurologist. Also — Mom may have a UTI. That wouldn’t be a surprise.
I end up with “Heaven” by the Talking Heads in my morning mental music stream, a quiet little song about a place everyone wants to reach, where they do — nothing but chill. Relax. And like that, The Neurons summon Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Hah!
Hope your day is joyous, and satisfying to you in meaningful ways. I’ll take what I can get, here and now, and try to move on to something better.
Sunshine lit up the room today. It’s Thursday, February 5, 2026, in Ashland but the weather defies that date. Papi and I went out to the back patio and enjoyed sunshine.
“It feels balmy out,” Papi noticed.
“I agree,” I answered.
Oh, wait; reverse that. Papi agreed to me, or so I thought from how he threw himself down and rolled around, inviting a belly rub and purring.
62 F online, my home says it’s 69. White pulled-taffy clouds have a small footprint in the dominant blue sky. Highs might crest 70.
Talking with friends last night, we agreed, nice weather but worrisome for the coming summer’s water needs. Meanwhile, sis sent me photos of her glistening snowclad yard, pretty but 22 degrees.
I showed sis’s snow photo to my wife. “Yes, it’s pretty until it melts,” my wife offered. I agreed.
My wife mentioned that TrumpRx was launching tonight but didn’t think it would do well.
Trump certainly has a chaotic and checkered history that sets his efforts up for doubt. As for TrumpRx, we’ll see. Only time and facts will reveal the truth.
The Neurons pulled a strange song into the morning mental music stream. “Kings and Queens” by Aerosmith came out almost fifty years ago. I knew it from their album but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it on the radio. Yet, there I was, singing it to myself in the kitchen as I fulfilled Papi’s feeding needs.
I suspect the song came up because I’m serving Papi and thinking about recent political developments.
Onward into the day’s mettle with hopes that peace and grace find and carry us. See you on the other side of the coffee cup.
As part of a celebratory do my wife recently organized, we ended up with 100 plastic plates. Small, white, with gold trim, we’d purchased them so guests could enjoy some finger foods.
She had them stacked in the sink and mentioned that she had to wash them. I asked, “Want me to wash them?”
My wife replied, “I didn’t want them to go into the landfill, and I think they can be used again. I already washed them, but I think they feel greasy, so I want to wash them again.” Then she walked away.
Pennies and nickels
Money we hold
Kept in jars
Doesn’t fold
Saved for
Rainy days
Other times
Dust collecting
As we add dimes
Quarters are coveted
Wash and wax
Till someone else
Counts the cash
“Going By”
Shadows dance
On mind walls
Coming alive
Hearing old songs
Whispering
Remember
When you see a smile
Ordering
Forget
When you freeze
For a while
Always there
Awakened
And dead
The people
You’ve met
The person
You’ve been
“Orientation”
Just like that
There I am
Slipping along
A spectrum
I don’t understand
Looking for footing
As I
Slide along
Grasping for pieces
Hoping to right
Wrongs
Smiling
Like everything’s ‘okay’
Looking for spaces
In places
Where I sit
Struggling
With something
To say
“Dwelling”
It’s just a moment
To explore the day
Lost in thought
Feeling old
Maybe gray
Hunting for a mood
That’s muddied
And sullen
Hoping answers
Might come
From sources
Hidden
I’ll sit a while
In this well of mine
Doing my business
Thinking
About time
“Reconsidering”
Framing comes
With a frozen
Snap
I blink again
Wondering
Where I’m at
How much time
Has passed me by
As I sit
Reflecting
Wondering why
Maybe it’s time to stand
And stretch
Get on with life
And off the bench
Ashland continues a weather pattern of cold nights, warming days, blue skies, and air stagnation. Blue skies came, went, and returned yesterday. Like yesterday, today’s highs will register over 50.
I’m happy to report that Alexa, online, and my system closely agree that it’s cold this morning. Alexa calls it 31, my system tells me it’s 27 F, and Ashland’s temperature online says, 32. Rejoice!
It looks warmer out there, an illusion of golden sunshine on majestic but naked oak branches lit against sky blue. Stepping out, as Papi will tell you, is a different matter. He did his business and hurried back in to work through breakfast.
Mom and sis each report adjustments have been made, and acceptance of their new relationship is growing. Each still complains about the other but in gentler terms, with more compliments for one another sprinkled in. Hope remains alive that Mom living at sis’s house will eventually thrive.
Sis says they’re preparing for a big winter storm in Pittsburgh, up to twelves inches of snow. She stocked up on baked goods to prepare.
It’s always interesting how things change and stay the same. Weather is one, Mom and sis are another. Trump is a third.
Trump wants Greenland ‘for the United States’, threatening eight allies with tariffs. Global markets responded with fast drops based on worries about a trade war. Whether that impacted Trump’s thinking, he withdrew the tariff threats on those eight nations.
Nobody has received that check. Trump didn’t remember making that promise when people asked about it.
And, let’s not overlook the Trump phone. Promised in 2025, there were rumors of about 600,000 pre-orders. None have been reported as received or delivered.
I’ve heard whispers from some that maybe a tipping point was reached with Trump. I’m not sure that’s so and won’t let myself get optimistic about it.
Thinking about what they’d seen, The Neurons brought up Green Day and their song, “Waiting”.
Now, time to chug coffee and head out to the repair shop to deliver my wife’s vehicle and await their verdict. The car sometimes completely dies without warning. It’s over 20 years old but in good shape, so we have our fingers crossed that something quick and easy will be found. Taking a book with me, in case it’s a long wait.
I hope positive energy fills your day and good things come your way, today and every day. Cheers
“Groundhog Day” weather continues in Ashland. Air stagnation, temperatures between 35 (my system) and 46 F. Dry, with sunshine and blue skies, and highs bouncing between 50 and 60.
As repetitive weather patterns, worse is possible. Mom said the news warned it would be 15 below zero last night in Pittsburgh. I also saw snow down in northern Florida. It’s a topsy turvy weather year — so far!
Mom’s health and moods continue the topsy turvy motif. One day will deliver complaints about sis. Last night, she praised how sweet and thoughtful sis is. This reflects a greater pattern of pain, lucidity, and loopiness which we’ve noted. Mom’s pain and loopiness seem linked.
Mom said she took a long nap and felt so refreshed afterward. She vowed to take more nap, which I encourage, although not to the point that she’s sleeping all day and ends up awake all night. The napping sweet spot, shorter duration in the mid-afternoon is best, but I don’t think she can control that.
Another sister drove Mom to a doctor’s appointment. They decided to take her off blood thinners, hoping that’ll reduce Mom’s falls. I have my fingers crossed that they’re right.
Speaking of topsy-turvy — three times a charm — I think Trump’s message about Greenland has a topsy-turvy tone.
Trump’s Sunday message to Gahr Støre, released by the Norwegian government, read in part, “Considering your Country decided not to give me the Nobel Peace Prize for having stopped 8 Wars PLUS, I no longer feel an obligation to think purely of Peace.”
A nation – Norway – doesn’t give the Nobel Peace Prize. That’s decided by a committee, although they are in Norway, per Alfred Nobel’s will. That’s some topsy-turvy logic. To me, this is like saying that the United States didn’t give a foreign actor an Academy Award, so they’re not doing business with the United States any longer.
It’s not the United States which give Academy Awards, and Norway doesn’t give the Nobel Prizes.
The other way that Trump’s tone is topsy turvy is his response to failing to win the Nobel Peace Prize. Most people failing to achieve a goal, vow trying harder. Imagine a coach not winning the Superbowl, responding, “You didn’t give me the Lombardi Trophy for winning the Superbowl, so I’m going to work less hard.” Topsy turvy!
The Neurons spilled a 1972 song into the morning mental music stream. “Only Solitaire”, by Jethro Tull, is about performers — actors, musicians, politicians — pompously delivering their shows for us.
The Neurons flagged this song for these specific lyrics today:
Court-jesting, never-resting–he must be very cunning To assume an air of dignity And bless us all With his oratory prowess His lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air
And every night his act’s the same And so it must be all a game of chess he’s playing–
But you’re wrong, Steve. You see, it’s only solitaire
Reading about Trump today invited these lyrics into my thoughts. It’s the same story from him every night: me, me, me. I am misunderstood, unappreciated, unrecognized, and I give so much.
It’s not the attitude that We the People need. It does fit these topsy turvy times, though.
Hope your day is straightforward happy, joyous, and healthy. Perhaps a tincture of peace and grace will be thrown in. Let’s hope so. Cheers
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.
Ashland, Oregon, landed on Saturday, January 17, 2026, with a quiet sigh. Freezing fog still plagues us but it’s invisible and doesn’t make us freeze. Temperatures now sit at 55 (my house), 51 (online) and 55 (Alexa) degrees F. Despite air stagnation, freezing fog, and an inversion layer, we’ll hit the mid to upper sixties today.
The snow drought bothers me. I’ve only lived here for 20 years. Dog knows memory is imperfect but this snow season is a monumental shift from my lived-in memories. We don’t usually get much accumulation in Ashland, but we typically get flurries a few times. An inch to three falls, giving us a lovely morning treat before sunshine burns it off into a memory.
There’s been no days like that which I’ve seen this year. I remind myself, this is still January and a couple winter months remain, and spring snow isn’t unusual. Just waiting, I suppose, for a reminder that it is winter.
Waiting for snow, I feel like I’m in stasis. Not the usual stasis where I don’t age and the outside world and I don’t meet. This is more of the stasis of waiting, like, ‘drop the other shoe already’ stasis.
That applies not just to weather. With Frank and Dad gone — two of the triumvirate parental units in my life — I await word on Mom. Regular accounts report her as increasingly less lucid and physically weaker. I think sis does a superb job of helping Mom, and continually thank her in my head and in conversations with her.
Part of my thanks float up whenever I do Food & Friends deliveries. I think, without sis, Mom would probably be in a situation like this, awaiting a knock on the door for a meal delivery, struggling to get to the door and get it open. Many recipients on our route live in nice homes but several lodge in apartments or motel rooms. There must be a better solution that doesn’t cost a gazillion dollars.
Part of my stasis also centers around ICE, especially with Minneapolis. Paul Krugman referred to that city as the ICE crucible, which fits; it’s an ICE experiment for how far Trump can intimidate through force and violence before someone reins him in.
Outside my home, the world spins on its own axis. Trump’s overtures about acquiring Greenland sound more frequently like Putin in Russia talking about Crimea and Ukraine. It strikes me less about geopolitical strategy and more about imperialistic land grab to acquire mineral rights.
So, I wait and wonder, will we go to war over Trump’s Greenland obsession, and how much greater will ICE’s violence against American citizens become?
The Neurons responded to my state with Queen of the Stone Age — “No One Knows”, in the morning mental music stream. The song opens,
‘We get some rules to follow. That and this, these and those, no one knows.’
Those opening lyrics work for my morning mind set. We’re given rules of living but the rules for dying are less defined. Likewise, Trump is a chaos multiplier, breaking rules and establishing his own rules, increasing tension and anxiety.
Hope your day is stress free and strong with hope and grace. Meanwhile, I will break my stasis with coffee and step into the day. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 