Time to crank up another Wenzda. December 10, 2025 in Ashlandia began with sunshine and blue skies. I blinked and suddenly fog is smashing its gray face against the window panes. 45 F now, a jump the high fifties has been projected.
Today’s music is torn straight from the headlines. Not really. It’s more of a reflection on the many people experiencing cruelty and heartlessness under the Trump Regime. When this song was released in 1973, it was a protest against police violence and a police murder of a young Black boy in NYC. Now, “Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)” by the Rolling Stones was brought up by Der Neurons to the morning mental music stream in response to general news as ICE heartlessly chases and attacks people on behalf of Trump’s growing intention to make the United States whiter.
I’d like to tear that Trump world apart. I think there’s growing number of people with that same sentiment.
Alright, coffee jumpstarted the brain and various other organs. Hope peace and grace come give you a big hug. Here we go, world, another rotation. 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
We’re in a weather triangle, a tangle of seasonal changes. Summer is drifting away, taking its warmth and going elsewhere. Today’s high is 75 F, an eleven-degree scramble from our current posture. Thunderstorms threaten again. Looking back, we had few days over 100 F, a relief from previous years when clusters of such days savaged us. Much more rain is visited upon us than usual, allaying drought worries. For the record, this is Thirstda, September 11, 2025.
So, here we sit, looking back at 9/11 while pondering the assassination of Charles Kirk. I’m in a triangulation of despair about the U.S.’s polarization and violence, lamenting, another gun killing, and dismayed reflection on Kirk’s rhetoric, spewed often, about killing others. Some will say that his death by gun seems karmic; he’s reaping what he ordered for others. We’ll see the question, is this a tipping point for the U.S., often played out. We won’t know until we’re further down the road. What we do know is that Kirk, as we often see from the right in the U.S. in this age, cherry-picked Bible verses to foment resentment, hate, and violence. What we also expect is some spillage from the conspiracy machine, trying to use Kirk’s death as a wedge between us, trying to make a bad situation worse. Unfortunately, that’s how some people now think.
There’s one clear bennie for Trump from this, in that Kirk’s death will be a distraction and take some pressure off Trump about his relationship with Epstein and lessen the drumbeat to release the files.
Meanwhile, from down south in northern California, emerged a story about vanishing rural hospitals. SF Gate reports, “The closure of Glenn Medical Center, located north of Sacramento in remote Glenn County, is expected to happen as soon as next month. It’s one of at least 28 anticipated hospital closures in rural California, which is confronting financial hardship under the Trump administration’s punitive health care policies that include cracking down on access to coverage for patients who are in the country without permission.” The county housing Glenn Medical Center went for Trump 2:1. FAFO.
The problem with writing this off as FAFO and moving on is that thinking people know the reciprocal and collateral effects of rural hospitals shutting down. Beyond the simple impact that those citizens will now need to travel further for healthcare, their healthcare will decline. It’s inevitable. To travel further, they’ll need to take more time off from work. Most will resist doing that, resist making those trips. That’s often how the human mind works. They’ll hold off for whatever rationalizations they fed themselves and then it will be too late for some. Unemployment will climb as these hospitals and medical centers close. The lack of such facilities will make these communities less attractive for living and business opportunities. What company will want to move a factory there, when basics like medical treatment is limited? The ironic center of all this is that they’re Trump voters and brought it on themselves by supporting Trump and his agenda. There’s no joy in seeing and knowing that. Just weariness.
Today’s song is by the Rolling Stones. This is a 1968 beat. “Sympathy for the Devil” focuses on human violence through Satan’s viewpoint. “Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name. But what’s puzzlin’ you is the nature of my game.”
Mundaz slipped in during the sleep session. Now we’re basking under July 28, 2025, and a full sun spotlight. 70 F now, we’ll push into the low 90s today. No wildfire smoke tasks my sinuses today, for which I am pleased. Fires still burn, mind you, and I have my fingers crossed for those protecting us and those directly afflicted.
Bit of a hurry today. We’re out delivering food for Food & Friends. We always do a Monday. The route usually isn’t long, typically about thirteen houses and fourteen individuals. Most live in pleasant middle class homes but one is in a motel, two are in apartments, two are usually in senior living, and there’s sometimes someone in a mobile home. The list and route varies a little every time.
The Neurons coughed up “Tumbling Dice” by The Rolling Stones into the morning mental music stream. I don’t think it’s dream related. Doesn’t seem cat related. Could be driven by reading the news. Trump is always rolling the dice on shit, and mostly getting away with however they come up. As another said, I don’t trust anything his regime puts out as news. He’s trashed the truth and manipulated the systems and conned us all too many times to be given any trust, and that includes any organization which he heads. Sadly, that is now the Federal government and all of its executive agencies. Sadly, due to complacent Republicans, it also includes most of the legislative branch, and thanks to those R-holes in Congress, the SCOTUS. No, I’m not bitter or angry about it. Why do you ask?
Have a great Munda, if you can. I’m shooting for the same. Rock ‘n roll, baby. Cheers
It’s another golden morning of cool night air. Wenzda, June 18, 2025, has us at 60 F. Sunshine is expected to lift us up to 83 F. These days of mild warmth and cool nights reminds me of living in Mountain View, CA, while we were stationed at Onizuka Air Base in California in the early 1990s. Starting in May, this would be our weather until fall began descending into winter and the rains started slashing us. It is not bad at all, though.
Just gotta ask people a few questions. Anyone remember when Trump said, “In a golden age of America, the entire planet will be more peaceful and prosperous as a result.” Yes, that’s right, it was on his inauguration day in January of this year. 2025.
He also claimed in that speech, “In the United States of America, as we gather today, our government confronts a crisis of trust.” Then he unleashed Elon Reeve Musk and DOGE and gutted the government’s services and cut payments to people who trusted the government to pay them as it said it would.
In that speech, Trump also said, “For American citizens, January 20, 2025, is Liberation Day. It is my hope that our recent presidential election will be remembered as the greatest and most consequential election in the history of our country — as our victory showed, the entire nation is rapidly unifying behind our agenda, with dramatic increases in support from virtually every element of our society: young and old, men and women, African Americans, Hispanic Americans, Asian Americans, urban, suburban, rural, and, very importantly, we had a powerful win in all seven swing states and the popular vote, we won by millions…”
‘The entire nation is rapidly unifying behind our agenda…’ Yes, that explains why so many Americans were out there protesting him and his policies on No Kings Day, June 14, 2025, right? That explains why he’s minus ten in approval ratings in polls, right? Only in Donald World is the nation more unified now than it was last year.
Trump is such a liar. He’s full of bullshit. He’s incompetent, and for Trump 2.0, he’s installed incompetent loyalists.
When will this peace he promised the entire world begin? Well, you know Trump; based on his record of lies and promises, it’ll come at about the same time as the terrific, great healthcare plan which he never revealed. The one he promised almost ten years ago.
Today’s music is “Emotional Rescue” by the Rolling Stones. I admit, the song has grown on me through the years. Still not real fond of Mick Jagger’s falsetto. But I like the 1980 song’s funkiness. None of this explains why The Neurons selected it for the morning mental music stream. The Neurons work in mysterious ways.
Well, rock on. Brace yourself for more shitty news from PINO TACO. And hang on. Looks like it’s gonna be a bumpy fucking ride.
Chilly. Cold. Bleak as the moors below shifting dark clouds and undependable sunshine. Real stay in and have some hot food weather, if you can.
It’s 41 F and won’t get much warmer. The damp hand delivers a new chilly flavor. Fall — autumn, if you prefer — has a two-handed hold on Ashlandia.
Pause. Let me tell you. I was most disturbed to see Trump carried my county by seven points. Like, WTF, over? Distrust of my fellow local citizens is hepped up. I don’t know what you people are thinking goes through my mind as I consider strangers and workers. You might be one of those leaning to an authoritarian state. How can I ever trust you again?
While we were talking about the 2024 election results and its impact on American values, mores, and norms, my wife brought up some history. She reminded me of the fifties and sixties in the U.S., and how many women were self-medicating to cope. Would that be repeated in this new MAGA era?
Part of that conversation impelled me into territory about how it was so widespread, it was recognized as part of popular culture in books, movies, and songs. “The Graduate.” “Mother’s Little Helper.” “Valley of the Dolls.” “Rabbit, Run.”
It’s the latter that flashes through the morning mental music stream (Trademark endangered). The Neurons have always liked the Rolling Stones’ song about pills being abused.
Here we go, another day. One step after another. Regrouping. Moving on, pressing on.
Yes, I have had coffee today. The first in over two weeks. Good to have my old friend back in my system.
Sunshine rules Penn Hills and Monroeville this morning.
The clouds haven’t been dismissed like a MAGA claim. Oh, no. But they’re broken white and blue-grey pieces of what they once were.
This is May 8, 2024. Current temp here is 71 F. 82 F is our ceiling today.
We had a terrific thunderstorm around 1:30 AM this morning. Sky played cracked the whip with its sounds. I’d heard its soft rumbling beginnings as I was faded. Thought, what is that noise? Animal? Rain? Nope; thunder.
I listened to the storm progress and leave, then dropped into slumber land. There, the storm found its way into my dreams. Fun dreams, though. Nothing sinister or scary.
Mom had a good day yesterday. Physical therapist came by and spent time most of an hour watching her movements, talking to her, teaching her new exercises, closing with checking on the requested wheelchair and hospital bed for her. He was Jim, a nice guy. Man informed me that Jim also tends to clients in prison. I suggested that’s why Jim was selected to help Mom. A good laugh ensued.
Tonight, we attend my nephew’s final high school jazz ensemble concert. Other than that. preparations for a Mother’s Day cook-out at my sister’s house are in full bloom.
Conversations of note with Mom: she was talking about a meal her father used to make in the winters. This was a tangent from some jokes about goulash. She told me about slumgullion: ground beef, tomato sauce, macaroni or pasta, sometimes vegetables. I realized I’d eaten it throughout my life without knowing what it was called.
Another topic was the coal deliveries and the backbreaking work the boys in the household were required to do to get it into the house for its use.
It was absorbing talking to her and Frank about their youths, once again absorbing the mammoth changes in American living compared to eighty years ago. It definitely promotes speculation what people in America will be living like 80 years from now.
Today’s music comes from the dream. “Hang Fire” by the Rolling Stones was released in 1981. The Neurons released it to my morning mental music stream (Trademark stalled) after I contemplated my dreams this morning. It was a pretty good matchup. The song is a lightweight, pop offering. Not my favorite among the Stones’ offerings.
I would write about the Trump trial featuring Stormy Daniels, but I’m a little burnt out on it. I followed it live yesterday, discussing it with Mom. Now the trial has a day off, and I’m taking a day off from thinking and talking about it.
Nor do I feel especially inclined to bring up Gaza and the cease fire agreement, or the campus protests and crackdowns, politics in general, or the bad weather in some parts of the country and world. Just not up to it. More coffee is required before slipping down those muddy paths.
Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music video offering. Look at those youngsters!
Hey, Terra fans, welcome to another edition of Tuesday. Today, for the first time ever anywhere*, we bring you March 5, 2024. It’s a robust 37 degrees F right now in Ashlandia but we’ll soon be soaring to 43 F before sun pulls its light from our valley.
All the snow is gone (which somehow triggers “all the leaves are brown” from “California Dreamin'” by The Mamas and the Papas in the morning mental music stream).
Michelle Phillips is the only remaining member alive of the classic line-up.
Rain continues its beat (bringing The Neurons to start “We Got the Beat” by the Go-Go’s in the morning mental music stream) (Trademark coming in two weeks, I swear, and it’ll be the most beautiful trademark anyone has ever seen). But then, thinking about the Go-Go’s, I ended up with “Going to a Go-Go” by the Miracles from 1965.
The version done by the Rolling Stones also floated along the meandering morning mental music stream, though. I prefer Smokey and the Miracles version. It’s just tighter to me, but one can’t easily just dismiss the Stones.
However, another song was in the MMMS, freshly peeled from a pass through the guest room. On the bed in there is a pillow which says, “Be Our Guest”, navy script on oatmeal. Goes well with the dark blue duvet cover. As I glanced its way, “Be Our Guest” kicked up in the MMMS. I knew the song but remembered nothing else about it except it was a while back that I learned it. A net search rewarded me with Jerry Orbach and Angela Lansbury singing “Be Our Guest” from Disney’s animated version of Beauty and the Beast from 1991.
Odd underlying connections do bring some of these things together more. Besides the go-go connections between the Go-Go’s and “Going To A Go-Go”, and the guest room pillow and “Be Our Guest”, the Go-Go’s debut album, which featured “We Got the Beat”, was called, Beauty and the Beat. Wild how the mind can work. Those Neurons are sly little tricksters.
As I mused through all of that, I wondered what folks remember about things like go-go’s, which were forerunners of discotheques, which were forerunners of discos, which themselves were born from dance halls (at least as I see it), and which begat things like raves and dance parties. That’s my impression of it all from what I recall at this point, just starting on coffee, from my life.
My housefloof, the black and white cat hailed as Tucker, is doing much better as he prepares for his dental surgery later this month. I cut back on his pain med because he was sleeping all day long. I wanted him to be a little more active and eat more, which he didn’t do while asleep. He seems to like the shift and ate very well today.
Stay positive, be sensible, remain strong, lean forward, and vote. The list is getting lengthy. Coffee helps me remember it all. Here’s the music. Cheers
* We don’t really know if this is the first time that there’s been a March 5, 2024 but as far as we can tell from memories and all the records so far discovered, this is it, kids.
The barista and I chatted when I ‘ordered’. Ordering wasn’t needed; my order was known and delivered before I reached the counter.
During our chat, it was somehow revealed that the barista was 20 years old. Then it came out that her father was three years older than her when he became a father (she was the oldest), and she couldn’t imagine that. She was nowhere ready to be a parent, herself.
I, meanwhile, did the math, and made that her father was probably about 43 years old. Meaning, he wasn’t born when the Stones song I listened to on the car radio on the way to the coffee shop was released (“Wild Horses”, 1970). Curious, I asked her if she knew who the Stones were. Yes, she said. She knew them because Dad was a fan. His older brother had introduced him to them after their parents introduced the Stones to the older brother. All this made me think that her grandparents were probably just a few years older than me.
And all of this is so right and fine, and amusing.
Today is January 23, 2024, and Tuesday. I awoke to a rich blue sky and booming morning sun. First time I’ve seen a rosy sunrise this year. The temperature was 39 F then but it’s already climbed to 52 F. Word is, 66 F might be reached. Super.
Tucker and I saw a hummingbird flitting around our bushes this morning when we went out onto the front porch. While I enjoy this stimulating clear, warm, weather, we need the snow on the mountains to survive the summer, so come on, nature. Give us snow in the mountains. Snow could become possible, my optimistic Neurons declared. Clouds are expected to steal in, and in fact can now be seen creeping over the southern mountains. So, rain can come, and cold temperatures can return, and snow can fall. Tick, tick, we’ll see.
Three pieces of political news struck me today. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t hard and didn’t bruise.) First up, Jamell Bouie’s simple observation in his NYTimes column.
DeSantis also refused to contest Trump’s election denialism, a choice that almost guaranteed his failure in the primaries. Can you seriously position yourself as a winner and Trump as a loser when the consensus of the voters you are seeking to win is that Trump didn’t lose?
So real; why do Republicans believe anything can change so long as they support Trump’s Big Lie? No evidence has been presented; it is simply his bombastic declaration it is so, and a legion of sycophants saying, “Yep, yep, yep, it’s true.” So bizarre, they are in that party, and getting more so.
Next, we had Rep. Pete Stauber (R). The government is financing a bridge to replace the Blatnick Bridge. Rep Stauber is crowing with pride for the bridge, these monies, and this plan, even though he voted against it. This is a common GOP tactic, and he got called out for his duplicity by many folk. Whether it’ll keep him from being re-elected is another matter; many voters have limited vision when it comes to their guy.
Finally, in this trifecta of info, the Doomsday Clock has been updated for 2024 and it’s still ninety seconds to midnight, the closest to midnight that it’s been since it was begun in June of 1947. The thinkers behind it point to threats posed by AI, climate change, and potential nuclear war. Don’t worry, though; we’re an intelligent, sophisticated species and are capable of thinking through these problems, arriving at effective solutions, and then implementing them. Yeah. Sure. (Yes, that is sarcasm.)
Enough of that stuff. To the music! I have the Rolling Stones’ song of 1966 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark doomed), “Mother’s Little Helper”. Reading and thinking about people’s health issues, I muttered something to myself about getting old. Les Neurons pounced. Although “Mother’s Little Helper” is about the drugs being prescribed to and abused by women in the 1960s, there’s a repeated line in the song, “What a drag it is getting old.” Yes, indeed, it can be a drag.
BTW, today marks the anniversary of the day in 1957 when the Pluto Platter inventor sold his product to Wham-o, who changed its name to Frisbee and began selling it.
Stay pos, be strong, lean way forward and vote for progress. My cells are already soaking in coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 