Tuesday has slid in safe on October 8, 2024. Autmer continues holding the skies. Temp now feels like it’s 65 F but it’s only 56 F. What kind of madness is the weather doing to us, making the temperature feel so different from its actual temp? Makes me suspicious of the weather. Next thing you know, it’ll be raining but will feel like snow. Or it’ll be snowing or it’ll feel like sun.
The high will reach for the upper seventies and maybe get to the low eighties. Depends on its reach. Who knows what it’ll feel like? I think it’ll feel pretty good, no matter what the final temp. That range is ideal to me. Sky is again solidly blue. Yellow and red leaves are drifting from trees. The mood is shifting toward fall. People are decorating their houses for Halloween. So really get into it, but we’re more circumspect.
The price of candy is shocking us. My wife pointed it out at BiMart the other day: 5 pounds of candy for almost $40. Wow! Costco has 30 candy bars on sale for $32. Like, those are crazy prices to the boy who first began buying candy bars as a nickel treat. A nickel now won’t get you within smelling distance of the wrapper.
But this is change’s nature. Older friends talk in amazed tones about how the housing prices have changed. One was offered the chance to buy 6 acres for $50 grand decades ago. The deal outraged him. “Are you crazy?” he asked his friend. “I thought you were giving me a deal.”
“That is a deal,” the friend replied.
My buddy eventually bought a decade later for much, much more. Divided into quarter acre lots, those lots were now going $20 to $50 grand each. Things change, and prices are part of it.
Since I’m on my box and ranting, used to be that I got a haircut for one dollar. One dollar! Now I exit $25 to $30 lighter.
Housing, of course, is center stage in the price debate. Out here, ‘affordable housing’ is jumping over $200 to $300 K. Solution: built more housing. Problem: land. Water. Infrastructure. Rising costs of building more getting pushed further up by the rising need to build more.
Like many, I’m watching Hurricane Milton ploughing toward Florida. Was a cat 5 but has weakened to a 4 and may be a 3 before it hits, thank goodness. Fingers crossed.
Forgot to mention the SOU Pride Parade which took place the other day. I was kept from attending by other plans but I hear it went well. Here’s a link to the Ashland.news coverage with some pix. We also didn’t attend the OSF Gala but we heard from friends who didn’t attend that it was fun and raised $750 K for the festival’s 100 year celebration coming up.
We’re down to 28 days until election day. 28 days. We could make a movie about it. Call it “28 Days” or “28 Days Later”.
Thinking of that gap from here to there and the waiting, news, campaigning and hyperbole which must be endured encouraged The Neurons to fire up Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. “The Waiting” from 1981 is rolling through the morning mental music stream (Trademark delayed). Wikipedia’s entry quotes Petty as being inspired by something Janis Jopin said.
Frontman Tom Petty explained that the song’s title was inspired by a quote from fellow musician Janis Joplin, who once said of touring, “I love being onstage and everything else is just waiting.”[4] He recalled:
That’s where I think I got it from … [Roger] McGuinn swears that he said it to me. Maybe he did. I don’t think so. I think I got it from the Janis Joplin quote. That’s where it stuck in my mind. I don’t think she said, ‘The waiting is the hardest part,’ but it was something to that effect: ‘Everything else is just waiting.’ And so that’s where that came from.
Got me to thinking…imagine Tom Petty and Janis Joplin performing live together. Would that have been cool or what?
Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue in 2024. Coffee has cast its magic in me. Here’s the music. Cheers
A front has driven in, strewning clouds of different complexities over Ashlandia, giving us variables in lights, shadows, temperatures, and expectations. Sumumn still holds but it’s beginning to look like autmer as trees flirt with new colors in their leaves. Only dropped to the high fifties last night, and today’s high temperature will spank 90 degrees F.
This is Monday, September 23, 2024. You understand that 2024’s ninth month is closing out and there are but 94 days until Kwanzaa, 93 days until Christmas, and 93 days until Hanukkah? There’s also only 43 days until the U.S.’s 2024 elections. Things are getting tight.
Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) inspired today’s musical choice, although coffee contributed. Having indulged in my first hit of black goodness, I saw Tucker came out from eating. Moving slow, his eyes were mostly closed and his tongue was busy going over his whiskes and mouth. Sitting, he commenced to watching.
That’s when The Neurons or somebody caused me to sing, “Tucker. I just fed a kitty named Tucker.” This was done to the tune of “Blue Jean” by David Bowie. Right after that, the 1984 song fired up in my morning mental music stream (Trademark dished). It’s a catchy little Bowie number, jaunty with memorable lines which don’t convey any great depths. How did he do that?
Stay positive, confident, and strong. Lean forward and vote blue in 2024. Coffee has been served in the office; here’s the music. Cheers
The pendulum is swinging. It’s Friday, August 30, 2024, and the hours of daylight have noticeably reduced. It’s an advantage at sun soars through blue cloudless skies, working with the air to lift the temperature next to triple digits during the day, like 97 F today. But then the clear skies and longer night lets the temps skivvy down to the upper fifties, delivering relief. Slips of autumn have climbed back into my life. Some maples have shifted into fall fashions. Starbucks is offering fall drinks. School is back is session at every level locally. And football is again rolling across TV screens, carrying news through feeds.
But first: we must get through Labor Day. In the U.S., we have the bookend holidays of Memorial Day and Labor Day. To many, MD marks summer’s unofficial beginning, and LD is the unofficial end.
I read several news articles in depth this morning. One was about how Republicans have softened their climate change stance. They rarely outright deny it these days. I guess that with so much extreme weather killing and maiming our world, they recognize that they look and sound like fools when they do. Instead, they like to problemtize the solutions which Democrats — and much of the world — recommends. Like moving to more sustainable forms such as wind and solar. No, these caus more problems, they inform their constituents, even as they lie about what’s happening.
Last day of my theme of time in the song’s title. As many of age and are forced to cope with changes, we lament the same thing. The Neurons brought the song that asks the question into the morning mental music stream (Trademark timed): “Where Have All the Good Times Gone?” It originally popped onto the rock music scene in the hands of the Kinks in 1965. It’s since been covered by a chunk of performers, most notably Bowie and Van Halen. But I stayed with the Kinks for this day. Ray Davies of the Kinks wrote it and said in an interview:
“We’d been rehearsing ‘Where Have All the Good Times Gone’ and our tour manager at the time, who was a lot older than us, said, ‘That’s a song a 40-year-old would write. I don’t know where you get that from.’ But I was taking inspiration from older people around me. I’d been watching them in the pubs, talking about taxes and job opportunities.”
Sunshine glistens, highlighting white clouds with plump blue and gray muscles, cutting through the chilly air like a friendly furnace. A Cooper’s Hawk judges the human traffic from a high-wire act. Three blackbirds start an overhead interaction from different compass points, pulling my attention with their fervor. Flying toward a central tree, they posture on naked branches. Intense chatter explodes. Stopping, I eavesdrop to see what I can learn. One spreads their wings, exposing large white coins on their wing’s bottom, and offers a short, shrill, impassioned speech that silences the others. The three depart in relative silence but flap away in the same direction. Some accommodation seems at hand.
Around the corner, a crow sits in a high bare oak branch, black against a blue sky, beaking on about his world assessments. Further on, a robin preaches from the top of a sagging brown wooden fence protecting a yard.
Spring might be coming, if you believe the bird gossip.
Just the facts, folks: 47 F and sunny. This is Sunday, October 29, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the marijuana is local and above average. We’ll be in low sixties as our high point today but all that sunshine and blue sky makes it bracing and invigorating. Across the street, the huge, very old maple remains festooned with golden brown leaves. Soaked in sunlight, standing tall against blue sky, the tree seems majestic and steadying.
Stepping out with the cats, though, a determined northern wind delivers the taste and smell of winter. Papi, the ginger blade, still launches himself into the outdoors, foraging for summer for a bit before returning to the house’s protection and surrendering to the change. Tucker, the older black and white fellow, has probably felt the change in his bones and tucks for more sleep on the bed.
Once again, so many, many dreams. They leave me thinking and sometimes typing to understand what I’m thinking. Altogether, they were convulsive, erratic pastiche of experiences with a huge cast of people. What a trip they were.
After the latest US mass shooting — Lewiston, Maine, a forty-year-old shooter, 18 dead, dozens injured — I’d been thinking about the world’s state. Wars, greed, selfishness, and the rise of white supremacy, antisemitism, racism, sexism complicates our fragile existence on this rock. A small but growing number of people seem to think that the answers to our complex problems are in the past. Some claim that it’s all about God and religious and cites things like Christianity and religion as the answer, even as their behavior toward their fellow humans often stands starkly opposite of Christianity’s tenets against greed and for helping your fellow human.
Between the dreams and the the world’s state, The Neurons ended up plating up “Helter Skelter” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark comical). The Beatles wrote and released the song in 1968. One of their hardest rockers, the song became associated with Charles Manson and the murders committed in his name in 1969 in Los Angeles, CA. With that, the song has become embedded with ideas of chaos and destruction.
That’s true with me. I originally thought of it as a druggy come on about sex, based on the words about going up and coming down, then doing it again. The drug part arrives on the song’s feelig of changing moods and disorder.
And there we are: disorder. That’s how I see us now. Polarized and disordered, confused as a civilization about where we’re going and even where we want to go.
Ah, sorry for the pessimistic vibes. Maybe coffee will save me. Be strong and positive, and keep leaning forward. Here’s the music, a recording of a live version of Paul, without the rest of the Beatles. Cheers
April 14, 2023 emerged, handsome in a classic spring style, blue skies, soft air, an icy flair in his demeanor. “I shall call myself Rideday,” he said. “Cuz I will go on a ride. I will ride until the day’s end. I will let it ride.” So Rideday it is.
The mark was marked 6:29 this morning when the sun bathed Ashlandia with its first rushes. Earth plans to move us from the sun at 7:52 this evening. Though it’s 38 F now, the weather counters say we’ll see 68 F before Earth does its thing. No precipitation is planned although clouds plan a surprise appearance.
The latest intel leak disturbs me. Worked with classified materials in almost of all my twenty-plus year military career. War plans, comm crypto, launch codes, and intel from all manner of source. Never talked to people outside those with a need to know and clearance. Never photographed any or it or took it home. Didn’t even freaking consider it. But some idiot decides I’m going to take some home and photograph it and share it with my online friends. WTF, over?
The thing about our system, while we have checks and balances, it mostly depends on people knowing, understanding, and enforcing the rules. Then it depends upon their integrity and ethics. We’ve seen this approach several times this year. First, by a former POTUS who doesn’t want to give it up, who twists all the guidance to make it seem like he’s done nothing wrong. Then, by a POTUS who, in previous capacities, left the classified elsewhere and forget it. Now we have someone who wanted to impress friends.
I can understand some of the first — it’s his personality — and the second, though both piss me off. But the third? I’ve heard of people leaking classified for ideological and financial reasons but this is new one is an ugly low. Been a bad few years for classified. I will tell you this: much of the classified I saw during my years was overclassified. Much of it was pretty damn boring. Like, what the Apollo astronauts were eating for breakfast, which was almost verbatim given on the news before I saw the docs that day. Don’t worry, it’s been declassified.
The weather view outside the window stirred The Neurons. They said, “I got a song for this.” No shit, I answered. “Surprise me.”
They did.
After rummaging through the brain, they came up with one from 1969. By a group called Vanity Fare, the song is “Early in the Morning”. I laughed when they plugged it into the morning mental music stream. Don’t think I heard it in decades. Not the sort of sound which generally attracted me, it was one of those ubiquitous AM staples back in that era. I think more people are familiar with Vanity Fare’s other song, “Hitchin’ A Ride”.
Well, be a pos peep today and every day. Know it’s tough sometimes. I feel it, too. I don’t just coffee up and power on, but indulge in some self-pity and self-examination, dribble a few sighs, and then coffee up and move on. Or try. Sometimes, moving on is an event.
The first came to me in red and black. It was all seen in silhouettes. As short and simple as its color palette, I was going for a run. Going less than twenty to thirty yards, I encountered a force field which wouldn’t let me go further. Annoyed, I turned and ran back the other way, past my house, only to be stopped by another force field. Three times this happened. At that point dream thinking burbled up, I’m not supposed to go further. I guess ‘they’ want me to stay home to get better. Wait, am I sick?
After awakening and pondering that one for a few dark minutes, I rolled back into sleep and to another dream. In this one, I wore a blue and white checked shirt with blue jeans. A teenager, I was visiting a girl, blonde, bubbly, friendly. I was attracted to her, so this was essentially the early days of courting to see if she had any interest in me.
She became friendly and flirtatious. We didn’t kiss or anything, but I went home pleased and then returned the next day. At the end of this visit, it was suggested that I stay the night there as a precaution against something going on that wasn’t clear. I wasn’t real comfortable with that but the girl and her Mom convinced me. Stripping down to my undies, I slept on their game room sofa. The game room was essential a finished basement. After spending the night, I dressed, thinking that I’d go back home now. But no, the girl had plans for the day. We stayed at her house but I only saw her off and on.
Now I was becoming concerned about her father. He’d been gone but was now back. I didn’t relish encountering him in the early morning, especially in clothes which I’d been wearing for several days while trying to get romantic with his daughter. Instead of leaving the game room, I stayed down there in hiding. By now I’d convinced myself that I needed to get home and was plotting how to sneak away.
Guests arrived. I eavesdropped, learning that they were neighboring women who were friends with the mother. It was mentioned in passing that I was staying there. I guessed that something had happened at my house and this was a ruse to keep me here. They all agreed that I was a ‘very nice boy, very smart and kind’, and that this was better for me. Wanting to know what was going on, I slipped out and headed home through a sunsplashed fall day where all the trees had already lost their leaves. The change of season was a surprise; I thought it was summer.
A carillon chimes the hour. The sun gives it a warm shoulder. She always works her own hours. Two deer digest, still except for ear flicks against flies and shifts to identify sounds. Blue-eyed and black faced, a long-haired blond feline assesses the day and listens to a woodpecker beat out a love sonnet on a wooden utility pole. Acorn treasure in mouth, a squirrel flicks a bushy gray tail and trots along a red-brick wall as two black and blue scrub jays hop across the green grass below him. A warm zephyr dries off forehead sweat and whispers close to ear, “Welcome to autumn.”
Michael Seidel, writer 