Ashland, southern Oregon. Monday, August 24, 2026.
Damn hot today: 100 F, but it feels warmer. A red flag warning is in effect. We are expected to cool down again on Wednesday.
I’m off to a late start, courtesy of some animal fight at 2 AM. Woke us up. Went out, gathered our critter, who came in all puffy tailed, although he didn’t seem to be involved.
We decided to keep the cat in. That ignited his determination to go back out. Everything was done to convey that determination: beating on the door, meowing, beating on me. I finally succumbed after an hour and granted freedom. Then, though, I worried: was the cat safe? AAARGH!
I didn’t get up until after nine and had some calls scheduled which proved to be time sucks. Then, off to shower, dress, coffee and writing. Now I’m back home. Just finished lunch, finally posting the theme music.
Really, it’s my own fault for 1) having a cat and 2) for letting the cat worry and control me.
That led to “Wrapped Around Your Finger” in my morning mental music stream. This is a 1983 song by The Police. Charted around the world, so you may have heard it before.
I don’t usually keep my phone near me when I’m in bed. Had a lifetime in the military, along with my time in marketing. People always wanted me immediately available.
Well, no longer! It’s one of the declarations of independence I made when I retired from all that work stuff. The phone stays in the other room.
Except, yesterday, it didn’t. I wasn’t feeling well. My car was in the shop for routine maintenance. I was waiting for them to call or text to tell me it was ready. So I had the phone on my nightstand.
They called about four-ish, asking if they could keep it overnight. No, nothing major found; they were just short-handed and overscheduled.
Shrugging it off, I agreed, sure. “Call me in the morning when it’s ready.”
I went back to sleep, off and on, and forgot about the phone.
Until six AM this morning.
The phone pinged with a message. In irritation, I thought, sisters. That was more a matter of my mood than anything. My sisters have habits of getting up early and sending texts early. They’re on the east coast of the US, so they’re three hours ahead of me. Texts that they’re sending at 8 AM are pinging on my phone at 5 AM.
But it wasn’t my sisters.
Nor was it the car repair shop.
No, it was Google Health, formerly known as Fitbit.
Google Health pinged me awake at 6 AM to tell me that I didn’t have a good night of sleep.
Cloudy and 39F outside, dry with a high of 52 F projected.
This post is mostly about me and Mom. Pings erupted in the middle of the night. Mom had launched a text blitz, and the sisters were sharing and discussing them. I read many and saw it basically as the same old, same old on every front. One sister had helped Mom by picking things up at her house; another had responded, telling Mom that she’d created this living situation mess.
Meanwhile, searching for info and thinking late last night, I hunted for more about Heritage Grove, the assisted living facility where Mom now lives. I found this photo on their Facebook page. That’s Mom, the 90 year-old in the front left in pink in the ‘drive’ wheelchair. She’d won a Snickers bar at bingo.
Returning to sleep after the text barrage was a challenge. I finally slept but awoke when I thought I heard a man saying, “There’s a fire.” There was no man there and the house was silent. I rose, though, and walked through the house, trying to see if I smelled smoke or saw sparks or flames. Then back to bed, back to sleep, but ended up getting up late. Just eating breakfast now, 10:30, two hours late. Bah, humbug.
While I was awake in the night, I thought about yesterday’s news.
Trump urges Australia to give Iran’s Asian Cup players asylum
The story quoted Trump saying on Truth social, “Australia is making a terrible humanitarian mistake by allowing the Iran National Woman’s Soccer team to be forced back to Iran, where they will most likely be killed.”
Damn it, the only people he’s fooling are his unthinking supporters and the uninformed. This is the same person who has Homeland Security and ICE rounding people up and sending them anywhere he could get away with sending them, without one damn thought about whether they’d be killed. In the process of rounding up people and shipping them out, people were actually and being killed. And Trump always, always blamed the victims, labeling them as domestic terrorists, criminals, or thugs.
The NYTimes headline was from last October. Since then, the Iranian government killed thousands of people. And, were any of those people Trump flew back to Iran in 2025 killed when Trump bombed them in 2026?
It all has me shaking my head.
Which carries me into theme song territory. The Neurons came up with “Helen Wheels.” To which I responded, what?
The Paul McCartney & Wings song is about Paul’s Land Rover and driving around. How did it fit into my mind?
Well, it hinged on two salient aspects: “Ain’t nobody else gonna know the way she feels.” And yep, that’s Mom and life with Mom at this point. It’s a mystery. And the other part is the long-sigh “bye buh” I feel toward what’s happening with Mom, especially with my sisters.
The upbeat song feels like it’s driving me forward, pulling me off the night’s inertia.
I hope your day is going well, wherever you are, whatever you doing. May peace and grace nestle up against your efforts and help you move forward.
Our first snowfall of the season has arrived. 32 F, about 3 inches have accumulated in my area. Heavier accumulations are expected in the mountains, but much more is needed. We depend on the snowbanks for our summer water.
It’s a pretty scene out there. At this temperature and elevation, heavy, fat flakes fall without stop. We’re expected to warm up to 41 today and the snow is forecast to become rain. Temperatures tonight are projected to drop into the upper twenties, and more snow is possible.
Speaking for himself, Papi offered a disdainful sniff and found a place inside to groom.
I had my best night sleep in days last, and my mind moves through concerns. My cold is winding down, as expected for day 6. Only one nostril is blocked, no sinus pressure is felt, and the violent sneezes that left my abdomen sore have subsided.
My wife asked yesterday, “Which is worse, cold pain or your oral surgery pain?”
Oh, easy, the cold by far. I feel next to nothing from the oral surgery. The surgical team did a good job. I still have stitches, but they’ll fall out on their own.
My wife’s cold seemed to be gone by Sunday. I had it worse than her but for both it was an upper respiratory infection.
Mom’s situation has occupied me more than my health and weather. After her suicide attempt on Saturday, we had a mandatory stay put on her for evaluation. A psychiatrist reversed that yesterday and the hospital said she could be discharged.
It seemed like the hospital was falling short in several areas. Mom was supposed to be evaluated for 72 hours for mental health and physical issues. They also said they had to wait to see if her urine tested negative for infections, which was supposed to be four days. Their rushed timeline alarmed us.
Besides Mom’s health, we have questions over where she will live and how she’ll get care. Yesterday involved phone calls and texts, trying to sort information and get answers. Today we have more methodical movement.
Essentially, because no family members would pick Mom up, the hospital was forced to house her again. It’s a painful way to say it but that’s the truth.
Physical and occupational therapists evaluated her today. They recommend assisted living or a skilled nursing home for Mom. The social worker seemed remote and disengaged yesterday. Today, she provided recommendations and contacts for finding housing and assistance for Mom.
Venting a little, I foresaw this years ago and tried getting Mom into a better place but she, bolstered by Frank’s presence, didn’t want to address it. Now it’s a crisis. It could have gone so much better, but yes, I know, it’s an emotional issue for most of us. I worry that I’ll be like Mom if I have to make such decisions in my future.
I’m hopeful that with the focus on Mom, we’ll finally get her somewhere that can provide her with satisfactory arrangement. An agency has been contacted to work out the arrangements to see what Mom wants and needs, and review the financial part. It’s progress.
Dad’s wife reached out to me yesterday via text. He was writing Christmas cards when he suddenly became ill and died. The cards were never sent.
His wife told me that he loved doing the cards each year, which surprised me, and that his card to me and my wife was in the mail. I think it sweet of him and her extra effort moves me.
In other focus areas, I’m concerned with the different military buildups happening around the world. More war machines are being shifted to the Arctic area. Additional U.S. troops are in Africa in advisory and training capacities. History shows that such involvement can easily rise into armed conflicts.
It’s a great concern with Trump. When Americans — two military members and a translator — were killed by ISIS, Trump ordered attacks in December. Operation Hawkeye Strike against 70 ISIS targets in Syria was conducted in early days but the military campaign is still active.
Just as worrying, a second U.S. carrier group is being sent to that region. It seems like the world is moving from trying diplomatic channels to manage disagreements to using military force.
Finally, to complete the circle of concerns, got my auto insurance bill yesterday. Premiums jumped $50, adding to our general affordability worries.
Jumping onto the idea of circles, The Neurons ordered some Billy Preston. “Will It Go Round in Circles” from 1973 is playing in the morning mental music stream. I also enjoy the song’s musical intricacies, and the lyrics make me grin. Here’s my favorite part.
Lyrics
I’ve got a dance I ain’t got no steps, no I’m gonna let the music move me around I’ve got a dance I ain’t got no steps I’m gonna let the music move me around
Yes, just let the music move me around.
Now I got my coffee. I had a cup yesterday, first since my surgery, but today, I’m drinking it hot out of the pot.
Hope your day finds a groove that takes you to a place where peace and grace join you and makes your life a little better.
Promises Compromises Dreams And schemes Guidance And directions Beginnings And endings Are the things we seek and give Looking and feeling Stumbling toward our best To be And live Falling down Getting up Sipping coffee And drinks Sleeping Waking Trying it all again
We’re back home. Vacation is over. Taps was played at midnight to signify the last vacay day was done.
My wife reports she had a great bath and great night’s sleep. She prefers her own fixtures and bed. I slept well at both places. This place is far noisier. By 8 AM, garbage trucks, lawn equipment, and woodchippers were eagerly stressing the silence with their grinding, whirling, and groaning. I heard people walking by on the street speaking. One told her friend about their other friend’s birthday. Another woman was on her cell telling the neighborhood that her car was in the shop and needed a new starter, with additional complaints about this car, a Honda Civic. Airplanes, probably looking for lightning fires, droned overhead. Dogs and crows kept up commentary. Maybe my wife missed all the noise.
Hearing my wife speak about me, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I slept well. From her tales, my superpower is the ability to sleep anywhere, through anything.
It’s now Twozda. We’ll be lowering the flag on another month of 2025 soon, as this is August 26, 2025. It’ll be in the upper 90s here in Ashlandia.
I wish we were lowering the flag on Trump and his administration. The Offal Office dunce keeps displaying his tyrannical streak and wide-ranging ignorance. He can speak ignorantly about everything and anything, doing so eagerly and willingly at every fart of the wind. States have no rights unless they fall in line with his corkscrew thinking. In his latest attacks on our checks and balances, he and his administration sued judges because they keep ruling against him. This, according to them, is bad, because he is the POTUS. Man, that sickens and shames me to write that. Had to swallow some breakfast back down. The way he acts and from his representatives’ speech, they lack interest or comprehension in the three branches of the Federal government. Trump as POTUS is the only Federal office, and Trump as POTUS is the only person with any skills or leadership, to hear them tell it. To the rest of us, he has no skills, and his leadership is like a turd swirling down the toilet’s throat when the commode is flushed.
Papi the magnificent ginger boi who graces me with his presence cheered me up this AM. Chirps and purrs were exchanged with treats and petting. What a sweetheart. I credit him with setting me right and reminding me to live in the moment. The reminder stirred The Neurons to dig into their chambers and pull up a 2018 song by Portugal. The Man called “Live in the Moment”. As it played in the morning mental music stream, I pet my boi and sang along to him. He quickly bored of this and crossed the room to settle down and watch me from a more comfortable distance.
Coffee has restored me to the moment. Hope grace and peace feed your moments today and every day. Here we go again. Cheers
I’m curious about life before life. I’m curious about how life began. I’m curious about how our planet will end.
I’m curious about why we exist, if we exist.
I’m curious about reality.
I’m curious about what my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were like as children. I’m curious about how my ancestors came to the United States. I’m curious about their lives before then.
I’m curious about life on Mars and other planets. I’m curious about the nature of the universe, the nature of energy, the nature of time, and quantum physics.
I’m curious about what is faster than the speed of light and if we will ever find that out.
I’m curious about what life would be like on an atom.
I’m curious about Zeno’s Paradox and other paradoxes and thought experiments.
I’m curious about how technology affects our brains and societies.
I’m curious about what life was like on Earth three thousand years ago.
I’m curious about what we’ll be like in another thousand years.
I’m curious about the dark side of the moon and the far side of the galaxy.
I’m curious about Earth’s first years.
I’m curious about the psychology of people. I’m curious about why the wealthy and powerful want or need more wealth and power. I’m curious about what causes such hatred in some people and why anger and hatred drive people to kill others. I’m curious about why others can be so indifferent to people’s suffering and children starving.
I’m curious about what it is that makes some people so brilliant.
I’m curious about why I struggle to remember scientific words.
I’m curious about charisma.
I’m curious about how the human body works, and how animal bodies work, and fish and birds and plants.
I’m curious about what rocks think and remember.
I’m curious about why we need to sleep and why we dream.
I’m curious about what my dreams mean.
I’m curious about what my cats are thinking when they look at me.
I’m curious about what my wife is thinking, feeling, planning, and remembering. I’m curious about what she really thinks of me.
I’m curious about why art, music, and literature can move me so deeply.
I’m curious about why I like coffee so much.
I’m curious about why I and others are driven to write fiction and tell stories.
I’m curious about the truth behind our world history.
I’m curious about what happened to Atlantis and other ancient places and peoples.
I’m curious about mystery spots and the illusions behind them.
I’m curious about what makes some people so wildly successful while other talented people work hard and remain in the shadows.
I’m curious about fate and destiny and the future and the past.
I’m curious about what the first people who looked up and saw stars thought.
I’m curious about why, what, how, and when.
Other than that, I remain a pretty incurious person.
Mom participates in a sleep study once a month. An emphysema sufferer, she wears a mask at night with a machine that helps her breathe.
This study, though, I don’t know. Full disclosure: I’m not a sleep expert. Fuller disclosure: I’m not an expert in anything. But from a point of view that I have lived a bit, I question the quality of the sleep study. They have her turn up three hours before her normal bedtime. Then they require all the participants to sleep in their clothes. This idea is so they can get up and leave faster in the morning.
About the morning. They wake the sleep participants up at 5 AM to scoot them out the door. And, Mom complains that they keep the place freezing cold and don’t provide anyone with enough blankets. Not much sleeping is done, Mom says.
Again, I’m not an expert, but it sounds like this sleep study is in the deep throes of full-on enshittification.
Michael Seidel, writer 