The cycles of life came in the mail. Credit card invitations when he was young. Cable and Internet deals in his middle age. House and window cleaning services as he aged, followed by landscaping and financial planning, then house-painting and payday loans.
As he reached his mid-fifties, AARP became friendly, as did companies like Prudential, offering planning assistance, worrying if he was saving enough for retirement. Cruise and vacation suggestions came every week. Everyone became concerned about his estate and his will. Hearing-aid flyers were frequently received. Then came funeral and cremation services, with coupons and discounts!
Reaching his mid-sixties brought flyers and letters for Medicare plans. Of course, every two years through it all were pieces from politicians, PACs, and political parties asking for a little money, pleading their cases, railing against one another, and demanding change.
Coming with weekly persistence regardless of the year or his age were advertisements from his local stores, catering to the holidays and time of year.
Fondly he remembered his past mail as he perused the latest offering from an assisted living residence and dropped it into the recycling bin, letting his imagination run wild about what his future mail would bring.
Young again, my wife and I were visiting a town. Resplendent with cobblestones and old stone buildings, but in a warm environment by a large body of water, it seemed like this we were somewhere in southern Europe by the Mediterranean. A fair or festival was getting underway. Entertainment and food booths had been set up. It was briskly busy, in a pleasant way, with people enjoying themselves and one another but not so many people that moving around was difficult.
I went into a business, to a counter to make reservations for three couples. Entering, I had to follow a path prescribed by a red velvet rope, as used in theaters, and go through several checkpoints. I was a little confused about what I was doing and why, calling out to clarify and confirm it with my wife. But, yes, I was reserving three hotel rooms for six people. While this was going on, people were asking me to watch out for something I was carrying on my back. I never saw this thing in the dream but knew it was a large piece of art. The man behind the counter warned me (but in a friendly way) to watch that I didn’t break anything as I moved around, as they had glasswork hanging from the ceiling. There was much joking about all of this.
Back outside, my wife mentioned that friends said they’d been successful just getting two and a half rooms. That made no sense to me, so I asked her to repeat it. We went through this three times. As this happened, we were holding hands and walking up a hill on a cobblestone street. A man with a red bike joined us. A stranger, he was somewhat famous, and very good looking, with fine, Latina features. His English was accented but he spoke it well. He was walking his bicycle up the hill as he spoke with us, but then got on it and rode straight up the hill. As the hill was steadily steeper, his riding was impressive, especially when he did a wheelie and went up half the hill on only his back wheel. As he reached the top, my wife and I turned around to walk back down. We were talking and sightseeing while all this was transpiring.
The guy with the bike dismounted from it as he reached us and started walking his bike again, but he didn’t speak with us. He veered off, staying in parallel, and then released his bike. To our amazement, the bike stayed upright and wheeled ahead, but stayed with the guy, like the bike was a well-trained pet. His bike was red before but now it was black, puzzling me. Had I seen it wrong before, or did he change bikes?
Then, though, the man started slowing down to look at things. As he did, the bike sped up. I pointed this out to my wife; the man was paying no attention to his bike. We watched in astonishment as it went straight down the hill, crossed the busy street, and then stopped and stood still and upright in the sunshine.
Good morning. Today is Tuesday, August 24, 2021. We’re into August’s last legs. September begins next week. Autum will take over in a few weeks. 2022 is hurtling toward us with comet speed.
Sunrise and sunset are 6:28 AM and 8:08 PM, respectively. Temps are lower. Just 60 F now. Expect mid-80s by the mid-afternoon.
We’re back to reality. Back home. In Ashland. Spent a week on the Oregon coast. Drove home yesterday. Coming south/east, smoke took over as the dominate feature, rendering trees and mountains into sketchy outlines, killing breathability, locking out blue sky and sunshine. Oregon, 2021: another year of smoke.
Yardwork needs tending. I’ll put on a mask and do it, though philosophical reservations pummel me. Is having a pretty yard really so critical when attaining it means risking your health. Hell, no, of course not. But, property values, the marketing forces reply. Image and impressions. Some suggest, hire someone. Sure, take advantage of another’s weak financial security and force them to sacrifice their health. Makes sense. Ah, but their choice, right? And they need the money. And there is capitalism’s doom loom in its essence.
The boys — Tucker, Boo, and Papi — are happy to have us back. Lot of love time spent with each yesterday. Heads were scratched. Purrs were issued. Comforting was done.
Had the Animals song, “It’s My Life”, in my mental music stream this morning. “Comedown” by Bush. Then Duran Duran replaced those with “Ordinary World”. Somehow, Lost Frequencies came through from 2015 with “Reality”. Just a matter of words with this light tune, really:
Decisions as I go to anywhere I flow Sometimes I believe, at times I’m rational I can fly high, I can go low Today I got a million, tomorrow I don’t know
Stop claiming what you own, don’t think about the show We’re all playing the same game, waiting on our loan We’re unknown and known, special and a clone Hate will make you cautious, love will make you glow
Make me feel the warmth, make me feel the cold It’s written in our stories, it’s written on the walls This is our call, we rise and we fall Dancing in the moonlight, don’t we have it all?
Yes, I’m all over the map this AM. Happy to be home. Sad to be away from the ocean. Relieved my fur friends and home are okay. Appalled by the state of the air, the extended drought, the multitude of wildfires. Depressed by the break in routine, the inability to saunter to a coffee shop to write (see Air Quality, COVID-19 restrictions), humble that I have a life where I can make such choices.
Reality can be great. It can also suck. At the same time.
Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the vax. Have some coffee. Or tea. Wine. Whatever. Enjoy the music. Cheers
The daily cycle has commenced again. The beat goes on. Monday, Monday. Sunrise, sunset. Here we go again.
Hello! Welcome to Monday, August 23, 2021. Sunrise in Florence, Oregon, was at 6:29 AM in a clear pale blue sky, a sunrise of hope and optimism. Sunset will come at 8:08 PM. It’s 52 in Florence now but it will be 72 later today. Should be beautiful. But we’ll be on the road. Heading home. Ashland. Current temp there is 58. High is forecast to be 85. Air quality has improved, but it’s poor — 69. Still, it’s home for all that it implies, with its failing and securities, comforts and frustrations. Home. Such a four-letter word.
Unimaginatively, many home songs scale my brain. Home, sweet home, I’m on my way. Just set me free. Home, sweet home. And road songs. On the road again. Just can’t wait to get on the road again. But I’m also thinking, ain’t that a shame? Ain’t that a shame that I must leave this lovely place and ain’t that a shame that more people can’t live better lives? That we can’t find and sustain a better balance between nature and humanity’s endeavors? So I’m playing “Ain’t That A Shame” by Cheap Trick in the morning mental stream. I know Fats Domino was first with it. Great version. But I’m rocking today.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Cheers
Good afternoon. Today is 8/19/2021. Thursday. Still on the Oregon coast. Having a late start because, issues. See, we’re on vacation with others. Everything must be done by committee. With great discussions. Great reluctance for others to make a decision. Want to come to consensus, whether it’s to take a walk, drive someplace, or eat something. “You’re eating something now? What is that you’re eating? Well, are we all going to eat now? Is anyone else hungry now?”
Beautiful weather, thought. Sunrise stole in over the coastal mountains at 6:25 AM. Expect it to slip out over the Pacific’s horizon at 8:15 PM. Temperatures are expected to top out at 68 degrees F. Light sea breeze blowing. Beautiful, you know?
Today’s morning crises was about kayak tie-down straps. One was failing on our friends’ car. New one required. Where can we find it? A hard target search commenced. Meanwhile, other shopping was indulged. Crackers. Cheese. Drat, forgot to procure another bottle of wine. I’m doomed. Must endure with beer. Alas. Took us two hours of searching stores and talking to people to find that strap. Fortunately, I had a large coffee with me to help me cope. Coffee. Good for what ails you.
While I was there, my mind began singing a variation of the Eurythmics song. “Would I Lie to You?” became “Would I Shop with You?” That’s because of that verse that goes, “Watch me walking, walking out the door.” It morphed into “Watch me shopping, shopping in the store.” Then, to amuse myself, I created other verses as critical discussions regarding what chocolate to buy was raised and engaged.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Watch me typing, typing up this post. Cheers
Well, haven’t been writing. Not on paper. Or computer. Have been writing in my head.
My wife wanted (needed, she claims) a vacation. COVID-19, you know. Sheltering with me, you know. And the cats. She thought she was going a little crazy.
Her sister called. Hey, she and her boyfriend were coming west. His children (and his children’s children) live on the west coast. He hadn’t seen them for almost two years except on Zoom. So. Would we like to meet up in Seattle? The boyfriend’s son lives in Kent and the boyfriend lived in Seattle for years before retiring from Boeing. He can show us around.
Difficult for me. And yes, selfishly, I was thinking of me. I’m already a frustrated writer. Now I was being asked to travel and surrender more time. More energy. I’m quite jealous of my writing time, by choice. See, I wanted to pursue writing for a looonng time. But I was in the military. Traveling, writing on the side. My wife wanted me to stay in, get my pension. Smart financially. Good security. So I sucked it up and stayed in.
I was 39 when I retired from the military. The plan was that we would now move to somewhere where we could survive on my pension and write. But, she then got a job in advertising that she liked. Could we please stay there, in the SF Bay Area?
I was employed by startups, then was acquired by corporations. Made very good money along the way doing jobs that weren’t too hard. It all meant deferring my writing dream. I ended up staying with IBM for fifteen years after they acquired one of the companies I was at. Yes, good money but soul-sucking employment. No fun for me, for the most part. Some challenges but mostly tedium.
So, this is my state of mind. I am now sixty-five. I’ve been writing and reading, improving my writing and story-telling skills (or hope so, you know?), trying to get to know my muses and discover my voice. It’s a challenge. I love that challenge. COVID-19 was a serious interruption. Just as I felt that I was finally making substantial strides forward.
Writing the current novel-in-progress took me through the end of 2020 and into the start of 2021. I then discovered that I was trying to tell the story in the wrong way. So, recalibrated. Took all that previously written stuff as background work. And kept going, now on the right path.
It’s exciting. Then, vacation. Preparation for vacation. I’m not social. The vacation meant committing to being social. Delaying my writing efforts for another week. But what’s another week, right? Sure. Rationally, I reply, it’s just seven days or so. With writer’s angst, I tell you, it’s a painful and frustrating interruption. An unwanted interruption. The conversation with the muses was going well. I was having a good time. Who likes to stop a good time?
But I try to be a good husband and some kind of contributing member of society. So, the time was taken. The vacation done. Good for me? Sure. Aren’t I nice? You betcha.
Back in the writing seat today. Picking up those story strings that emerged as I was on a ship in Seattle, walking a street, driving the Interstate, observing a person, sipping coffee, gazing at a street scene, etc. You never know when they’ll come.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Thursday, June 24, 2021, found the sun’s first fiery fingers combing through the valley at 5:36 AM, silencing the night life, stirring the more noisy, numerous day life. With more thunderstorms yesterday and some meager sprinkles, temperatures fell again. Sol is expected to lift the temperatures back into the low to mid-nineties in our region. Right now, it’s 78 F and mildly humid. Sunset is expected at 8:51 PM.
We have a vacation planned for next month. Our vacations generally rank well with us in experience, and hold up well with memory. Most memorable are the ones that go wrong. Like, for instance, that time that we were living on Okinawa. We took space available seats — Space A is the lingo — on a military aircraft to Hawaii. Had a wonderful time. Space A took us south to Guam on a C141. Dark as hell in there. Seats bolted to the floor, facing cargo pallets and an engine. Box lunches — chicken, sandwiches, candy bars — sustained us. We landed at Midway. The base commander opened the small exchange and showed us around.
Meanwhile, a typhoon (as we called them then — this was in 1983) was churning around the Pacific. We made it to Clark AB in the Philippines (now gone) only to be hurried north. We were trying for our home base of Kadena on Okinawa, but the typhoon’s plans interfered. We ended up in Yokota Air Base, Japan, where the typhoon hunted us down, forcing us to shelter in place. Finally, the storm reversed direction and swung south, freeing us to head home, ending a ten day adventure. Not quite National Lampoon’s Vacation, but a lot of fun. And memorable.
So today’s music is “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s (1982). Test negative, stay positive, wear a mask, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Cheers
Friends were renting a house in Waldport, Oregon, three bedrooms, three baths. They’d invited their family. Their family couldn’t make it. Would we like to come?
Twist our arms, ouch, ouch, okay, we give, we give, we’ll come! The house wasn’t on the beach, but on a bluff that overlooks the beach, less than a quarter mile to the beach. Topology and beach access rules and agreements made it a ten minute walk to the beach. Not a problem.
We drove through pouring rain to reach Waldport. The sky ratcheted down to a gray sunshine the first night, permitting a walk on the beach. Waldport has fine, sandy beaches, flat, wide, and unpopulated by many others in September. Rain drenched the area that night. We awoke to a misty gray day, but that burned off. Sunshine and blue skies arrived and hung out with us for the next few days, a very welcome guest. Temperatures jumped into the high sixties, flirting with seventy-one inland.
Waldport is a small, comfortable town. Not many eateries called to us but Yachats ten miles to the south and Newport fifteen miles to the north were easy drives up Highway 101. Down in Yachats, we returned to Luna Sea Food twice, and also visited the Green Salmon for some excellent coffee and food. Once again, we struck out when we tried to visit Bread and Roses, as it was closed for the week! Dinner on Tuesday was at the Adobe restaurant in Yachats, where the dining room presented us with an excellent seat to watch the sunset as we ate and drank.
I walked on the beach at least twice a day, in addition to our daily hiking. For the week, I ended up with sixty-five miles on my Fitbit, which was the same as the previous two weeks. I often walked barefoot in the shallows, enjoying the sun-warmed waters churning over my feet.
Meanwhile, we had terrific companions, Marcia, Art, and Lucy. The owners’ net situation kept us off computers except to check email once in a while. We traveled the local coastline, hiking, and visiting the sights. We also walked the Alsea Bay Bridge. Just three quarters of a mile long, the bay’s water were fantastically clear and often shallow. Seals sunned and swum below us, entertaining us with their pastimes (yes, we’re easily entertained). Amanda’s trail in Yachats offered a more challenging walk, giving us fifty flights of steps on our Fitbits, and offering terrific views of the Pacific. Signs warned us about a mama bear and her cubs in the area, so we stayed on guard.
Amanda’s head has been washed away, and has been replaced by a smaller, carved statue of her. Her sad history, shared too many times with other people across America, remains to remind us how inhumane and barbaric Americans and Europeans often treat others.
A return visit to Cape Perpetua was in order, with its short hike to the CCC era stone shelter.
When we were back at the house, time was passed reading, chatting, eating, cooking, drinking wine, and gazing out at the ocean. The moon was waxing and was almost a full moon by the week’s end, splashing its gorgeous glow over the calm, rolling ocean. Not much writing was done, but batteries were drained and recharged.
Got my coffee, and my ass is in the chair. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Watching the gorgeous ocean today, different songs about seas, oceans, water, and sailors sprang into the mental stream. Anchoring in was a later John Denver song about Jacque Cousteau and his ship, the Calypso, from 1975.
Michael Seidel, writer 