The dream found me at home – not my real-life place – with my wife. I awoke to discover that she had hired people to fix the plumbing. Thick, dark dust filled the air from the work. Three men were going all through the house, looking at the pipes and changing things.
I was floored that my wife had apparently decided to do that without consulting me. “First that I’ve heard about it,” I huffed before going off.
Coming back later, the men were in another part of the house. The three were all older, with short hair, white skin, and wore coveralls. Weirdly, usually they stayed clustering, staring at the pipes and talking about what they were going to do.
I came across my wife in another room. Wrench in hand, she was working herself on plumbing in a bathtub. I was like, “What the hell?”
I noticed that she was working on the faucet and spigots but she was on the side of the tub and had the floor torn up; but the tub still had its faucet and spigots attached on the end. I wondered, is she putting in new ones on the side to make it easier for her? Or putting in a new tub? I didn’t.
Going outside, I saw that she had people working in the garden and was building something new out there. That worried me. I knew that she had evidence of crimes committed buried there. (I was thinking that it was a murder but I didn’t seem sure.) I went back and told her that I didn’t think that was a smart decision but she was busy with the pipes and didn’t respond.
Returning outside, I saw a large rock being moved; I knew that was crucial evidence. With a sigh, I also saw that a police detective I’d seen earlier was watching and saw the rock. A little later, the police began digging up the area.
I thought, my wife is going to be going away, because her DNA is all over that. That disappointed and saddened me but I also thought, I should be okay because my DNA won’t be there.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Saturday, July 4, 2026.
Today is Independence Day in the US, another bright day in my valley, destined to be 90 plus degrees F.
Fireworks aren’t permitted in Ashland. They are allowed in our county, so there’s a storm going on about buying fireworks right outside of city limits. People then come in and set them off.
I’m one of those against fireworks. We’re in the middle of a drought, and they terrorize animals and some people. Each year, I bring my cats in and ensure they’re in a safe place. Papi heads to the darkest and most secure space, the walk-in closet in our bedroom.
I understand that people like the colors and noises. We have other tech that can be subbed for this ancient technology. I know, though, that change is slow around traditions like these.
For me, Independence Day has a very special meaning. I met my wife just a short week before the holiday. I was fifteen and she was fourteen. My father, then in the Air Force, was stationed at DESC, just outside of Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio. I went to live with him after some run-ins with my stepfather.
Dad and my future father-in-law were good friends. Dad worked for him part time years before when stationed at Wright-Pat, trying to make extra money. When Dad returned after assignments in Vietnam, Germany, Iceland, and Turkey, they renewed their friendship.
I met my FIL, Jim, in May that year, 1971, on a fishing/camping trip. Then I met his wife and daughters in June. That was just a short drop by, though. It was on July 4th that my wife and I ‘really’ met.
Dad had given me an old watch after he bought a new one. I wore that all the time. Back when I met her and my wife and I were getting to know one another on July 4th, she asked me about my birthday. As it happens, it’s on July 5th.
My wife asked if she could see my watch. Then she refused to return it. She waited until after the fireworks. She waited until midnight. Then she presented my watch as a gift and told me, “Happy birthday.”
I lost the watch a long time ago, but I cherish her and the memory.
Today’s song is “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. For the last twenty plus years while living in Ashland, we go to a friend’s house along the parade route to watch our town’s 4th of July parade. It’s a brunch potluck. Our host used to be our neighbor across the street here; when her husband passed away over a dozen years ago, she moved into a small cottage behind her daughter’s house. It’s our daughter’s house where we and about fifty other people congregate and celebrate.
Our host, though, is Barb, the neighbor from across the street, a sweet and charming but small 96-year-old woman. Her husband told me that he met his wife when she was a teenager. She was studying dance, already in college, and he was at college and walking, when he saw her alone on the bridge, dancing, late on afternoon. He didn’t know who she was but he knew he wanted to know her. Since hearing that story, I often call Barb “Tiny Dancer”. And that’s why the song is in the morning mental music stream.
I have you have a wonderful day, whether you’re celebrating the holiday in the US or elsewhere, or just enjoying life in another nation. I hope it gives you memories that make you smile, and comes with memories about what happened before, and full of people who help make your life a better place.
I have bladder cancer surgery tomorrow. I’ve been told what they’ll do, and I have my instructions for washing, sleeping in clean clothes, when to show, what to wear – what I can and drink, when. Anyone who’s had surgery or knows someone who went through surgery is probably familiar with these guidelines.
I’m in a good space for it. Inconveniences abound, yes, and some potential for a life-altering outcome, but I have the healthcare insurance to cover it. Have a team to do it, and a safe place to recover. I won’t need to worry about food or shelter, and my wife is there for me.
I was thinking about how much worse this is for my wife than me. She has to endure the waiting. I mean, if something happens to me, well, it happens. She must deal with the aftermath.
So, I worry about how she worries. I’m anxious about her anxieties.
I asked her, “How are you feeling about my surgery tomorrow?”
She replied, “I feel good about it. I’m not worried at all.”
Which is exactly what I wanted to hear.
No matter what happens to me, I hope she’ll be okay.
Ashland, southern Oregon — Tuesday, June 23, 2026.
Hot, mid 90s today, copy of yesterday for our valley.
We cope without using the A/C. I like them in cars and businesses, don’t like using them at home. At night, I cool-drench the house and that usually carries us through the day.
Smoke was in the air last night when I popped the door open. Not strong but I definitely smelled it. NextDoor had the answer: a controlled burn in the town next door. They have orchards. Blight had struck. To contain the blight and stop its spread, they cut off the affected limbs and burned them.
People were worried, though. We’re in a red flag situation. Sure, it was a controlled burn, but controlled burns can get out of hand.
Shows the complexity of the entire matter — drought, fire, trees, economy — on one succinct scenario.
At about 6, my wife went into the garage for something and returned. “I want to leave a door open and let hot air. Warm the house. It’s so cold in here.”
It was 92 outside. In the house at that point, it was 79.
She’s been having greater issues with staying warm. More issues with moving. Strength challenges. So freaking depressing to witness. Stoically bearing it, she complains little. Rocks to stand. Grunts with effort. Hangs on to balance herself.
We went to the growers market this morning. Bought baked goods for a friend and took them to him. He has Parkinsons and cancer. His wife is away on a trip with her sister to Alaska. The woman needed it.
Our friend is doing well. The housekeeper was in, finishing. Said she’d be back at 5. Meanwhile, friends are delivering pizza for his lunch at 2 PM.
It takes a community to cope with these things.
I had a pre-op telephone appointment for my bladder cancer on Thursday. Usual stuff about times, bathing with Hibiclens, drinking fluids, eating, where we’re going, where to park, how long it’ll take.
My wife asked, “What about afterward? What’d they say about that?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. This was pre-ops.”
“They’re all so compartmentalized,” she snapped.
I can’t argue that. It’s very true.
My wife and I chatted about the news. She had just read about Trump’s claim that the economy is the ‘opposite of a recession’.
Your Trump Quote of the Day:
This seems like another part of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL!, an attempt to distract us from what’s really going on.
Anyone living outside of a millionaire’s bubble will probably take issue with Trump’s claims. People are dealing with rising costs associated with energy, housing, food, consumer goods, and healthcare. Trump seems to believe that making these claims will make them true or enough people will simply go along with him on his magic thinking ride.
For the record, for example, oil prices aren’t even down to the levels they were when Trump took office.
Beyond Trump’s fractured economic reality, people are awakening to the MOU that ended Trump’s Iran blunder that cost lives and money. They’re basically responding, WTF?
Besides the ongoing saga of the Epstein ballroom construction, we’re also dealing with Algaegate. Trump is straining to point the finger at someone else for the clear disaster that it’s become. It’s such ugly optics, but it perfectly summarizes Trump’s flawed grip on truth, facts, and history.
Today’s music is “Helpless” by Neil Young. Reading the news on some days just engenders that frustration and helplessness, a sense of ‘go do something.’ Protest, scream, call people, write things. Some mornings, I’m a stick stuck in the mud. But I drink my coffee, write out some of my anger. Suck in some air. Count my advantages. Move on for a short while, at least.
“Helpless” is performed by Neil and The Band. Hope you find it worthwhile to hear and watch.
Hope you’re feeling good, doing well, and looking forward to better days.
I go to RoCo in Ashland for my coffee these days. One barista, Jasper, is young actor, singer, and dancer. This week found him getting a phone call from someone putting on a play in New England. They wanted him for a role.
Thrilled and surprised, he accepted. He began to share the news with friends and co-workers. Part of his process is to explain that he will be in “To Kill A Mockingbird”, a play by Aaron Sorkin. He often begins, “Do you know who Aaron Sorkin is?” The response often I along the lines of “I think I know the name” or “No.”
I was relating this to my wife. When I said “Aaron Sorkin,” she instantly barked, “West Wing.” She continued, “Martin Sheen as President Bartlett. That should be required watching in civics for how a president should act.”
She then went on to tell me about her favorite scene. I looked it up for her and share it with you.
It’s a good one to watch during Pride Month in the Trump era.
Summer is set to officially begin in the northern hemes next week. It’s already getting in place in Ashland. The sky is blue, blue, blue, and the sun is getting hot, hot, hot. My house saw 96 yesterday while most of Ashland felt mid 90s temperatures.
Right now, it’s 77 F with the upper 90s on the table. Officially, the weather services differ from my local reading; they say, it’s 83 and feels like 91.
Going through this heat wave with my wife is fascinating in a terrible way. When it hit 96 outside yesterday, inside was 83. Warmish to me, causing sweat to dribble down the small of my back and accumulate in my pits.
I asked my wife what she thought of the heat in the house. She said, “It’s cool to me.”
She also often needs lights on. Complains, “It’s so dark in here.”
Dismaying. The other day, I came home. It was 86 degrees outside. The room was 78. She had a space heater on.
My sister, Gina, said she thinks Mom is on her ‘last legs’. As an aside, that’s an interesting expression for humans, comparing us to repaired furniture.
Gina’s assessment came in the wake of continued complaints from Mom about headaches, UTIs, yeast infections, and diarrhea. Tests come back and show, ‘nothing is wrong’. But Mom had another fall and hit her head again yesterday.
I have felt that Mom was on her last legs for the last month. She’s continued through a spiral of pain and difficulty communicating, remembering, and moving. She still eats, though. How long her ‘last legs’ will last is always difficult to predict.
Gina sent photos of Mom’s empty rooms today. Mom’s keyboard was given away to a young woman. Gina shared stories of how Mom would play the keyboard and sing while Frank strummed along on the guitar.
There’s been a few headlines and stories like that abounded, complaining about the costs of food and beverages at World Cup venues. Americans have been enduring this for years at professional sporting events. We’re not overly outraged, just savagely bitter. What makes these prices taste worse is that they’re often inflated by ‘fees’ to pay for the site.
That all helps fuel the K-shaped economy. Prices are hypermanaged to attract consumers. Then we’re gouged on ‘monetized’ aspects. For example, I can buy a ‘cheap’ airline ticket for a few hundred dollars. It won’t include food. The seat will be the worse on the plane. Doesn’t include baggage except a small carryon. And the actual price I pay will be much higher, as fees and administrative charges are added to pay for airport construction, security, and higher fuel and insurance costs.
I don’t expect it to get any better in Trump’s economy. Window dressing drives Trump’s values. He’s interested in what he thinks ‘looks good.’ So ‘low’ ticket prices are nice optics, even if they don’t reflect reality.
Americans have learned, though. We — those marginalized by the costs of living — understand how this works now. Consumer sentiment is understandably low. As this headline nicely puts it:
How is Trump’s war with Iran going? I don’t know; you tell me. The war is now at 106 days as Trump and Iran continue to negotiate.
The Epstein ballroom remains under construction. I believe that Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! is hosting an event involving UFC fighting on the White House lawn. BTW, in true Trump Double Standards fashion, Bud Light is sponsoring the UFC White House event. Bud Light was boycotted by MAGA just a few years ago for partnering with a transgender influencer.
Instead of a Trump Quote of the Day, I offer you this:
The states that remain in Trump’s column are still red on the map, although the intensity of that red has faded noticeably since inauguration day. Wyoming, still his strongest state, now sits at +25 after starting at +47. North Dakota follows at +15, South Dakota at +14, and West Virginia at +13. The more telling detail is not where they sit now, but where they began, with several of these states having effectively lost around half their initial support while staying on the positive side of the ledger.
Kentucky stands out as the only state to cross fully into negative territory, moving from +23 at the start of the term to -4 today, a 27-point swing that leads the national decline. Montana follows closely behind, dropping from +25 to +1, while Idaho slides from +34 to +11.
That’s a present to We the People on Trump’s birthday!
Today’s song is “More than A Feeling” by Boston. While the song is about love and loss, it’s in my morning mental music stream because economists keep talking about a recession vibe. They insist that the numbers look ‘okay’ if not great for the economy and we not heading for a recession. But We the People see the price and then the real cost. We know that’s a screwed-up economy.
My hope for you is that you have an enjoyable, happy day, wherever you are.
Sunny, cloudy, dry. 60 F with 81 potentially the high. Rain is expected. The sky has that look, and the air has that skin.
It’s Memorial Day in the US, as specified by Congress in the 1968 Uniform Monday Holiday Act as one of the Monday holidays. The act was about creating three-day weekends for Federal employees. I recall as a youth hearing about it being promoted. They said at that time that it was for productivity; the Monday holidays would interfere less with business and the work week, and would be could for the economy because people could take mini-vacations during the three-day weekends.
My wife’s family knew it as Decoration Day. They always observed it by going to the family cemetery and cleaning up the grave markers and cemetery and decorating them with flowers.
My family always celebrated it by having cook-outs. Others call this a ‘barbeque’ or ‘barbecue’, or even grilling out. It was a day of eating, fun and games for us. For a few years, this meant going out to Keystone Lake. We’d pile into the car before 8 AM so we could beat the traffic, get good parking, and have a good picnic spot. Then full and exhausted, we’d head for home before one. Which was okay because we often had rain showers in the afternoon.
Back home, we’d have watermelon and leftovers. Mom made terrific potato salad, and fried chicken. We’d also have apple pie, chips, cookies, burgers, and hot dogs.
Now it’s just another Monday for me, another pause to look back on what was and what would never be.
I read about the rains and floods striking the eastern and southern states. Good luck and safe harbor to all of them, and the animals.
Also read that Trump is going to the hospital for some checks and dental work tomorrow. Is it part of Operation Epic LOOK — SQUIRREL! to distract us from the war in Iran, high gas, food, and energy prices, grift, corruption, and Epstein ballroom?
It could be a ploy to gain sympathy after the latest White House shooting didn’t move the needle on Trump’s declining approval ratings.
Or, Trump could really be ill. He looks and acts the part.
This may be all three — a diabolically clever ‘weave’ by the self-professed genius to confuse us about what’s going on. The biggest problem with his weave is that he often entangles himself. Reality, lies, and fantasy fuse into a glaze of uncertainty, changing directions, and contradictory words and behavior. The truth is, his weave confuses him more than it does us.
Your Trump Quote of the Day:
Here, as part of Trump’s clever weave, the person who referred to himself as a unifier denigrates others with childish nicknames. That was the same speech in which he considered himself a peacemaker. This was a little while before he began blowing things up and killing people.
Trump also said in that speech that he hoped his election would bring “a new spirit of unity to a world that has been angry, violent, and totally unpredictable.”
Irony is completely lost on him.
Bonus Trump Quote:
“It will be the exact opposite of the JCPOA disaster negotiated by the failed Obama Administration, which was a direct and open path to a Nuclear Weapon for Iran. No, I don’t do deals like that! President DJT.”
Yes, because that was quite a disaster. No war, no death. No rising oil prices because of a closed strait. No rising food and energy prices because of the rising oil prices. No strain on our military because of wanton bombing and ship deployments.
Today’s theme music comes from an exchange with my wife. Standard one: “How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“I slept great,” I said. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good.”
Those words awoke The Neurons. They immediately summoned John Prine to the morning mental music stream. I soon had him singing, “Pretty Good” in my head.
Hope you have a pretty good day, and a pretty good week, too.
We hit the road at 10:10. Interstate 5 North. Good sunny travel weather, moderately heavy traffic.
A gas stop at Costco in Roseburg returned us to a full tank. Back onto I5 N for a few more miles, leaving it at Sutherlin, now going west through the mountains, to the coast. We entered Florence at 2 PM.
Neither of us had commented on the lack of RVs and travel trailers on the road. They’re usually good for slowing our progress to a snail’s stroll. The rule of the car is, don’t notice something good out loud, or you’ll jinx us.
Lunch was done at a Florence favorite, Traveler’s Cove. After a walk through town, we headed to our hotel. The Driftwood Shores Resort and Conference Center offers okay accommodations. We like it because you’re right on the Pacific Ocean and all the rooms face the beach. We were there for ocean, dude. It’s the waves.
I unpacked my clothes. Set up my toiletry. Arranged my shoes. Hung stuff up and put things into drawers. My wife sat and read her book while I was doing this. This is one of our major differences: I always unpack, like I’m living there. She leaves everything in her suitcase, pulling it out as needed.
We walked the beach, gritting our teeth against a stiff sea breeze. The sun was unblocked by anything, and the waves were strenuous, constantly pounding, noisy but soothing.
Back in the room, I opened a bottle of red wine, poured a glass and watched the waves until, finally, some piece of me whispered, “Let’s go see what’s happening on the Internet.”
So here I am, watching the waves, typing, reading, sipping wine.
I was younger, traveling with my wife and a small group. We were in separate vehicles. I knew I was traveling with a group but none of them stand out in memory.
There was a snowy mountain involved. My wife and I were leading the way, driving in an SUV, heading to a site of four cabins partway along our journey. The cabins weren’t our destination but just a stop.
I was driving and we were well ahead of the rest. My wife and I arrived as dusk began. It was on a slope, heavy snow, with large bare and fallen trees. I felt that some paths and parking for the others were needed and set to work doing that. While I made progress, time was limited, and I needed the proper equipment, so I went on.
Reaching a large conference center, I gathered my people. They were a small group – six to seven, I think. A larger conference was going on. I called my people together to talk about what I’d already done and also to note that we needed equipment to clear out the snow around the cabins, but we also needed to move some stuff.
That last seemed important to me. While I don’t specifically know what I was moving, I knew it was big, heavy stuff. Challenging for a small group, I was hoping the other conference’s attendees would overhear us and offer some help.
That didn’t seem to happen. I went back to the cabins with my wife. Arriving there, I now had a red piece of equipment to move the snow away. While I started doing that, I thought I saw some trees smoking.
I examined the trees. They turned out to be short, gray wooden statues carved from tree stumps. I confirmed they were smoking to me and went back to get my wife’s opinion but also to call it in.
She confirmed what I saw. While we were talking about it, a large group of teenagers arrived. They began climbing on the statues. I went over to warn them that I thought the statues were smoking and might be on fire. As I told them this, I pointed out the smoke to them, and then spotted open yellow flames on one of the statues. I then made everyone move away. I also spotted a statue that had turned into smoking black char, telling me that had been happening for a while.
My wife wanted me to go get help. She said she’d stay there but I felt that was unsafe for her and said, “No.” I explained my thinking and she accepted that.
I then went back in and got on a red telephone to call someone for help with the snow removal, getting the students to safety, and putting out the fire. It was both a friend and an authority in charge of such equipment. He began talking, assuming he knew why I was calling. It was noisy and hard to hear. My wife was with me and I told her, “He’s assuming things.” Then I told him, “No, listen to me. That’s not what’s happening. There are three things going on here. Pay attention.”
He promised to pay attention and then said he’d send help.
Michael Seidel, writer 