Blue sky above my house, and clear sunshine bathing the area. But east is a smoky white wall curtailing the distance to the horizon; a gray west wall does the same. Smoky tentacles tease my nose. The walls close in, graying the blue sky.
This is Wednesday, August 23, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the pickleball courts are empty and the theater performances are cancelled – smoke for the outside venues, COVID-19 for other places. 60 F out now, a high of 86 F might be reached. Sadly, I noticed that it was dark before 8:30 last night. Yes, sunset has rolled back to 8 PM here. The long days of light are closing down already. School ramps up next week. Coincidence? Or dark conspiracy?
News: fires. Trump. Debate. Bridge collapse in India. BRICS. Rodgers and State Farm. SoCal and Baja recovering from Hilary. Grand Canyon flooding. India lands a craft on the moon. COVID cases rising. Celebrity stuff. Hoobastank.
Screech. Back up. Hoobastank?
Yes, they’re in the news for their video and song, “The Reason”. It was released almost twenty years ago. I knew the song so I watched the video, because I’d never seen it. It was an intriguing laugher. The Neurons have thrust it into the morning mental music stream (Trademark ancient). Who am I to argue with Les Neurons? No, I won’t argue with them, but I will try to placate them with coffee in the morning. They sometimes also like beer in the afternoon. They’re also very fond of watermelon.
Okay, let’s hitch this day up and get underway. Yeeha. Stay pos, be strong, and brush your teeth. Coffee is available in the kitchen. Here’s the ancient Hoobastank video. Have a better one. Cheers
Thankful this morning, for the firefighters around the world fighting fires, including those fighting fires in Oregon and California. Thankful for a lot of things which I have and enjoy, including good health, comfort, and security. Thankful, too, for the easterly wind which took the smoke out of our end of the valley. I’m cognizant that our good fortune is now someone else’s misfortune. Smoke goes somewhere as long as the fires burn.
The hourglass called Saturday, August 18, 2023, is running. Sands are pouring through it. The sands of August and the sands of 2023 are also rushing through through glasses. Guess they’re not truly hourglasses; just time glasses. Do they measure time’s passing, or are these mythical things creating time for us?
It’s a cool morning. A little smoke still crazes the sky’s blue facade and discolors small patches but the sun is the right color. 63 F was the overnight low. We’re up to 70 F now but will climb to 92 F in Ashlandia, where the political differences could be called the Deer Party and the Dog Party. Then there’s the Parks Party. DeP, Dop, and PaP.
The cats are so pleased that smoke vacated the area and cool air rides the day. After making morning rounds of the year, they staked out positions, washed, and settled into napping configurations.
I’m looking forward to the GOP debate coming up. First, I’m impressed that the GOP has verified that it’s about money; only those gaining enough monetary donations are able to participate. I guess the theory is, the potential candidates put themselves out there and convince people to give to more their candidacy forward. Works on a built-in assumption that all donors have the same power and money to give, contrary to the reality we’ve seen perpetually demonstrated since the age of capitalism began. But who are we to attempt to force reality onto the GOP? That, demonstratively, no longer works.
Although, fairness, the GOP is not homogeneous. The NYTimes published an article about the GOP’s factions this week. They included estimates about how much of the GOP each faction made up. While many have held that five factions dominate the GOP, the NYT identified six ‘types’ of voters in the GOP. The interesting aspect of reading this is that while they specify only 36% of GOP members support Trump, they show by their groupings that only one, Moderate Establishment, which accounts for 14% of the party, is the only Never Trump group. Dominated by an alliance between Trump’s biggest support factions, the Right Wing and the he rest either enthusiastically endorse Trump or they’re willing to swallow it and support him because they either agree with his positions or because they like him more than they like Democrats. Not really that different from Democrats and their position on President Biden.
For music, The Neurons have fed “Crossroads” by Cream (1968) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fishy). This is their cover and interpretation of Robert Johnson’s “Cross Roads Blues”, layering it with a faster tempo and hard rock sound. I figure it’s right for this day, these times, when every day in the US seems to be about being at some kind of cross roads regarding the rule of law, ethics, democracy, climate change, etc. The rest of the world also seems at cross roads about multiple matters as well; some are the same as the ones affecting us in the US. So it’s a good song for t’day.
Have coffee, will travel. Be brave, be strong, be positive, and keep on being you. Here’s the music. Cheers
Tinted by smoke, the sun was a tangerine as noon rolled up. A short man walked through the warming, stifling day. Someone caught in middle age’s trenches, hard-edged in his slenderness, pale as a grub, bald as a newborn, walking fast. Unbelievable sight in this nasty air. White-grey ash collected on surfaces, dulling car polish, stinging nostrils with high magnitude burnt-wood flavors, usually encouraging tears, runny noses, sniffing, coughing.
But this guy walked down the sidewalk like the town’s proud owner, the only one out there, protected by sandals, a white tee-shirt, and light blue denim jeans. He also sucked on a cigarette and blew out his own smoke.
Might as well call this Smokeday. It’s August 18, 2023. The air in Ashlandia, where the roads are wide and the sidewalks are numerous, has gone into the trashcan. Yesterday, Purple Air showed the air quality jumping into the hazardous range and lurking there for the night’s entirety. Today finds it still mostly in the hazardous or unhealthy zones. We’ve gone all Twilight Zone apocalypse out there, with the mountains hidden behind he dirty air and no view of the valley. We could be the last island of civilization, if this view is the guide.
We’d been hoping we’d miss the smoky air this year. So far, we had done well, but lightning lit up the Klamath complex southwest of us, and its smoke drops a pall over the region. The fire centers on Happy Camp, which was also the source of our 2014 nasty air.
In good news, we’ve dropped out of the high temperatures. 72 F now, today’s high end is believed to be 92 F but I postulate that this thick smoke will keep us from reaching that high. Winds are from the east, clearing the smoke out right now. Sunshine has cleared its way after a long red dawn morning. It’s raining on the coast, which will put some moisture in the air around Happy Camp. That keeps us hope that the fire won’t be around into November.
The cats aren’t pleased with the smoke, as we’re keeping them in. Tucker the elder is fine with it but Papi issued declarations that staying in was not in his bucket list. He mostly makes his home in the master bath, with its cool and quiet, I suppose, and no one can slip up on him without being sighted. I’m thinking of Tucker in that, who gets passive-aggressive at times, and outright aggressive at others. TC is being mellow, though, but already a little under the weather with some respiratory issues brought on by the smoke. I’ll give him some Lysine L, which generally helps him deal.
Songwise, I have Croce in the morning mental music stream (Trademark worthy). Jim Croce arrived there after a convo in which someone said, “You just don’t do that.” My Neurons leaped into action, adding, “You don’t pull on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger, and you don’t mess around with Jim.” So here we are with “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim”, some fun story-telling music from Jim Croce and 1972.
Time to coffee up and face the day. Be strong, stay pos, and don’t get sucked into the vortex of negativity. Here’s the music. Cheers
Tuesday has been plated and is ready for serving. It’s August 15, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the ground is dry and the rivers are low. It’s currently 79 degrees F, but the thermometer’s final destination is 102 F for today. The indicators on my weather station hit 108 F yesterday afternoon but it looks like the official top was 105 F. The heat stayed until close to midnight, when it finally dropped into the mid 80s. Yes, air conditioning’s influence was sought when the house’s interior popped over 85 F in the evening.
I watched lightening shyly flickering and dancing on our southern border with California. This was just after midnight. Come 6:20, I thought, it feels like it’s going to rain. I imagined that as some slight barometric pressure changes felt, along with a tilt to the smell, coupled with experience of like times from beforedays. Over an hour later, 7:33, the drumroll began. Never got heavy nor fast, and lingered but five minutes, but the petrichor and sound were a welcome morning interlude in wet. Thunder accented a few seconds and brought Papi, the ginger wonder, to my side, as he is a firm disliker of thunder, but that ended before the rain. Now comes fire watch to see if any new fires have been discovered in the dry mountain forests.
Can’t say it’s a blue sky today. Conniving smoke and clouds are keeping that title at bay. But the sun and high pressure system are determined to keep it hot. This will last until Thursday, we’re told.
The Neurons have locked “Wasted” by The Runaways (1977) in the morning mental music stream. I haven’t been able to trace the impetus for this song. Don’t think I have heard it in decades. I remember being with a friend while in the US in the mid 80s. This song came on. A younger guy, he asked, “Who is it?” The Runaways, I answered. “Never heard of them,” he replied. “They kind of sound like Joan Jett.” That’s ’cause Joan Jett was The Runaways’ lead vocalist on that song. He was like, oh.
Time for liftoff. Stay pos, be strong, and look ’em in the eye. Coffee service has commenced. Make it black and pure for me. Here we go. Let’s start with the video. Cheers
Hello, Friday, my old friend. We’ve come to visit you again.
Friday. August 11, 2023. Ashlandia, where the airport is small and the bus costs a dollar.
68 F out now but they are warning us of a triple digit weekend. Actually, triple digits might not hit until Sunday. I’m hoping we’ll avoid them completed. Today, we’ll be visited by low nineties.
Had a smoke scare last night. We’d gone done to the music in the park. City band’s last performance in the park for the year. It was parked. We enjoyed the music and a longish walk in the cooling evening air through the park by the creek and then headed home. Windows and doors were opened. The evening cooling process commenced.
Then, tennish, the smell of wood smoke snuck in through the windows. Strong smell in less than a minute, coming from all directions. This is unusual; usually the smell strikes from one to two directions, letting us close those windows will leaving a few others in the opposite direction open. And the smoke’s smell was very fresh. Yeah, you get to know these things when you worry about wildfires.
After closing the windows, I went out to test how strong the smell was, get the cats in, and see if I saw any threats or heard any sirens. Nope. Back inside I headed to neighborhood, city, and fire websites for warnings of a fire and checked the police and fire department communications. Nope.
Hour later, I checked, and the smokiness was faded. Two windows were cautiously opened and I answered sleep’s summons. Sky today is clear and blue. Fingers crossed, it’ll stay like this. Sinuses and throat disliked that smoke dose, so there was some saline clearing, coughing, and blowing done today.
The Neurons have drawn up Paul Simon’s song, “One Trick Pony”, from over fifty years ago, for the morning mental music stream (Trademark fragmented). Frankly, this isn’t a stretch and is strictly politically driven. Reading about the latest GOP efforts to undermine democracy in Florida (notes from parents needed for nicknames to be used at school — but tell me again how they’re all about freedom and small government, please) and Texas (where a Trump-appointed judge directed lawyers to attend eight hours of training by a right-wing group, the Alliance Defending Liberty) led to a rant with my wife. We were both ranting. Missouri got thrown into the rant after we discussed Ohio and the voters decisive returns on the GOP’s efforts to criminalize and block abortion. There was a humorous moment to it when a right wing radio host complained about Joe Biden’s father’s behavior in WW II. Remember WW II? Prominently features NAZIs and White Supremacy, you know, the sort of people we see now at GOP rallies. They have chutzpah, if nothing else, but then again, they’re singing to a cult. Anyway, “One Trick Pony” is today’s theme music.
Coffee is available in the break room. Be strong, and stay pos. If that doesn’t work, try the coffee. It’s pretty good. Here’s the music, and away we go.
It’s another day of rock and roll in Ashlandia, where musicians are elderly and the students are young. July 29, 2023. Sattiday. 66 F now, 89 F is expected to knock on the door before we take leave of the sun.
Same three fires burning around us — Bedrock, Flat, Golden — north, west, east. Wildfire smoke boiled in yesterday afternoon and stayed through most of the night. Tastes of chemicals and burnt wood. Sinuses back up in protest. Eyes get gritty. Little dribble of snot wants to leave the air holes. Fortunately, the house cooled down on its own. We avoid running the air to salve our conscious about a few different matters. Inside the house dropped from 82 to 72 overnight. I usually need to open doors and windows after dusk takes over to make that happen. Smoke’s cover pushed the evening temps down fast, which made the difference. It’s typically still about 80 F at ten. Yesterday, we had 78 before eight.
82 F, friends say. In the house? That’s too hot. Naw, we run a fan as we do things. Yes, we sweat, but, so? We also bath. Tasks are completed early, while it’s still cool. Doesn’t get warm in the house until after 3:30. Then it creeps into the eighties in the house, By then we’re ‘puting, cooking, reading, streaming. We run the kitchen vent fan when we cook so we don’t kick the room temp up too much.
Today, some dirty air scuds over the blue shine. Looking north, the sky changes from blue to smoky white.
Yesterday, my wife said, “Well, pangram was easy.” So I knew I was cursed. We each do Wordle and the Spelling Bee everyday on the NYTimes site. We call Spelling Bee ‘pangram’ because we’re really only interested in getting the pangram(s). Anytime that one of us expresses the conclusion that Wordle or pangram was easy, the other is immediately cursed. So it was with me. I pulled it up and stared at the letters, coming up with BEATZIP. Site said, not a word. Okay, how ’bout ZIPBEAT? Nope. I vowed to come back later.
Later came when I was closing the ‘puter for the day and realized, I never did the thing. I flipped to the page. Immediately saw BAPTIZE. WTH couldn’t I see that before? It was the curse.
The Neurons tossed “Tripping Billies” by The Dave Matthews Band into the morning mental music stream (trademark fantasized). As is often true, The Neurons don’t drop any clues about this song choice. I haven’t heard it in longer than I can remember. Don’t hear anything in the lyrics that I can connect to thinking or what I’m doing. Fun to blast it, though. Brought up old times.
Stay pos, be strong, and ride the way of thinking, emotions, and activities. I’ll be back tomorrow. Here’s the coffee, and away we go.
If you haven’t heard, the price of a US postage stamp is going up five cents. If you haven’t heard, this is the fourth increase in two years. Pause to speculate about all the factors behind why the price of a stamp might rise. If you haven’t heard about the stamp price increase, speak to my wife. She’s furious about it. If you’re like us, you have gone out and bought a new book of forever stamps, another misnomer if ever heard, 100 of them for $62 plus at Costco.
It’s July 2, 2023. Many folks are preparing for our Independence Day celebration. There are many in the US who might question why they’re celebrating this day, focusing on the politics of now, where rights which were accepted and expected two are being striped away. This is ‘progress’. Sure. We’re only as free as the most limited person in the nation. By that measure, we’re becoming less and less free by the year. It’s not what the founding fathers. They created a baseline to begin. They probably expected growth. They had a vision of freedom and independence for the people, by the people. Now rights are being removed based on ‘original intentions’. George Orwell would be appalled.
It’s National Disco Day in ‘Merica. So I’ve read in some places, where other references call it a holiday in New Zealand and don’t mention the US. I was a rocker, not a dancer. Disco is all about dance. Rock was all ’bout listening. My wife enjoyed disco music and it spread all over electronic media. I never protested it nor complained; it wasn’t for me, but so what? Others like it. I do enjoy it on occasion, especially when I use my lookback lenses to consider my life. Disco was there as part of some fun times. Not my style but I still engaged.
We’re still in a drought here in Ashlandia, where classic rock is often heard and people dance to it like it’s disco. 68 F now, we’re expecting today’s top temp to reach 92 F. Not bad. But, as with yesterday, I think it’ll be a few degrees higher. Yesterday we had 95 here, according to the weather station.
A wildfire started yesterday about fifty miles south of is in NorCal. Lightning strike. So the season begins.
When I typed up the post, it said Sunday’s Them Music. The Neurons took off with music by Them, an Irish rock band begun in the mid 1960s. “Gloria” is playing in the morning mental music stream, so you know that’s what I’m putting up. It was a fun song for young boys to sing as Gloria’s name is spelled out and the band sings the name. Makes you feel alright.
Remain positive, and keep your head above the water. Coffee is here to save me again. Here’s the music. Cheers
I took a writing break and went for a walk. Gorgeous out there. Unfettered sunshine. 76 degrees F . Fragrances freed from blossoms and flowers surfed a light breeze. Submerging myself into the moment’s ambiance, I strode along.
A turn took me north, toward the far low mountain ridge. Blue sky rested on the peaks, but I drew up. The sky was hazy with dust or smoke.
Returning to my writing nest, I searched the net for wildfires and checked the air quality, worried that the smoke was sneaking in on us from one of them, worried that some conflagration was already growing and racing toward us.
A small rant, s’il vous plait. A first world thing. First, apologies.
Apologies to the people being denied rights for me being so upset by my ‘plight’. Apologies to women who have lost control over their bodies to male-dominated governments who arrogantly decide what is right and wrong for you because of what they decided their religion tells them, regardless of your religion or circumstances.
My apologies to those dying in wildfires, or fighting wildfires, or enduring the terrible smoke.
Of course, apologies to people still getting COVID, still dying from it, or coping with long COVID.
I’m sorry, everyone having heart attacks and strokes, or dealing with cancer, and other diseases.
Likewise, apologies to everyone still rebuilding after a hurricane or tornado flattened your domicile, or who lost their home, loved ones, and belongings in a flood or other natural disaster.
My abject condolences and sincere apologies to the LGBTQ+ community and the indignities forced upon you by people too ignorant and uncaring to give you sympathy or empathize with your situation, who instead monstrously decide to compound your problems by building bureaucratic walls and persecuting you.
I apologize for those who have governments who think material goods and wealth is more important than health, security, and welfare of their citizens.
Apologies to the victims of racism and sexism, discrimination, and hate crimes.
Apologies to the food insecure, to the homeless, to the murder victims, gun violence victims, and police brutality. Apologies to the abused children, to the mentally ill who can’t find help, to the struggling and working poor, and the refugees around the world. Apologies to the people dying in famines and wars, and apologies to those working multiple jobs just to get by. Apologies to spouses with cheating and abusive partners. Apologies to the desperate and hopeless.
I haven’t covered everyone but I’ve done what I could, apologizing to everyone who has truly serious matters to deal with. That out of the way, you wouldn’t believe how long my Microsoft update took today.
Michael Seidel, writer 