December 20, 2023 is a Wednesday and carries the weight of spring. Confused by the signals the weather is giving, some flowers are blooming. We surfed a night of smooth rain, overnight lows in the mid 40s F. Our high today will bubble into the mid 50s. Casual clouds, thin and stretched, barely mask the blue sky. The cats are struggling to adjust, shedding fur after gaining their winter coats and now finding they don’t need them. Great clumps are left wherever they pause to sleep or wash.
Please, though, give us snow on the mountains. Please. It’s needed.
I surfed the news but left it after a short visit. Not depressing so much as it’s meh. We’re in a waiting stage for some many outcomes and perpetually checking and reviewing developments, breaking news, new revelations of old news and prognostications about what will happen has become tedious. I’m ravenous for some sense of an ending.
Musically, first I had “Too Marvelous for Words” whirling around the morning mental music stream (Trademark pummeled). It’s been performed by a long list of crooners but Mom often played Frank Sinatra’s cover while cleaning around the house. Released in 1956, the year of my birth, it’s drummed into my musical psyche. I have no idea why The Neurons voted it into my mind this morning.
But before it became too comfortable, a song inspired by the floofs was brought into the mmms. Released in 1972, “Children of the Revolution” by T. Rex had Elton John and Ringo Starr playing as part of the lineup. Although I enjoyed it, it went out of head until I heard the Violent Femmes version of it. A friend was colossal Femfan, and was playing the song in her car one day when we went to lunch together in Palo Alto. I asked if she knew the song’s origins, and then gleefully told the tale. I’d only heard it after my cousin, just returned from the UK where his father had been stationed with the USAF, played it.
How did the floofs play into this memory? I’d been teasing them, trying to trick them by pretending they weren’t being fed. They weren’t fooled, which triggered me singing, “You won’t fool the kitties of the revolution.”
Stay pos, be cool, remain strong, and leeeaaannn forward. Coffee has already touched my lips. Here’s the music. Cheers
Ah, Sunday, December 10, 2023. The fog has lifted and spread out into a thin layer in some northern spaces of the valley. Break out the rain gear again, though, as more is on the way. Also be sure to wear some warm clothes. 34 F now, cloudy skies and a chance of 50 F as the high in Ashlandia, where the people can be pretty remarkable, sometimes.
It’s concert weekend. Rogue Valley Symphonic concert has their holiday offering going on, as to the Siskiyou singers. My wife attended the latter’s concert yesterday, one of three, and we’ll hit the symphonic offering today. Then the RVS has a thank you/support by invitation event, for $20, at a local store. I’m not attending that, as the store offers substantial discounts and I’m not a shopping individual, so my wife and a friend who likes shopping will be attending. Later this week is a friend’s 75 birthday celebration, and then a tradition Swedish smorgabord is scheduled for Saturday. There’s a lot of food to be eaten this week.
The Neurons had nothing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark eaten by the dog), so I turned to the net. I found an article on the NYTimes called, “Best Songs of 2023”. First up is Allison Russell with “Eve Was Black”. I’d never heard of it or it, which embarresses me. Looking it up, I enjoyed it, so I’m offering it to you. I’m offering a recording of her playing it live at Farm Aid 2023, as I like seeing the musicians’ skills on display. It is different from the studio version, so I added it, too, after some thought. Hope you enjoy the song as much as I did.
Be safe, stay positive, and leeeaaannn forward. Coffee is in hand — I’ve even had a few sips. Here’s the video. Cheers
Rain showers the street and sidewalks outside the coffee shop windows. Between the clouds and rain, gray smothers the day like swaths of gray flannel.
The coffee shop is cold. It’s always cold when the sun ain’t cracking through to brighten and warm us. Despite wearing a fleece jacket, I’m shivering, and my hands are cold. My wife, who suffers Renaud’s disease, would be in misery.
And I had to pee again. I finally decided to seek the answer about why I pee more often when I’m cold and did a search.
“Cold-induced diuresis,” thenakedscientists.com on the net informed me, basically an increase in urine due to more blood being filtered due to vasoconstriction to conserve heat, more or less.
At least I know the reason now. At least my laptop’s keyboard warms my fingertips a little. How we artists must suffer.
Good morning. Today is Saturday, December 2, 2023.
I am so aggrieved today. Not due to the weather. 41 F with a high of 48 F in our sights, it’s been raining, and snow tops the northern ridge that marks our valley’s boundary. So, the weather is standard late fall trope for our area, cold, misty, dull and wet, something worthy of being the backdrop for a dystopian trudge as the earth’s course leads us around the sun and into winter.
No, the issue is that it is December and the parties and activities commence. We’re due to appear at several already, all due to my enchanting wife, who has a strong friend base who likes her and enjoys her presence. As several are couples things, I’m invited, too. I know most of the people, so they’re not strangers, and I want to be the right person, supportive of her as she is for me, but that means leaning way out of my preferred mode of being alone and writing. It also means I must play reindeer games, the term I coined decades ago for cleaning up and dressing up for December parties and activities. Top of the list is a haircut. After being required to have haircuts all the time for the military and then frequently when I was in marketing, I dislike worrying about my appearance. I tell her that I don’t need a haircut because I’ll be with her, and everyone will be looking at her, but she’s adamant that because I’m beside her, I must look pretty, so I will do so.
Yes, on the one hand, I’m being petty, complaining about being forced out to social engagements, truly a first world whine. On the other hand, going to these things is completely against my nature, and uncomfortable for me because I’m socially awkward. Yeah, that’s my problem.
Today’s music starts with making the cats’ brekkie. I’m cleaning bowls when The Neurons remind me of the movie, Twins, with Arnold Schwartzenegger and Danny DeVito as the starring twins. From there, The Neurons poured the airplane scene where Arnold’s character has left his island home and is off to find his twin. Exposed for the first time to rock and roll, he’s listening on headphones and singing, “Yakey Yak” out loud, disturbing/slash amusing the other passengers. Now that’s song in my morning mental music stream (Trademark cyclical).
The song by the Coasters came out a few years after I was born in the late 1950s. I guess I heard it on the car radio, and the melody, lyrics, and voices appealed to me, because those words are seared in my mind. Some of them were used by Mom, “Don’t you give me a dirty look,” or variations such as, “Don’t give me that look.” She also liked to sing the song to me when I went to her with a request sometimes, depending on her mood.
Lean forward, be positive, and stay strong. Happy holidays. Just had my Saturday morning coffee. Here’s the music. I’m off to get a haircut. Cheers
It’s 39 F outside in Ashlandia, where the skies are cloudy all day. Clouds smudged with dark shadows collide above, smothering sunshine, undermining warm temperatures, and dribbling and spittin’ on us. It’s Thursday, November’s final day of 2023, i.e., the 30th. Tomorrow, we take it to December, and December brings it to us. It’s getting darker and colder as the day slides into afternoon, like fall is ready to surrender to winter.
I’ve been reading many news articles, ranging from straightforward local news to updates on various trials and political issues, elections, war, disasters, science, and technology. Many of these things are wearying as so much of it has been written about with little changing; I await endings just to give me a break. I suppose I could take a break from it all but I appear to edge toward being obsessive compulsive about some of it.
The most exciting news to me was a story in the NYT about six planets orbiting in resonance around a star 100 light years away. Twelve telescopes were used to observe this and put it all together. Scientists say that such orbits in a solar system takes place “1% of 1%” of the time. They believe that when planets form and the solar systems begin, this resonance happens but then events take place to disrupt the orbits. Finding a solar system like this provides them an opportunity to study how the orbits change, a sensational learning opportunity.
For theme music today, The Neurons have installed OneRepublic with “Secrets” (2009) in the morning mental music stream (Trademark treacherous). This all comes down to the manifest insincerity I read about in so many news articles about complex issues. It’s a large catalyst to the weariness coming down on me. I mean, it’s one thing to read about issues but quite enough to gag through loads of insincerity presented in the articles. See, a line in the song goes “I’m sick of all the insincere”. That’s where the connection comes up.
Let’s take Senator Tommy Tuberville of Alabama, ex-college football coach. He seems to live in Florida, according to records.
“As of last month, Tommy Tuberville did not own a single square foot of property in Alabama after selling parcels in Macon and Tallapoosa counties for $1.4 million, according to a Washington Post report published Thursday.
“And while a spokesman for Alabama’s senior senator maintained to the Post that Tuberville’s primary residence is an Auburn house owned by his wife and son, campaign finance documents and property records suggest Tuberville’s main home is in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida, the paper reported.“
“The sale of the Alabama properties were notarized by a Santa Rosa Beach resident, which the Post reported suggested the senator was in Florida when the transaction went through on July 14.
“The report went on to say that Tuberville’s wife, Suzanne Tuberville, is a licensed real estate agent in Florida and has worked for a Santa Rosa Beach real estate firm since the start of the year. She does not have an Alabama real estate license, according to the Post.”
Senator and Mrs. Tuberville sound like fine Alabama citizens, perfect reps of their people, even if they don’t seem to live among their people, don’t they? (Yes, that could have been snark.)
It bothers me even if his constituents aren’t concerned because it strikes me as counter to the ideal of a representative democracy and the founders’ vision about what they were trying to create in their idea of a government by and for the people. It’s another ethics lapse for Tommy T in my mind, but then I’m predisposed against him.
Some of my reasoning against him is that he’s holding up military promotions, basically having a hissy fit and behaving as a terrorist to coerce change on the military while undermining the US military’s strength and stability. That’s particularly galling becaue he claims he’s a great supporter of the military. Of course, he’s never served, because the military isn’t that important to him. (Yes, I definitely detect snark there.)
Tuberville so supports the military that he founded the Tommy Tuberville Foundation “to recognize and support organizations and causes that connect with the beliefs and values of the Tuberville family: assisting our military and veterans; awareness, education and prevention of health issues, particularly among women and children; and, education and community initiatives.”
“Through its first five years, the foundation raised $289,599 but spent just $51,658 on charitable causes, tax records showed.[56]This rate of 18% is less than the 65% that the Better Business Bureau says ethical charities should spend on their causes.[57] In 2020, the Associated Press called the Tuberville Foundation “a questionable charity that raises money but gives very little away”.[58] Foundation officials said the tax filings did not reflect volunteer labor and donated materials used to refurbish veterans’ homes.[59]
“In 2020, The New York Times reported that Tuberville campaign and foundation officials “produced internal records for 2018 that showed nearly $20,000 was raised for a temporary project to provide a retreat for veterans. But the records raised bookkeeping questions, since they showed more than $61,000 of 2018 revenue, roughly twice what the charity reported to the I.R.S. that year”.[60]
In 2021, the Washington Post reported, the foundation “reported it had $74,101 in revenue and spent just 12 percent of that, or $9,000, while $32,000 went to administrative costs (including nearly $12,400 to pay off a truck the charity purchased in 2018 for $27,369)”.[61] By the end of 2021, the foundation’s website had gone defunct.[62]
“In July 2023, a spokesperson for Tuberville said that the foundation had been under audit and had paused its activities, but that Tuberville was reforming it.[61]“
h/t to Wikipedia.org, emphasis mine.
Do you get how I mean that reading about Tuberville reeks with insincerity that fills me with nausea?
Anyway, have a better day, stay positive, be strong, and lean forward. Coffee has been slurped up on my end, and I’m ready to sit inside and take on the cold rain.
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
Rain baptises Wednesday, October 25, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the bears are above average and the people are wary.
At 41 degrees, which feels cold with that falling rain and sun hiding behind the clouds’ skirts, I infer winter’s edge invading. There is some evidence that winters coming on, with storm warnings of snow falling above 3500 feet in the mountains north and east of us. Crater Lake, 99 miles away by winding mountain roads, is expecting the most snow.
Today’s high: (fanfare) 48 F.
For Wednesday’s theme music, The Neurons shoved “Spill the Wine” by Eric Burdon and War into the morning mental music stream (Trademark reinvented). The song and its presence is hitched to a coffee shop incident where a woman (who I assumed was mom) urged a precious looking little girl in cowperson boots and a shiny dress and a pink coat, “Don’t spill it,” as some drink was slid in the girl’s direction and she eagerly reached.
Replied the little girl in a matter-of-fact enunciation as she aimed a green plastic straw toward her mouth, “You know I won’t spill it. I’ve very careful.”
“Yes, you are,” the assumed mom replied.
Hearing that started The Neurons with that soft percussion sounds that open “Spill the Wine”. Then the sweeping organ punched up the song and the funky rythym began. It’s a memorable song, talking about being given surreal instructions about taking a pearl and digging a girl.
Stay pos, be strong, enjoy life, and keep moving forward. Here’s the music and there’s my coffee. Time to crank on, once again. Cheers
The pull out of a late winter and snowy sub-seasons of winting and sprinter continues in Ashlandia, where the coffee houses rule. It’s Satitda, a reflection of how I sometimes hear Saturday spoken, April 15, 2023. Would’ve been payday for me in another era, a chance to spend some rubles on a treat, tank up the car, buy grocs, pay more bills. We always paid the bills, watched our expenses, and saved.
Pretty fine day out there, as it was yesterday. Tucker is out nesting in sunshine between bushes, as he did yesterday. Papi selected to come in, deciding grooming on the bed is preferable to the noisy outside where trees are being trimmed or removed at a neighbor’s place. Sunshine has won the morning. It’s a blue-sky 42 F but the weather managers say it’ll be 66 before the daylight segment of our day is drawn down. Sunrise was 6:30 AM and the sun ‘set’ will be at 7:52 PM. No rain for us today. No snow, either.
I have an old blues song circulating my morning mental music stream. It’s all about options and how to get out of a situation. “One Way Out” was recorded by some classic bluesmen but I didn’t hear of their versions until later. Nope, I know the Allman Brothers’ live offering from the early seventies. Part of this way out convo was about talking over some Am I The Asshole entries on Reddit and what people should do. Another take on one way out was while catering to the cats: “This is it. I’m not going to go open another door. There’s one way out right now, and this is it.” The little critters accepted and The Neurons tugged “One Way Out” from memory and here we are.
Stay pos. Enjoy your day as best as you can. I’m going to try to get some things done. More editing, of course, but also some cleaning duties and yard work. I shall begin my list by inhaling a fragrant cuppa coffee. Here’s the tune.
They call it snowy Thursday. Early afternoon yesterday, sitting at the coffee shop. 41 F out. Rain falls, turning to snow as it drops. Temperature loses its grip, slipping to 39 F. Snow begins sticking. Within an hour, we had an inch. Two and a half inches before the snow stopped two hours later. By then, it was 36 F.
Yes, it was a very wet snow. As temperatures tumbled for us to the upper twenties last night, visions of slippery roads and sidewalks filled conversations and emails. But this morning, it was wet but not slick. Snow had iced but was rapidly retreating. 34 F now, snow clouds rule the air. We’ll see how that goes. None of us were expecting yesterday’s snow.
It’s Thursday, January 19, 2023. Winter snow finally came to Ashlandia’s valley.
Sun influence came over the peaks and ridges 7:36-ish this morning. Sun’s retreat from the valley will be about 5:08 PM. A 40 degree F high temperature is expected.
I have Simply Red with “Holding Back the Years” from 1985 swirling around the morning mental music stream. A mellow song, I can’t trace its origins in today’s head, but I blame dreams. I also blame The Neurons. They can’t be trusted. I will say that when I was driving long distances in 1985, as I was frequently required to do, I didn’t like it when “Holding Back the Years” came on the radio. Out on the road on assignment, away from family for a week to months, the song was just a downer.
Speaking of downers, time for me to down a cup of coffee. Stay positive and do what you need to be healthy. Merry Christmas. Just thought I’d get an early start on that season. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 