Friday’s Theme Music – Wasted
Ashland, Oregon — Friday, March 13, 2026. Ah, Friday the 13th.
I’m surprised that this is considered a day of bad luck. One, because our ancestors thought Friday was a scary day, the scariest of the week.
What? As someone who worked and partied, I always thought Friday was a good day. It was frequently regulated to a quasi half-day. How is that a bad thing?
The ’13’ part comes from the number being perceived as imperfect. “Ancient Romans and later European traditions also treated 13 as a break in the natural order, contrasting it with the “complete” number 12 (months, zodiac signs, apostles).”
Well, that’s kind of funny and arbitrary. The months are divided into different lengths — 28 (or maybe 29), 30, and 31 days. That seems imperfect. But there’s a ‘perfect’ set of twelve of them.
Yet, we only have two each of limbs, eyes, ears, legs. Just one mouth. Guess we’re not perfect or we’d have twelve of each.
It’s all so silly. That’s why I trust my lucky underwear, my lucky pen, and three beeps on the microwave. They’re proven to bring good fortune. I’d loan you my underwear but it’s just my bad luck that they need washed.
Today finds us cloudy but pleasantly warmish and coolish outside, with sun and blue sky playing peek-a-boo with the clouds. 46 F now, a high in the mid 60s is anticipated.
Quiet continues on the Mom front, and the news shows war, violence, chaos. Thanks, Mr. Trump. It feels like it was an unlucky day when you were elected — both times.
Today’s music is “Wasted on the Way”. The Neurons slipped the Crosby, Stills, Nash song into the morning mental music stream when I was thinking about how Trump wastes the world.
Lives are being wasted by Trump’s hate, biases, indifference. Opportunities wasted by his greed and ego. He’s creating a wasted world, ignoring warnings about climate change, starting wars that destabilize the diplomatic order, breaking agreements which fracture the business world, raising havoc and prices.
Then he tells us it’s all going great.
The biggest question on my mind for the peace president, unifier, and founder of the Board of Peace is, when will Trump stop the bombing and killing that he started, so that others can begin picking up the pieces and putting things back together?
I hope this day isn’t a waste for you. May peace and grace find and keep you.
Cheers
Thursday’s Theme Music
Ashland, Oregon — Thursday, March 5, 2026.
We’re winding through winter’s last days toward spring in Ashland. History provides us reminders that Ashland often experiences late winter to mid-spring snowstorms. I’d like more snow in the area, especially in the Cascades where our snowbank resides.
Today, it’s overcast with uncertain, flexing sunshine. 48 F, it feels neither warm nor cold, and our high is arcing toward just 50.
My phone has developed problems with receiving text messages all of a sudden. I’ve added fixing that to my todo list. I did get some updates from my siblings about Mom before the system went tango unform on me.
Mom is reverting to the behavior displayed in January. I drift toward remembering who she was and the complex relationships my sisters and I have with her. I contrast what’s she’s enduring with who she was, what and who she was trying to be, and where she arrived as a person. Much of it now is beyond her control. Doesn’t stop my sisters from getting angry about it. But we saw this pattern emerging. There was little we could do, which we learned with time, because we tried to do things to change the course.
I smile at some things, like her potato salad. My wife insists nobody makes potato salad like Mom. My wife tried but when she asked for a recipe, Mom was more about the ingredients and less about the measurements. One thing I learned from helping her make it sometimes was that Mom depended on tasting it and how it looked — color, texture. That’s hard to translate through recipes.
I was just settling into checking on prices, the war that Republicans don’t want to call a war, and other matters when breaking news arrived.
Trump replaces Noem at DHS, taps Mullin for job
I think at first, “about time”. Her arrogance and attitude doesn’t fit with what I look for in public servants. I temper that, though, with the understanding that she was carrying out Trump and Miller’s policies, and generally working as a functionary for Project 2025. It’ll be interesting to see how much this change will actually manifest as change.
On the heels of that thinking, I scoff, but of course Trump has replaced Noem. She’s become a lightning rod for negative impressions about Trump. With his popularity falling, he made her his scapegoat.
Today’s music is “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones. When The Neurons first settled it into my morning mental music stream, I sang it as “Wild Kitties” for Papi’s entertainment. He did not seem entertained.
I’m not sure why the song is playing in me. I can see how its themes and melody is about yearning for another time, for a different outcome, even for hope. I suppose that’s where I reside now — wishing for other things than what now exists. It also came out in 1971, when I was fifteen, so I suppose remembering the song stirs some nostalgia for being back there — young, with Mom, facing a bright future.
I’ll close with best wishes for you and us to stay safe, be healthy and find new ways toward a peaceful, prosperous, and inclusive future.
Cheers
A Traveling Dream, and Other Snippets
Dreamed I was going to a camp. Just a small sort of outdated place, with low wood-framed buildings painted brown or dark red, with a flat, slanted roof. A woman I’d just met was going with me, along with her sister.
We arrived in a 1970s era dark Dodge Charger or Ford Torino. I was driving and it was night when we arrived. The sisters had no place to sleep. I told them they could share my bed or sleep in the car, or I could sleep in the car, but I didn’t really want to. They ended up sleeping with me, one on either side.
Later, we got up to go find food and ran into other people I casually knew. They had soup and bread. We asked where they got it and headed toward a little shack they indicated. It was a dark place with a low ceiling, where we discovered we needed to pay in marks. I didn’t have any marks so the sister paid a 1,000 marks for food for me.
We ate and then separated. I wandered, exploring, following winding dirt paths between the buildings and trees at this tiny resort. Night was falling and I didn’t have any marks, so I didn’t know what to do. I did have dollars but not a large amount.
It was dark. I went back to my car. Another car, very like it, was parked beside it. Both with nose in, the rear ends toward me. As I reached my car, I looked over to the other car and saw the sisters sitting in it. I wondered if they’d gotten into the wrong car by mistake.
Dream end.
This was one of three dreams remembered from last night, but the most coherent and lucid.
Can’t recall much of the other two dreams. They’re shifting, like almost there, not quite remembered or forgotten. The strongest of the two had me carrying baking tins. Something finished was in it but I don’t know what. Others were doing the same. Many of the others looked like me but were slightly different. When I offered my baking tin, I saw that their offering was fully risen and mine was flat. I went off, got another like magic, and it was full. I went to give it to someone else, but discovered it was flat again. All of this took place outside in bright sunshine on a calm day.
The main thing I remember from the third dream was that I was happy and laughing a lot. And younger, but an adult.
Ah, night work.
Ambush
The lens that I roll and find
In the dumping ground
Of my mind
Moving from cat
To food
Life and Mom
Conversations
Time
I search for a point
Feet on bridge
As Neurons
Sing
Telling me often
Let it be
Jamming with tunes
Coming up and in
I circle
Slipping on words
And sounds
Picking apart
Pieces of lint
The Brown Cougar Dream
My wife and I arrived at a resort hotel, meeting our friend, Bob and his wife. Real-life note: this is not the same Bob from my previous dreams, but a friend and co-worker from my military days. The wife in this dream wasn’t his real-life wife.
Bob, who was prematurely bald, had thick black in the dream. My wife and I had just arrived. Bob and his wife came by to greet us and make plans.
I noticed some filth on the ceiling. It disgusted me so I looked for something to clean it up. I found some spray and sprayed it all over but then needed a ladder and rag. A young hotel worker asked me what I was doing. I explained myself. He shook his head and reassured me, “Don’t worry about it, we have it covered. It’s not your problem.”
I went back into the room and noticed the spray had already made the ceiling mess almost invisible.
Bob and I ended up outside, where it was like a desert after a rainstorm. He was carrying a young animal he’d rescued. Noticing a young brown cougar down the hill, I followed behind Bob to protect him from the cougar and found a large stick to use as a weapon.
Waiting on a porch for Bob’s return, I saw the cougar watching me. As that registered, the cougar approached. Raising the stick, I yelled and made myself big.
Sitting down, the cougar asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m making myself big and making noises to scare you away.”
The cougar chuckled. “Did you really think that was going to work?”
“That’s what they tell us to do.”
“Anyway, you’re safe for now,” the cougar said, “but you scheduled to die tomorrow, and I’ll eat you.”
I was appalled and vowed not to let that happen.
The cougar shrugged. “It’s going to happen. It’s on the schedule.” He indicated a bright pink and blue poster. I read the poster but saw nothing about my death on it.
Back in the hotel room, I showered and cleaned up. Bob came by to see if I was ready. I told him that I needed to shower. I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower and then realized, what am I doing? I already showered.
I was now naked downstairs and needed to up to my room. Entering the stairwell, I caught a reflection of myself and found I was astonishingly good-looking — much younger, lean and muscular, with a thick head of dark brown hair swept to one side. As I started up the steps, a young woman entered.
“Eek,” she said, pretending to turn away. Covering her face with a hand, she looked at me between her fingers. “A naked man.”
I laughed and apologized, continuing up the steps, and encountered another woman. “Locked out without your clothes?” she mused.
“Yes, that’s what happened.”
She chuckled. “We’ve all been there.”
Now dressed, I joined Bob and our wives in another area of the resort. I saw the brown cougar in the crowd, watching me. I realized that I’d forgotten something in the room and needed to go back. Bob drew up a complex map, showing me where we were and how to get back to my room, 1004, at the top of the building. Although his map was detailed, I felt bewildered and said, “I’ll never find my way back through that maze.”
Bob said, “Alright, let me go with you, at least part of the way, until you know where you’re at.”
Dream end.
Sunday’s Theme Music
It’s Sunday, January 25, 2026, in Ashland — if I’m reading my computer right. I trust my machine to tell me the truth but as things evolve into greater complications, it’s not always trustworthy.
We have dry weather, sunshine, and blue skies. The temperature gap has returned. My home system shows it’s 25 F. Online cites the temperature as 29 but Alexa says it’s 40. High temperatures in the fifties are expected.
Two different issues draw my attention as the massive winter storm takes on most of the United States, and Minnesota deals with unrest after another ICE shooting. Fortunately, I have a cat.
Papi’s weather focus is extremely limited. He shows more interest in food, although, power to him, he really likes helping me with yardwork. If I’m out cutting things, pulling weeds, and so on, Papi’s steely green-eyed gaze inspects my work. Both annoying and cute, because I worry about him getting hurt.
He and I went out to salute the sun in the back, our habit going back for years. We came in, I fed him, then began preparing my breakfast. Through the kitchen window, I watched my neighbor across the street. Every day, he walks to the end of his driveway, faces the sun, and stands, eyes closed, for several minutes. Today, with this cold, he was returning to his house within two minutes — about the same amount Papi and I did.
Sis’s on-the-scene report from Pennsylvania said everything is closed, finishing, “Been snowing since it started, middle of the night. ‘Ooo, baby, it’s a white world,’ is the official song.” She sent a photo of her front view, with her son-in-law’s car parked in the driveway. The snow is expected to keep falling through Monday.
Eight southern states are suffering power failures from ice due to the storm. Hope people are able to stay warm and safe.
Likewise, I hope everyone in Minnesota is safe, and stays safe.
Today’s song was inspired by Papi and my wife. Papi wanted food and attention. My wife wants assistance with some running around. The Neurons responded to the exchanges by playing “I’m Your Puppet” by James and Bobby Purify. I admit, I looked up who performed it and turned it into a hit that I often heard on my transistor radio when I was young.
These were the lyrics in mind when The Neurons took the song to my morning mental music stream:
Your every wish is my command
All you gotta do is wiggle your little hand
‘Cause I’m your puppet
I’m your puppet
The lyrics were modified from hand to paw for Papi.
Let peace and grace finally track us down, stay a while, and restore some sense of optimism for the future. Cheers
Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts
A high school couple were seated beside me at the coffee shop. I began by writing, ‘a young high school couple’, but isn’t that redundant? It does stimulate a story beginning: ‘An old high school couple sat beside me discussing their course workload and death choices.” Don’t know where it advances from there.
This HS couple rose to leave. She made a comment about Pink Floyd. He, looking directly at me, replied, “I know. Dark Side of the Moon is such an amazing album.”
I thought, funny, but I was about their age when that album was released. About their age when I went to a concert and witnessed Pink Floyd performing songs from Dark Side of the Moon.
I said nothing back, but I was pleased. It’s good to learn that appreciation for some things goes on.
Wenzdaz Theme Music
Greetings to all you stars from bucolic Ashlandia, the gem of southern Oregon. It’s Wenzda, August 13, 2025. We cooled a little last night after 102 F plugged the thermometer in the late afternoon. It was a late cooling, as midnight still saw us hugging the 80s. Today’s temperature has dropped into the friendlier realm of 96 F and tonight’s low will splash into the low 60s. Air is clear, blue, no skunks bothered us last night, and we continue a good string of not being pestered by flooding, wildfires, or smoke, knock wood.
Man, I slept well but it was a night of wild dreams. Gonna think about them for a while.
Today’s song is dedicated to Papi. As I star-gazed and soaked up cool night air, Papi startled me by slipping up from behind to brush against my calf. My body shouted, “Holy shit, something’s got me,” before saner Neurons said, “Hey, Papi.” He didn’t stay long, floating off through the moonlight into the shadows. The Neurons honored the moment by channeling Bob Seger and the Bob Seger System into the morning mental music stream with “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Cat”, I mean, “Ramblin Gamblin Man” from way back in my mid-teen years. It’s simple, basic rock and roll, folks.
After reading the news, I’m eschewing comments for now. Weather the storm for the moment, keep the rage alive and the powder dry, you know? Trump’s crash is coming. How far he takes us all will be interesting. He lies about so much, as do his stand-ins, and the lies are so easily proven. Now they’re trying hard to hide facts so they can build pillow forts and play make believe. It sucks that while they drool over fantasies, real world problems are being ignored, and they’re creating more, making life miserable for millions.
Coffee has tuned my mind and soul again. Time to take the body out for a spin. Hope peace and grace walk with you wherever you are today. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 