Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
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.
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
We went out on a drive, purchasing a few needed items, dropping off recycled bottles and cans for the Soroptimists, paying bills. I was a little preoccupied with an article about Sears. Nationally, Sears once had 3500 stores and a thriving mail order business. Now, one Sears store remains in California, part of six nationwide.
Sears was a foundational brick for my childhood. Sears catalogues inspired dreams of Christmas gifts. We headed to the Sears on Business 22 to buy back to school clothes and winter coats. Need a tool? Go to Sears.
Now, like Montgomery Ward*, which employed my grandfather, Woolworth, Murphy’s, and K-Mart, it’s about to vanish from the shopping zones and soon from memories. I was thinking about all the places because we were driving by the Rite Aid in Ashland. It used to be a pretty good store, a familiar place to shop and find things we needed. Now it’s being disappearing, being replaced by a CVS, a store we don’t care for much.
The Sears Tower, Sears’ new corporate headquarters and the world’s tallest building at the time, opened in 1973. I wonder who thought it would be almost gone by 2025.
And then I think about Amazon.
*Yes, I know a second company named Montgomery Ward has been relaunched this century. Same name, different company,
One of my dreams last night left me puzzled but optimistic and in a better mood when I awoke. As I went over its details with myself, one part that captivated me was it featured my first car.
In the dream, I was a young man again, and I was driving my first car. This was a 1965 Mercury Comet. Forest green, it was a four door automatic sedan with a 289 V8.
Dad gave me the car. He’d recently remarried, and this was his new wife’s transpo. Dad bought himself a used service van at an auction to drive to and from work, and turned over his 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo to her to drive. I was completely blown away by their decision. They’d not talked to me about it ahead of time. Until then, I’d been hitching or walking to get around.
With a car, I suddenly had a dating life and began dating the girl who is my wife. Our dates were never much because, car or not, I didn’t have much money. Dad did give me gas money and a few bucks besides. But I was in high school and on sports teams, and local jobs in our rural region were scarce.
After graduating, I joined the military and went in for training. After I returned home from basic training and tech school, I drove that car three hundred miles through a snow storm to my new duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn, Ohio. It was a taxing drive. Ice and snow were thick on the car by my journey’s end.
One day, the car wouldn’t start. It was probably a starter or selenoid switch. As it was a 1965 car and this was 1975, and it was a four-door sedan, I did what many guys would do, and bought my first used car, a sleek little 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 327 V8. Ah, fun car! Young car!
I left the Comet sitting in its parking spot. A man saw it sitting there without movement, hunted me down, and bought it. I’m not sure how much he gave me but I didn’t haggle. The thing is, though, when he went to change registration, he learned it was still Dad’s car.
Oh, yeah.
Dad was pretty pissed but the sale went through. I still laugh about it, and he still shakes his head.
I was in the White House. My role there was to escort Jackie Kennedy to an event where President John F. Kennedy was expected to also attend. I was young; they were white haired and elderly.
It was a kind of chaotic scene. We left the formal White House. There were about thirty of us. Using a secret corridor, we went into an annex. White walls and floors, with white lights, it was like a warehouse but it was completely empty. There seemed to be two levels as well.
I ended up chatting with the first lady. Just chit chat. Then finger sandwiches were served.
By then, JFK arrived. He and the first lady walked across the space and embraced. Both were using canes. They looked like they were in their nineties.
We then engaged on our reason to be there: flying model airplanes. One was a sort of large model biplane. Red, with yellow wings. It was slow and easy to fly. We took turns with it, flying it through the large space, around a corner and down another corridor and back.
The second model aircraft was a gray B-52. Smaller than the biplane, it zoomed around with a fighter jet’s the speed and agility. It really impressed us all and I had a ball flying it. It was very easy to control.
After a while, we were tired. Boredom got its fingers into us. We ate more and napped on the floor. Then I was awakened. Mrs. K was ready to leave. She wanted me as her escort. The President was already gone.
I walked her out of the annex and back to the White House. Then I left. I later saw her on the street. I waved at her but she didn’t see me.
Dream end.
It was a long and involved dream. Here are some dreamlights.
I was a young middle-aged man and head of a small business unit. We were located in a semi-tropical, warm, high humidity area. It was not the United States. Outside of my co-workers, the people I knew had all lived in the same huge brick apartment building. All Americans lived there for at least the first four months after their arrival in counrty.
A black 1968 Camaro Z/28 with silver stripes seen three times. A young man was driving it. In real life, I owned a Camaro but not a Z. Mine was not black and silver. Black and silver were Bruce McLaren’s original colors before he changed the team to Kiwi orange or Gulf orange. McLaren was a New Zealand driver and car constructor I idolized as a boy. I had an HO scale racing car of his black and silver McLaren Elva in my car line up.
Musical groups were offered, including the Suzy Qs. That CCR song, “Suzie Q”, was played. Sam Smith was offered, too. His hit, “I’m Not the Only One” was played. In conversation, I was told that not all offerings were available. A weird and arbitrary fashion was invoked to decreed who could be seen, and who could see them. After listening to that, I rejected that method. Said that I wasn’t going to follow or enforce it because it was stupid, and then left. That ended that.
The weekly entertainment was offered on a waxy red poster on a brick wall outside among some foliage. 80 pounds was listed as the admission price for one of them. Hearing that, I opted not to go. A friend was sunbathing nearby. I lied and told her I wasn’t going because there was a baby shower for a woman living in the building the same night as the concert.
Saw two therapists, both women. The therapists were seen three times total. I walked with one of them, talking to her about some of my career frustrations and disappointments. When I saw the other therapist a second time, she couldn’t find my records. I then told her that I’d spoken to the other therapist about that therapist, and then told that therapits what I’d told the other therapist.
Overall, a very good dream.
Someone must’ve pressed the ‘misty’ button on today’s weather menu. 44 F, cloudy, drizzly, misty, a little sunny, the high will jump to 51, 52 F. Not a bad day, just not particularly inspiring or uplifting, here in Ashlandia.
Fortunately, I experienced uplifting, energizing dreams. Returning from them to here was a rough landing. There, I was supremely happy, eager for the day, embracing the future. Here…everything is knotted with uncertainty, fused with irritation and frustration. I keep telling myself that this too must pass. It presently feels like empty rhetoric.
Papi the ginger blade, aka Butter Butt, is doing fab, busying himself around us, scampering about with tail up, sometimes punctuating the moment with his high pitched meep. That sound gifted him his original name of Meep. My SO ordered a change. Didn’t think Meep conveyed enough gravitas. Now she calls him Butter Butt. Like, that has gravitas?
Today’s song is a product of the news. Joey Molland of Badfinger has joined the gig in the sky. Badfinger was an early rock power guitar group. The Beatles fostered them and the group lent their talents to my teenage years. With Molland’s transition, the original group’s lineage has ended. For their part, The Neurons inserted “Baby Blue” from 1972 into the morning mental music stream. The song was written about a woman who showed up and toured with them for a while, Armstrong. It wasn’t a relationship meant to last, though. I went with a recording that’s a little muddy but it shows the most successful lineup during the glory period when they were young, before things began going to crap for them.
Coffee has made another successful landing in my gullet. Let’s rock and roll. Cheers
This is a simple prompt to address. It’s simple for me because I’ve thought about it before. I long ago read about, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” So I’ve examined. Looked at what I did wrong. Catalogued my failures and successes. Looked at where and how they could be improved.
Five basic tenets emerged.
I imagine many people have similar insights into themselves. Fortunately, at 68 years old, I can still pursue these changes for myself. Especially the ‘party less’ aspect. I mean, do you know how much energy it takes to party? I don’t have it at my age.
I’d rather be reading a book.
Greetings from snowy Ashland. It’s Wenzda, February 5, 2025. Our first snowstorm of 2025 came in, kicked our asses, stamped its feet, and moved on.
The entire time that it snowed, there was no wind. The snow fell straight down. The temperatures hung between 31 and 33 degrees. When the snow ceased late yesterday afternoon, the light shifted. Rosy hues colored the snow. Probably sunset from behind clouds, I speculated. Then, it all went gray.
Next, the temperature, released from its obligation to remain at freezing while the snow fell, shed nine degrees in three hours. Clouds now sail through blue skies and sunshine. Trees and utility lines are shedding large clumps of melting snow. It’s up to 29 degrees F. A high of 38 F is possible, ‘they’ tell us. When all the snow stopped falling, my yard was buried under 14 inches.
Watching all that snow falling yesterday, my wife summarized the day well for us: “I guess it’s good to be retired and not need to go anywhere.”
Yes, good thing, because the storm dropped a ton of chaos on our little town. White stuff falling from the sky really confused people’s sensibilities. Didn’t help that the city on which we depend on services seemed really confused by what was happening. Or maybe it was people out sick, miscommunications, or people overcome with two much going on. Roads weren’t getting plowed — no, some roads were getting plowed. Several roads were plowed over and over while other roads, particularly on the newer south end of town, didn’t see plows at all. For the record, our road was just plowed for the first time. It’s not a major matter, as it’s not that long and only has about forty houses on it.
Other factors threw complications into the mix. Trees and branches found new resting places on the ground. So did power lines. People who lived on hills parked down where the roads were flat and walked home. Snow convinced some folks to just stop their cars where they were and walk away.
Without much local media, we were at a disadvantage. The city did nothing to bridge that gap. We have an emergency text message system but that wasn’t engaged much, other to say, “It’s snowing. Stay home.” Our best tool turned out to be Facebook. Friends in three other parts of town reported their situation. Between the four of us, we could compare notes and track developments.
One thing that puzzled my household as we surveyed activities from our window: why were so many people out in light jackets without hats and gloves?
But it’s over. Lessons learned? Probably not.
Our snowstorm stirred memories of another snowstorm. This one was in 1978. I’d just returned from a tour of duty in the Philippines. My wife was living with her family in WV while I was overseas. Now, with me back in the U.S., we bought a car and were driving to a new duty location by San Antonio, Texas. A huge blizzard struck. We made the decision to get the hell out of there and drove several hundred miles through blinding snow.
Thinking back on that time, I looked through a pop list, remembering songs. I’d been overseas. This was pre-Internet, pre-satellite TV, etc. When I returned to the U.S., I felt a deep disconnection with the nation. Looking at a list of songs from that time, I saw “Follow You Follow Me”. I know the song but there’s no memories connected to it, much like a lot of music I know from that period. It’s just there, floating in my mind, unmoored to anything.
One good thing emerging from the two snow days for us is that we used the time to clean the oven and pantry. My wife was the major mover on the pantry, emptying it, tossing outdated stuff, wiping the shelves. I only helped with the reorg and handing things to her.
The bad thing about the snow days is that she kept getting sucked into the bad news cycle. Infuriating to watch the checks and balances disintegrating in the face of GOP complicity.
Coffee and I have ran into each other in the kitchen, so we sat and had a cup to talk about the day. Hope you enjoy a good one. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 