Picked up a XIAO 1.28″ round display to use with the Seeed XIAO ESP32S3 Sense chip. It piggybacks beautifully.

So now I have a tiny round capacitive screen that has a built-in camera, mic, Wi-Fi, and low-power Bluetooth.

I’m thinking maybe of putting it into the lid of a little wooden chest I have to make it some kind of “mother box,” something I can get artsy-craftsy with, a little burn or carve on the lid to hide the camera and mic. I’d put a lightweight vision model on it and have it react in some way to events in the room.

Maybe flash it a peace sign to get a weather report… or have the mic detect  a knock pattern to give little visual responses?

Facial recognition? Voice commands?

Seeed Studio’s SenseCraft AI platform has a bunch of pre-trained offline models (like face detection and simple object detection)

https://wiki.seeedstudio.com/sensecraft-ai/overview/

Possible display elements

Went to urgent care

No pneumonia,  get another batch for meds for cough, antibiotics,  etc.

XR CHEST 2 VWS

CLINICAL INDICATION: Productive cough, shortness of breath Dx: Acute cough;

TECHNIQUE: PA and lateral chest radiographs

COMPARISON: None

FINDINGS/IMPRESSION:

Normal cardiomediastinal contours.

Perihilar parabronchial thickening, may be seen with bronchitis or reactive airway disease.

No consolidation, pneumothorax or large pleural effusion.

No acute osseous abnormality.

He visits my town once a year. 
He fills my mouth with kisses and nectar. 
I spend all my money on him. Who, girl, your man? 
No, a mango.

Leaping and bounding he arrived and devoured all that was veiled; in an instant, he forced his way in.
Who, girl, your man? 
No, friend, a monkey.

This style is an entire genre in Hindavi literature. It is a type of folk poetry called Kah Mukarni, and involves two playful female speakers seemingly speaking about their lovers and ending in a wordplay. They’re very earthy-sounding in their folk performances and are traditionally sung by women.

I may have to go to urgent care re: covid

This little beast. I cant wait to cuddle up with her once I am sure I am not contagious.

— Scottobear (@scottobear.bsky.social) 2026-04-22T23:38:54.878Z

The cough is still here. It has moved in, unpacked, and decided it likes the place. It’s not constant, not dramatic, but it’s persistent. A reminder. Every few minutes, a little signal from the body saying, “Nope. Not done yet.”

And the test.

Still positive.

There is something uniquely deflating about seeing that line show up again. You stare at it for a second like maybe this time it’ll change its mind. Like maybe you misread it. But no. It’s steady. Certain. Uninterested in your opinion.

Day eight, and the world outside keeps moving.

Sunlight still hits the same spots on the floor. People are still going to work, walking dogs, living their lives. And you’re here in this strange in-between space. Not as sick as before, but not well either. Functional, but diminished. Present, but not fully here.

It messes with your head a little.

You start doing the math. Counting days. Measuring progress in tiny increments. “Am I better than yesterday?” Maybe. Slightly. Enough to notice, not enough to celebrate.

There’s a temptation to push through it. To declare yourself fine and just… resume. But your body isn’t subtle about its veto power. Try to do too much, and it pushes back. Hard. So you learn, reluctantly, to listen.

Rest becomes the job.

Hydrate. Sit. Breathe. Wait.

It’s not heroic. It’s not interesting. But it’s necessary.

And somewhere in all of this, there’s a small, stubborn thread of patience forming. You don’t choose it. It just sort of grows there because it has to. Because the alternative is frustration, and frustration doesn’t heal anything.

So here we are.

Day 8. Still coughing. Still tired. Still testing positive.

But also still here.

And that counts for something.

https://svonberg.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/bear73.html

https://svonberg.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/bear3.html

Ok, I’m done for now. I may add some more color variants for the bears, or maybe something else, but this was a fun goofy little exercise.

https://svonberg.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/bear2.html

Image saving does not yet work,  screen cap until implementation

11am

Today’s mood is a particularly ugly mix of anger, depression, fear and sadness.

7pm

Mood is lightening to exhaustion and simmering “pissy”

Look, there is nothing here these days but a journal.

I am seeing many, many attempts to log in, but there is nothing of interest here to anyone that isn’t me or someone who likes me, and I’m already sharing it.

If there is something specific you want to know, feel free to ask, and odds are very good I will just tell you what’s up .

COVID day 4 thoughts

Everyone else in my family group has now tested negative after several days of meds.

Not this big fella!

I am going to isolate from them so I don’t risk them reinfection, apparently cicada variant is pretty tricky.

It’s spring. The woods are waking up. And the bears, big and quiet and absolutely real, are moving through it like they always have. Following scent. Following instinct. Following the oldest rhythm there is.

Eat. Move. Live.

If you’re out there, standing on the edge of that same waking world, it might be worth remembering that you’re not the only one who’s been waiting all winter to feel the sun again.

Doing my best to not be angry with the  people who got my family sick.

Trying, and failing.

I cannot help but think that if more folks masked, got vaccinated, took proper care, that any of us would be where we are right now.

But that’s not realistic.

I had hoped that our own safeguards in place would be sufficient, but that obviously had a weak link. (A few weak links, on reflection.)

If you are sick, with something that can kill somebody, for fuck’s sake, stay home.

If you are sick, and you don’t know what you have, stay home until you get it tested properly.

The fact that my whole family was put at risk by a variant of the same shit that has  killed off 11 of my friends, at this point in time gives me no small amount of rage.

You are generally contagious with COVID-19 for 5 to 10 days after symptoms begin. You are most infectious 1–2 days before symptoms start and during the first 3–5 days of illness. While many people are no longer infectious after 5 days, others can remain contagious for up to 10 days or longer.

Key Contagion and Isolation Guidelines:

When to Isolate: You can spread the virus 1–2 days before symptoms appear and throughout the symptomatic period.

Ending Isolation: You can generally return to normal activities when your symptoms improve and you have been fever-free for at least 24 hours (without fever-reducing medication).

High-Risk Individuals: Those with severe illness or weakened immune systems may remain contagious for 10–20+ days.

Asymptomatic: Even if you have no symptoms, you can still transmit the virus.

Precautions: If you must interact with others, wear a high-quality mask, especially during the first 10 days.