The Wave

Have you ever been here, at a moment like this or a situation like this?

Somebody drives by and waves. Naturally, you wave back.

And you think, were they waving at me?

A mental muddle ensues. Who that was? What car make was it? Who drives a car like that? What did the driver look like?

You ponder a list of suspects like you’re solving a major crime, trying to winnow down who it was driving by at this time of day, in these conditions, waving at you. Ugly propositions arise. Maybe they thought you were someone else.

Maybe they weren’t waving at you.

You try to reconstruct the scene in your head to see if someone else could have been the target.

Or perhaps, like me, you’re sitting without your glasses on in the cafe, limiting your functioning vision to a dozen feet. Just beyond that, where you can put sight and awareness together to get some idea of who it is but not enough to see their eyes, someone waves.

And you think, like I did, they’re waving at me.

That automatic hand rises in a wave back but then….

In retrospect, you wonder….

Were they really waving at me?

Thoughts of Spring

Theoretically, spring kicked in once again in America. As a blogger, it’s required that I post something about it. It’s in the Internet’s Rules for Blogging that you must do at least one blog post per year regarding a season change. I thought I’d get mine out for 2017 before too much of the year elapsed.

Being an American baby-boomer with liberal tendencies, movies came to mind. I thought this one pretty much summed up the situation in America, Spring, 2017.

 

Bad taste? Probably. I’m in an acerbic mood. It was either this or Dr. Strangelove’.

Today’s Theme Music

Another song was lined up for today’s theme music but the streaming cortex bumped into shuffle.

Stumbling and mumbling through dream fragments scudding across my thinking, the routines of feeding cats, pondering cold therapy, and contemplating breakfast and rain, a wash of first world self-pity swept me. Out of the melange of thoughts emerged an old familiar:

“Yeah, you go back, Jack, do it again – wheel turning around and around. You go back, Jack, do it again.”

Yep, let’s go back, Jack, and do it again. Let’s do it all again. Here’s Steely Dan with ‘Do It Again’ from 1972. Maybe it’ll alleviate some first world rainy Tuesday blues.

Catfidence

Catfidence is the absolute certainty some felines demonstrate that they are the smartest, fastest, strongest and bravest. Nothing can stop a catfident feline, and they’ll go to amazing levels to prove it!

Cold Therapy

Aidan Reid had a post about cold therapy the other day. Part of his therapy is cold showers.

I used to do this. We had a sauna in our apartment building in Waldorf, Germany, along with pool. The pool was unheated but indoors. It was our habit to hit the sauna, the pool and then step outside into the wintry cold. It was supposed to be a heart healthy practice. We would do this three or four times in a session. We, being in our early thirties, had no problem with it.

But time and age presses on. With aging comes changes. The last time I attempted cold therapy, my body employed some nasty language to threaten me and convey its displeasure. Aidan’s post inspired me, though.

I will try this, I decided.

“No, you won’t,” my body retorted.

“I will,” I replied.

Today, I did.

I believe I did a fair imitation of Munch’s The Scream.

After that, my testicles climbed up into my body. My pecker shriveled up and disappeared like a turtle pulling in its head.

But, I persisted.

I didn’t last long. I wasn’t counting but it was long enough for fast scrubs of all required body parts. My shower requires about thirty-five seconds for it to become comfortably warm. I’d stepped in and turned it on. The water was beginning to warm when I stepped out, or I was imagining that I was growing warmer in a triumph of mind over cold water. Either way, my guesstimate is that I was in the shower for half a minute.

Afterward, I felt fantastic. It might have been the exhilaration of no longer standing in cold water.

Will I do it again? Absolutely. Aidan suggested a trail for over seven days. Did I mention that he lost weight without trying? He also cited other benefits he’s observed since becoming a cold shower man. One bennie we agreed upon in an exchange of comments is discipline. I also think this is one of those things you can use to build self-confidence and inner strength.

At least I hope so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cathead

Cathead (noun): looking gorgeously groomed and clothed, with perfectly styled hair.

Example of use: “Did you see Phylicia today? Her hair is so golden and shiny, right? And her clothes, wow.”

“Yes, she has a real cathead going on.”

“I’m so jealous. I never get cathead.”

Today’s Theme Music

Yesterday’s theme music ‘Me and Mrs. Jones’ was dedicated to Tucker and his paramour from next door, Pepper. Today’s music centers around Meep.

Meep is the young ginger Tom we began feeding and sheltering. He started living more and more with us. His ‘owners’ moved away, leaving him to live with us. “He’s an outdoor cat,” we heard they told another neighbor. “We worry about him.”

No, he isn’t an outdoor cat. He loves curling up on a bed or chair and snoozing the hours away. No, they didn’t worry about him, or they would have known that about him.

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A cat who likes gallivanting about doing good, Meep always does a grand entrance. They crack me up. Whether he’s been knocking on a window or door for entrance or we open the door to call him in, he gallops in. After executing a rub and twirl around my legs, he gallops across the room to the other side of the house. If he’s going from back to front, his dash ends with a majestic slide across the hardwood floor.

As a spectator, theme music for these entrances have come to me and I’ve started singing it to him when he performs. The song is ‘Flash’  by Queen, from the movie, ‘Flash Gordon’, 1980. Of course, I sing, “Meep,” instead of Flash. It pleases him. He knows he a Flash and that he’s saved every one of us. And when Freddie sings about Flash being a man, the words must be changed to cat.

 

The Importance

She was stunning, gorgeous in all the manners desired in the commercialized, western intersections of fashion, sex, television and movies.

The tragedy was that she knew. She’d been told since her curves first emerged and noticed lingering, admiring gazes.

All she wanted was for others to watch her as she walked and moved. She looked around to reassure herself that others were looking. It came to be all that was important to her. Nothing else mattered except to know that others noticed her.

She needed to be noticed, and she thought, all she had was what they saw.

How a Story Becomes a ‘Hopeful Thing’: George Saunders on His Writing Process

Saunders writes with more intelligence and awareness what I also go through as a process. It begins with a swift capturing of basic thoughts and elements I see and hear in a scene. After I’ve done that – writing like crazy, as I call it – I jump back into the process he describes to make it less lame, sharper and more vivid.

Krista Stevens's avatarLongreads

At The Guardian, George Saunders reflects on his writing process. The magical, romantic notion where fully formed art leaps from the author’s brain on to the page? It dishonors the writer, the reader, and the work. In reality, it takes “hundreds of drafts” and “thousands of incremental adjustments” to form a story into a “hopeful thing.”

If you love George Saunders, check out the Anton Chekhov-George Saunders Humanity Kit and see what it’s like to take a literature course with Mr. Saunders, for yourself.

We often discuss art this way: the artist had something he “wanted to express”, and then he just, you know … expressed it. We buy into some version of the intentional fallacy: the notion that art is about having a clear-cut intention and then confidently executing same.

The actual process, in my experience, is much more mysterious and more of a pain in the…

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The Reality

Khalvin rolled out of his bed with a snort and dropped to the floor.

Something had awakened him.

Everything seemed normal.

He moved to the reveal and transparented it.

Starry skies held outside. The ship still moved. Moonlight lapped the dark sea. He pinged his Backhand for the ship’s location. Systems confirmed they remained over the California Sea. Airspeed was ninety. The outside temperature was eighty-four degrees. Their destination was forty-nine minutes away.

Ordering a water bulb, he plucked it out of the air as it arrived, massaged his head against lingering sleep, and considered what to do as he sucked up water. He didn’t know what had awakened him. A dream’s wreckage drifted through his consciousness. He’d dreamed he wasn’t himself, Khalvin, but another person. He didn’t know that name, and he didn’t look as he now looked, but he knew it was him.

He’d been somewhere he couldn’t fully perceive. It seemed like a shop. Others were there, but he didn’t know them and didn’t speak with them. Music he didn’t recognize played above burbling conversations and crisp clacking and clinking noises. His dream self barely noticed. Sitting and bent over a keyboard, he was busy thinking, typing and talking to himself.

The image lingered with him, powerfully real. Wondering it meant, he considered the California Sea and thought of the ruins purported to be under its surface. In many ways, being here on Earth, about to explore ruins, seemed more like a dream than the dream he’d just experienced.

He realized he’d been Human in the dream. He was a Cat. He’d always been a Cat. To be Human….

He smiled. That seemed like the strangest dream of all.

***

Sorry for the shaggy cat story. Blame it on my dreams. Cheers

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