Sporadic Update

An organized compilation of random subjects plaguing me that I may have posted about, but which I think I should update readers about.

  • The Trial. A plea bargain was accepted so I don’t need to testify about the break-in. The saddest aspect (besides tangible evidence that strange, sick people are out there) is that our beloved neighbor, Barb, has moved out. She’s just too frightened in her house any longer. That’s troubling. Barb and Walt were two of the best things about our location. Walt’s passed away and Barb has moved away, moving me to sigh about change and life.
  • The close call. I survived one close call in April, when I endured one of the worst haircuts I’ve ever received. This young ‘stylist’ was clearly a novice and took to my head with the same sense of style that military barbers employed when I entered basic training. Fortunately, my hair has grown out into something that looks reasonable again.
  • Tucker. Tucker suffers from conjunctive gingivitis. We submitted him to some oral surgery in April. It went terrific. Several teeth were removed, including one of his big lower front fangs, if you will, but he’s not having any swelling, bad breath, pain or drooling, so hooray! On the coin’s flip side, he’s feeling so much better that he’s very energetic and wants to assert his position as the alpha beast.
  • Other cats. Peace has been brokered between Meep (a.k.a. Popi) and Boo Radley. Boo’s PTSD also seems to be diminishing. The big bedroom bagheera without a tail has become more trusting of us. Quinn, of course, remains Quinn, a sweet, charming cat who prefers to avoid conflict.
  • Neighbor cats. Pepper, Princess and Buddy continue their visits and begging. Pepper remains the worse. That’s a little surprising. We always believed Wade’s corgi, Bella, annoyed Pepper, driving her toward us. Sadly, Bella passed away from cancer last month. She’ll be missed but with her absence, we thought that Pepper’s daily visits would taper off. They still could, with time. It could be that what was once refuge is now habit, though. Buddy is a sweet little black character. He’s clearly well-fed, but enjoys being petted and presented kibble, which, being a sucker for cats, I do.
  • The cats’ activities interfere with yard work. Here they come when I make an appearance, pop, pop, pop, Pepper, Buddy and Princess, pop, pop, pop, Boo, Meep and Quinn. (I keep Tucker away for the safety of the rest.) Boo likes to settle right beside me, instructing me about what I’m doing wrong as I weed and mulch while the rest visit each other and observe me. All flee to safe distances when the edger and mower come out.
  • Fitbit. I took some Fitbit hits with the travel last month. Daily mileage on average dropped to five and a quarter miles per day while the average of steps per day dipped to about twelve thousand for the year to date. But summer is here, so I have hope I can raise those averages.
  • Reading. Just read four books in April: ‘Ordinary Grace’ (which I loved), ‘I Am Pilgrim’ (a quick, fast read that had some flaws but remained compelling), ‘The Passenger’ (although interesting, a disappointment), and ‘The Devil’s Star’ (a Jo Nesbo Harry Hole novel). Just started ‘The Shadow of the Wind’ at my other’s insistence.
  • Writing. Really hope to finish ‘Long Summer’ soon and get it out there. Its complications absorb a lot of limited brain power keeping it all straight and then trying to present it in a manner that won’t cause insanity among readers. Still *ahem* haven’t leaped back into publishing like I wanted/planned/expected but I remain determined to do so. ‘Peerless’, ‘Everything in Black and White’, the Spider City’ trilogy, and ‘Fix Everything’ all need to undergo the editing and publishing process. Meanwhile, I’m really eager to write the third book in the Lessons with Savanna mystery series.

There are other things to write about, of course, particularly on the family fronts, but I shield them and their activities, so I post very little about that. Politics, technology and economics remain passions that deserve posts but I end up diverting too much energy to write much about them. Dreams are experienced every night, so I could write about those, too, like last night, when I didn’t like how the dream was going, and changed it in the middle, astonishing everyone in the dream. We’re also undergoing the annual raccoon invasion, and dealing with yard work. My wife’s health continues to be a concern while I remain stupidly healthy. Trips and adventures are planned, and we’re hopeful we can pull some of them off this year and not get sucked back into the black hole of family issues.

Overall, I’m excited, optimistic and hopeful, a great way to live. The writer is pestering me to get on to it with Brett, Philea, Handley and the rest, so it’s time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

The Bored

I rarely have contact with such people, and their noise levels were high, so I watched and listened. Five females and four males, I guessed they were fifteen to eighteen years old. I’d seen several of them in the coffee shop before. One of the boys, with disheveled, thick blond hair, was louder and goofier than the rest. One girl looked older, exhibiting an awareness of body and attractiveness that the others didn’t. The swarthy, muscular guy with tight, short hair trying to get attached to her could have been eighteen.

Oddly, their syntax hadn’t changed much from teenagers I encountered decades ago. Many “Oh, my God,” “OMG,” and “I know, right,” spiced their cryptic exchanges, along with staccato bursts of laughter and giggles. The biggest difference between what I’d known as teenagers and this herd were their phones. Even while talking to one another, their phones were sirens calling their attention. Most held them close to their faces or bent their heads and peered intently, like oracles searching for the future.

Something, perhaps overheard, or in their demeanor, kept me focused on them because I thought they were planning something. Then one girl, white, with a veil of dark heavy hair swept over half her face, looked up at the others and smiled. Her mouth, with lips painted bright red, was partially open. “Okay, everyone ready?” she asked. “Got a number?”

“Yes,” answered the group with an impatient chorus. The oldest male seemed less enthused with this. I suspected whatever was happening was an obstacle to interfering with the girl sexually, and he’d been ready to get some. The group started calling out numbers. As the numbers were announced, another yelled, “Mine.” They handed phones to one another with squeals of discovery. A phone swap, I realized.

“Okay,” the dark-haired girl said. “Everyone swapped? Everyone swapped? Okay, then. For the next twenty-four hours, until this time tomorrow, everyone uses the phone they have now, acting like they’re that person, okay? Then we come back here tomorrow to give our phones back. And you can’t tell anyone, okay? Those are the rules.”

New phones in hand, laughing but somehow seeming like they were a little more malevolent than before, the group broke up, heading for the door in pairs and threes, leaving the oldest boy walking slowly in trail.

He was the only one without a smile.

Today’s Theme Music

Keeping it simple and staying with classic rock from the nineteen seventies. Here is Bad Company with ‘Can’t Get Enough’. While I listened to it in the barracks during technical training, hurrying around the Triangle at Keesler AFB, or driving around my first assignment at Wright-Pat, it remains a great song for streaming through your head and walking around.

Who Would You Rather?

We used to play a game: who would you rather have stuck with you on a deserted island?

We began with ‘Gilligan’s Island’. Who would you rather have with you, Ginger or Mary Ann?

gilligans-island-facts-ftr

Well, neither, some answered. Give me the Professor. He can get us the hell off the island, or help us survive. Conversely, the conversation turned to, who is the most useless, that you can do without? Well, those rich peckerheads, the Howells.

Which brings me around to today. From the Trump White House, who would you rather have with you on a deserted island: Jeff Sessions, the orange Donald, Betsy DeVos, Steve Bannon or Sean Spicer?

Take your time and give it some thought. I’m not responsible for any gagging, puking or sleepless nights the question causes you.

May!

Hey writers, it’s May!

You didn’t know? Sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you. Guess I should have included a spoiler alert.

I’m lovin’ May so far. Here in Ashlandia, the rain has ceased. We’re in a delightfully pleasant crease of weather, greenery, fresh air and blooms. ‘Spring’, some call it.

Whatever, the days are longer and sunshine rich. The furnace didn’t kick on last night, one of the traditional signs of spring arriving here. That warmth, long days and sunshine platter feeds my writing and creative energies, enabling a surge of writing like crazy.

How ’bout you? Do you find the seasons, weather or daylight affects your writing?

Today’s Theme Music

Nineteen seventy-four: I had my license and a car. The car was a nineteen sixty-five Mercury Comet sedan. Forest green and an automatic, its two eighty-nine V-8 hustled me around the hills of southern West Virginia.

I graduated high school. My wife, who was then my girlfriend, was a year behind me, and had gone to Europe for a month. I was working odd jobs at the oil and gas distribution center when the Air Force recruiter called me. What the hell, I decided, and enlisted.

It was a shock to my girlfriend. It was a shock to everyone.

It wasn’t the greatest decision, an impulse because I was impatient to get out of there, to be free, to be my own person, impatience that still haunts me.

There’s no doubt what song represents that year best: ‘You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet’, by Bachman-Turner Overdrive. I used to sing it to my girlfriend, to entertain her.

Yes, we were in love.

Back Up

I sit quietly for a bit, considering my surroundings. It’s warm. Higher humidity is creeping in. Sunlight and shadows dapple leaves, branches, logs and rocks on every side. Quiet reigns.

I don’t think we’re where we’re supposed to be.

But this was where we planned to be.

Isn’t it?

I put the question to the writer.

He clears his throat. “Well….”

Not what I want to hear. “Well, what?”

“No.” I can’t read his expression. I believe he’s hiding something from me. He looks around. “No.”

“No, what?” For a writer, he’s a poor damn communicator.

“No, I agree with you. This isn’t where we’re supposed to be. It’s close but….”

“Don’t you dare say, no cigar.”

“…it’s wrong.”

Wrong. “What do you mean, wrong?”

The writer’s face tightens with dismay and repressed anger. “It means I missed it. I took the wrong fucking angle and now we’re here, and this isn’t where we’re supposed to be, as you pointed out.”

“So what do we do?”

“What do we do?” His look pierces me with disheartening judgement about my intelligence. “We? Hah. What the fuck do you think we do? We back out of this.”

“Back out? But there’s a couple thousand words – “

“Yeah, I know. I wrote them.” The writer crosses his arms. “I fucking wrote them. Now I’ll tear them out. Don’t worry, we’re not far. It won’t take long. I know what I need to do.”

“I believe I heard those words at that last turn, and then we ended up here.”

“Jesus, way to destroy morale and momentum, dude. Ever think about being a motivational speaker for people considering suicide?”

Ouch. Harsh.

Turning, he strides back the way we came. Sighing, I follow and glare at his back. It’s lighter and less oppressive back this way, an immediate improvement. Still, I’m irritated. He may be the writer, but it’s my energy being consumed, something that he often overlooks.

He’s spoken, though. Time to rip out a chapter and a few other pages and paragraphs. Then I – he – well, one of us will write like crazy, at least one more time.

Catistan

There exists a legendary place where cats rule and people worship them. The land’s name is Catistan.

Images of cats and stories about them dominate Catistan. Special foods and treats are created just for cats. Toys and entertainment exist solely for cats. Cats are fed special treats and allowed to sleep wherever they want. People serve them no matter what the hour, and spend long periods grooming the cats or watching them as they sleep.

Of course, such places could never exist, except in the minds of cats.

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