You ever get involved with writing and thinking about Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle and observer bias in quantum mechanics, and become uncertain about what you’re thinking?

It’s almost as complicated as trying to explain everything that’s happened on Game of Thrones.


No Panic

I’d resumed writing this week after returning home, completing a ten day road trip. It’d been a sad period, beginning with a red-eye flights across the United States and a five hour drive to a hospital. Eighteen hours of hope and optimism followed, and then, with startling realization, it was over. After that came calls and emails, mourning, memories, and planning. Then there was a service.

Next were visits to my side of the family, and a short, intense, fun reunion with them, the fun and intensity waning under the mourning that continued for my wife’s mother.

Finally, there were return flights.

Routines slowly resumed. Walking, cleaning, writing, etc. Notes and work-in-progress were reviewed, and story lines picked up. But…I seemed disconnected from the work. It seemed remote to me. I understood all the reasons that could account for that distance and my attendant lethargy. I didn’t try to rush myself or berate myself. I took up my routines with the anticipation that I’d catch fire again.

Fire caught this morning as I emerged from the shower and began toweling off. First, there was a chapter title, “Ebb and Flow.” Setting dropped into place. The opening paragraph was written across my mind. Other lines followed.

Suddenly I had the rush. Had to get to it. It’s a beautiful, familiar rush of having something to say about the story I’m telling.

I’m at the coffee shop. Set up is complete and coffee is at hand. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Thursday’s Theme Music

America on Coffee posted a piece about Sister Sledge and “We Are Family.”  Their post triggered a memory landslide.

The song came out in 1979. The Pittsburgh Pirates adopted it as their theme song. Led by Willie Stargell, they chased down a World Series championship.

Personally, I ended one life chapter and resumed another. I’d left the military to buy a restaurant and attend college in October, 1978. It didn’t work out well, so I headed back to the military. Preparing to leave for my assignment at Randolph-Brooks AFB in Texas, my car, a signal orange Porsche 914, burned up in the driveway. Terrific. I flew out alone to live in the barracks and save some money. My wife would fly out to join me in a few weeks.

I’d arrived at R-B AFB and was in transient quarters when Pittsburgh took on Baltimore in game seven of the World Series. It was a beautiful fall day in Texas. I listened on the room’s AM/FM clock radio as Pittsburgh won the game and the championship. The following Monday, I resumed my military career and kept going until I retired in 1995.



Reluctant Day

Today can’t decide if it’s spring or winter in southern Oregon. The sun is exhibiting spring friendliness but that wind has a winter bark and nip. The rest of the area seems reluctant to take sides. We humans stay cautiously busy, waiting for the day to make up its mind.

The Astral Level

He always thought his wife and best friend had something going on but he never found evidence. It was just the way they were together. When they died twenty-four hours apart in separate accidents, it seemed like confirmation to him.

They’d had something going on in the astral level. He’d never believe otherwise.

The Tone

“They wanted to go to the movies,” she said, “but I told them you said, “I want to see that movie, too.””

Her impression of him sounded like Disney’s Goofy talking. “That’s not how I said it,” he said.

“It was in the way I told it,” she said.

He knew she was right. The story-teller always sets the tone.

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