Linnea Said

Keep plugging away if you feel the pull.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Thought of this as I was walking today. Thought we could all use a mellow music break from the news about politics, death, wildfires, and other disasters.

Here’s Alanis Morrissette with “Ironic” from sometime last century.


Michael came in later than usual, arriving a few minutes after several others. Despite his tardiness, ‘his’ place was still unoccupied so he took his usual chair. Saying hellos, wiping sweat from his face — because he always walked — he poured a glass of porter and took a long drink.

Behind him stood another man.

Ron thought the other was with Michael. He’d followed him in and was now standing directly behind Michael’s chair. Ron looked at the fellow — unsmiling, a little swarthy looking and burly, about Michael’s age (in Ron’s guess), which would make the man in his early sixties, Ron thought, unsure about Michael’s age. Michael was the youngest. Ron thought Michael was his early sixties.

But Michael was ignoring the man, even though the man’s look was fixed on Michael.

The man looked at Ron as Ron looked at him. Ron shied away from greater contact, which wasn’t his style, and addressed his look to the other beer drinkers. He’d first thought the man was with Michael but now he thought maybe the guy had followed Michael in because he was pissed off. Ron, not imaginative, thought, maybe they’d had a fight, or were about to have one.

It wasn’t his style to back off or ignore things so he said to Michael, “Ahem. Michael.”

He waited for Michael to look his way. When Michael did, Ron said with a nod toward the man behind Michael’s seat, “Is he with you?”

Michael didn’t look. “Yes.” He drank more beer.

Confusion swept Ron. The rest of the guys at the table looked confused. Frank, grinning, said, “Should we offer him a chair and a beer?”

Michael glowered. “Why not?”

Rising fast, Ron said, “Let me do the honors, then.” Putting his hand out toward Rolf, he said, “I’m Ron, by the way.”

The man glared at Ron’s hand and then transferred the look to Ron’s face. “Rolf.”

“Rolf?” Ron said, lowering his hand.


Joe had brought up a chair. Space was made for Rolf. “Do you drink beer?” Ron asked, sitting. His lips felt like Elmer’s glue had been smeared over them. “We have a Boneyard IPA or Pilot Rock porter. Or we can order you something else, like Ashland Amber Ale.”

“Porter,” Rolf said, sitting.

“Porter it is,” Ron said, filling the glass from the pitcher of porter. As he did that, Michael stood.

“I’m going to take a leak,” Michael said. He pointed at Rolf. “Stay. There.” He stared at Rolf for several seconds before turning and striding away.

Ron raised his eyebrows at Frank and the others. They all seemed as perplexed as he felt. That didn’t make him feel any better.

Andy said, “I’m Andy, Rolf.”

Nodding, Rolf picked up his beer.

Andy said, “How do you know Michael?”

“I’m his angel.” Rolf took a gulp of beer.

Everyone’s eyebrows except Rolf’s rose. “His angel?” Frank said with a grin.

Rolf lowered his glass. “Yes.”

“What kind of angel are you?” Bob said.

“I’m a healing angel,” Rolf said.

“Did you say that you’re an angel?” Andy said.

“Yes,” Rolf said with a sour look at Andy.

Ron said, “Maybe we should clarify what you mean by an angel.”

Rolf turned to him. “I’m a fucking angel from fucking heaven. Clear?”

“Yes,” Ron said, pulling back. “Very clear. I don’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended.” Rolf turned back to his beer.

“How did you meet Michael?” Andy said.

“I didn’t,” Rolf said.

“Then how do you know him?” Ron said as several others asked the question.

Rolf picked up his beer and smirked. “He made me.”

Ron said, “He — ”

“Jesus wept,” Rolf said. “What the fuck is this, twenty questions? Michael imagined me. By imagining me, he made me. That’s how the fuck I met him. I’m his healing angel. Any other damn questions?”

Ron put his hands up. “Sorry. I don’t mean to offend you but I don’t think any of us have ever met an angel before. This is certainly a first for me.”

“Congratulations to you,” Rolf said.

“It’s just that we’ve never met someone who someone else made by imagining them,” Andy said. “So we’re taken aback.”

Raising his beer glass again, Rolf smirked at Andy. “Oh, yeah? What the fuck do you think you are?”



Floofography (2)

Floofography (2)  (floofinition) – knowing where your cat or dog housepet likes to sit or lie. (see also floofography)

In use: “He checked the floofography before turning off the lights, noting everyone’s position, confirming all were in and safe, but also lessening the chance that he might inadvertently step on on or trip over them.”

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