Floofsant

Floofsant (floofinition) – feline or canine’s powerful or vigorous impact.

In use: “Although it was two in the morning, a floofsant meow caused him to leap out of his recliner and run into the dark night outside to find the source and help the animal, if necessary.”

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Thursday’s Theme Music

I’m familiar with Atlanta Rhythm Section (ARS) but they never grabbed me. They were too mellow for my taste. I heard a lot of their music, though, first through the radio, and then, through a friend. ARS was one of his favorite bands. I believed that was because he was from Alabama, with stops in Georgia. Although he was a Crimson Tide fan, he rooted for the Atlanta Falcons and Braves. What was odd (to me) is that his other two favorite bands were Boston and Van Halen. Van Halen ruled as number one, with Boston slotted in as his number two favorite. He never specified whether he was a David Lee or Sammy fan, but I think he leaned toward the latter because he was a Red Rocker fan when Sammy was a solo artist, but not much of a Montrose fan. Still, with those two as his top two choices, it always seemed a little odd that he enjoyed ARS, and also The Little River band.

Whatever. Today, for some reason, I’m streaming “Imaginary Lover” by ARS, from 1978.

The Family Dream

IN THE DREAM’S BEGINNING —

I’m in a dim corridor with dusty, wooden floors, walls, and a ceiling. It’s not overly narrow, about wide enough for two people, but it’s rickety, uneven, and crooked. It’s also familiar in a way, as though I’ve been in here before. I’m walking slowly and carefully. Although the light is dim, I don’t know it’s source and I’m not certain where I’m at or what’s going on, so I’m being cautious.

I reach a juncture. The way is blocked by what I determine to be a paper wall. After some experimenting, I push the wall aside and advance. Another paper wall is encountered. This happens three or four times. By that point, I decide that I’ll attempt to smash through the wall instead of moving it. After doing that three or four times, I exit.

I discover myself exiting off a bus. I’ve arrived at my destination, and I’m happy. The destination is an old wooden building built on the side of a grassy slope. Others are there, as I’d hoped and expected, because I’m here for a family reunion.

Walking around, I meet others. I’m carrying a large orange doll of uncertain sex. The doll is precious to me and to the others. They’re impressed that I have the doll. I’m proud of it.

Arrangements and suggestions are made. I want to shower and clean up. Before I do, I want to bath the doll. Finding a wash basin, I fill it with warm, soapy water and gingerly lower the doll into the water until just the top of its head is visible. Beaming, I think and say, “Perfect.” Others come over to admire what I’ve done.

I don’t recognize any of the family from my current family, that is the people I know in this life. Five ideas come to me in this order.

  1. I’m in a movie.
  2. Or a book.
  3. Or another dimension.
  4. Or a past — or future — life.
  5. The people I’m meeting are all me.

The last idea seizes me. I like it. That they can all be me excites me. I think, I’m exploring myself. Walking around, I look at them more carefully for clues that they’re me. I don’t find any, but I’m undaunted.

Returning to the wash basin, I gently scrub the doll, and then rinse it off. This done, I show it to the others. They’re all impressed, clapping and making supportive and encouraging comments. With the doll clean, I’m free to clean myself. After some wandering around and talking to others, I’m pointed toward the showers. Other family members are present. As I strip down, shower, and shave, we talk about what to wear. My choice (which I can’t remember now) surprises some, concerns a few, but pleases the rest. I’m pleased and proud that most are pleased, and satisfied, that is what I’ll wear.

The dream ends.

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