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Flooflumph

Flooflumph (floofinition) – 1. (noun) a housepet’s movement with heavy tread. 2. (verb) (slang) a term used in reference to a clumsy housepet.

In use: “The big lab was such a flooflumph as a puppy, all paws and legs, thundering and crashing when he ran, that it was amazing to see him as a mature and majestic adult, trotting and sprinting with grace.”

Sunday’s Theme Music

Piddling through the morning and ruminating about what to do today and this week, I drifted into channels that went, “Life. It’s just a game we play.”

That naturally activated certain cells. Next thing that I know, I’m streaming Al Wilson’s “Show and Tell” (1973) because of that one set of lines go, “Show and tell. Just a game I play when I want to say, I love you.”

It’s another song from that era whose every note is familiar. Reflecting on it as I walked to write, I realize that the song makes me nostalgic for that period in a way that other songs don’t. Perhaps it’s the words and their sentiments, and the way that Al Wilson delivers them. It could be the chilly and windy weather stirring up memory flashes of being in Penn Hills, PA, when the song was popular. The sky’s color out here today harkens back to memories of snow warnings.

We don’t have snow warnings here today, but some rain is forecast. As usual, untangling the threads of memories and impressions are too much. I’ll just live with the song and nostalgia.

A Chaotic Moving Dream

There I was,  in the midst of people and stuff on rolling hills of green grass. Stuff, being a broad, vague word, amply covers it. Stuff was everywhere, so vague that I can only say, I looked around and saw stuff, because there was too much to take in.

People were coming and going, including friends. I ‘m expecting this. I’m getting ready to move. A friend’s telling me that I need to organize. Make lists and do research about my move. Yes, I was answering him, I do and I will. Happy, I looked forward to my move.

*click* My mind shifted. What should be Sunday’s theme song. Mamas and Papas. No, that’s Monday. Kris Kristofferson, “Sunday Mornin’ Coming Down”, or Johnny Cash. U2, “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” the Monkees, “Pleasant Valley Sunday”. “Easy Like a Sunday Morning”. “Sunday Girl”. No, no, no.

*click*  Shadows grew long. Sunlight dimmed. The green hills began retreating into darkness.

People are rushing about. Others are moving. Time for me to move. I made lists and gave them to friends. This is what I need. The lists were very specific. Go get these things. People reviewed the lists and talked about the items. I don’t remember anything on the lists. I was bubbling with happiness.

Had a black index box filled with cards. It’s the black box, I think. Items are on the cards. I flip through, picking from the cards, what do I need, what do I need? Had a black book to look things up, research what everything meant, so my list was accurate. I hadn’t looked anything up. I wasn’t certain that I needed to but one friend was present, insisting that I should. I resisted, but told him that I would.

Oh, sudden and sharp, I needed to have a bowel movement. Where’s the toilet, where’s the toilet, where’s the toilet.

I begin running around. The toilet is out in the open by my friends. They’re talking to me. I’m babbling about needing to take a shit, scrambling to get my pants down, and sit on the toilet, hurry, hurry, hurry. My friends are watching. I’m calling for privacy. They’re turning away. I’m thinking, movement, movement, another kind of moving, what’s with all the moving? I sit on the commode. The movement begins. I’m laughing because I’m thinking, I’m getting rid of shit. I tell my friends that.

I’m not worried. I’m happy. The move has begun. I start singing, “Bust A Move”.

The dream ends.

 

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