Floofkade (floofinition) (origins: Alberta, Canada) – 1. Effort to cut off another animal from a particular area by force or threat of force.
In use: “The kitten began eating and immediately put up a floofkade with his paws on the bowl and several growls and yowls as he chewed.”
2. Effort, typically through fencing or objects, to keep animals segregated.
In use: “The dogs were floofkaded in separate kennels, but one dog figured out how to open us, and soon, he’d lifted the floofkade by single-pawedly opening all the cages.”
The Edward Gorey jigsaw puzzle was finally finished last night, April 15. We started it on March 30th, so it took a while. To be fair, other events have distracted us from doing the puzzle. My wife didn’t work on it at all until last night as she was reading and preparing for her book club, cleaning, cooking, baking, gardening, and organizing us (yeah, slacker, right?). (No, she isn’t.)
Here’s the photo evidence. (Sorry for the poor photo.)
A new one awaits. Two others are on hand. Three more have been ordered but haven’t shipped yet. There are also jigsaw puzzle exchanges being organized. We’re shared a few but have yet to receive any more.
That is all.
The Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride” started streaming in my head as soon as I awoke and thought about this dream.
To begin. I was alone in my car. My wife was away. I was going to see a local play. It was a big, annual event.
First, I was dismayed because I was waiting for a parking spot and someone else drive in and took it. As I complained about that, I discovered a lot more — and better — parking available. I was pleased as I parked.
I then went to a machine to purchase my ticket. That would reserve my right to see the show. I put twenty dollars in the machine and then realized that that would give me two tickets when I only needed one. Riding the roller coaster again, I frothed at myself and what I’d done.
I walked to the theater’s entrance see what plays were available. Two were running. After deciding which to see, I went back to the machine. I put my ticket in and selected my play. It spit out my new ticket, and five dollars. I didn’t understand why I was getting five dollars back but I was happy about it.
I headed for the door through the throngs of people. Most were moving slow; impatient, I cut around a group of four men, telling them, “Excuse me,” as I did, as one veered into my path.
That guy laughed. “Oh, look at this guy, hurrying, like he’s special, like we’re not all going to the same place.”
He, a bald, bearded, stocky white man, irritated me, but I put that behind me and got in line. We advanced until I was the next one in line. Then the ticket taker, a young, tall man in a red uniform, announced, “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m afraid that I have to announce that there are no more seats. The theater is closed. I’m sorry.”
Protests about having tickets rose. The young man spoke directly to me. “They do this every year. They oversell tickets and then people are turned away at the door.”
Disappointed, I made my way to the my car and then went off.
Using dream rules, I was now in a huge, crowded room. I had a twin bed with a light blue bedspread, one of hundreds, maybe thousands, of such beds.
I was kneeling by my bed when the four men came up who I’d passed before. The bearded one sat down on my bed. “Hey, get off my bed please,” I said.
“Because I want to use it.”
“Can’t we both use it?” He had a large plate of food. Saying, “Here, have some food,” he pour a huge portion of spaghetti and sauce onto my bed.
I asked, “Why’d you do that? I don’t want that. I’ve already eaten.”
“I just wanted to share with you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’ve already eaten. Besides, if you were giving me food, pouring cooked food on my bedspread isn’t the way to do it. I have to sleep here.”
He was mumbling something back. I was attempting to move the spaghetti. Noticing some partially eaten chicken parm, I was tempted to eat some of the food but pushed against that idea.
The guy began cleaning up, but he made a mess of it. The ticket taker came by to chat with me. Seeing the mess, he summoned someone to help clean it up. As that was happening, he apologized for the ticket situation. He said, “They do this every year. They really need to fix it.”
A manager, a Hispanic woman in a skirt and white top came by to see what was going on. Seeing her, the ticket taker told her that he was just telling me about the tickets. “They really need to fix it.”
The woman agreed. “They do.”
A tall and bald white man wearing glasses, came by. The woman told me and the ticket taker that he was the senior manager. Then she addressed the man. “When are they going to fix the ticket problem? Every year, they sell too many tickets, and we turn people away at the door. Why does this happen? It doesn’t need to.”
“We are going to fix it. You’re in charge.”
The woman was taken back. “What are you saying?”
“I’m telling you that the board met just now, and they’ve delegated authority to you to come up with a plan and fix the problem.” The man walked off.
Pleased, the woman looked at me. “Well, there you go. I’m going to fix it.”
The dream ended. Cue the Beatles.
Looking out, sipping coffee, I questioned myself, seeking the day and date. Wow, the sixteenth, half of April is already gone. Thursday again, already? It seemed like we just had one. Pretty soon, it’ll be the weekend all over again.
The weekend doesn’t have much true meaning for me. Military existence as a shift worker made them moot. When I joined management, it changed, and I kind of got the hang of it, mostly due to my wife saying, “It’s the weekend. We should do something.”
Everyone seemed to have a mindset around the weekend – do something, or do nothing. Meanwhile, since dropping out of the employment world to enter the sinister world of being a novelist, I’ve drifted back out of the weekend thing. Everyday is for writing in my world, but I still clash with the rest of the world and its idea of the weekend (along with those pesky interruptions called ‘holidays’).
Weirdly, out of all this, the song by the Killers, “Human” (2008), splashed into my thought stream.
I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes, clear your heart
Cut the cord
h/t to Genius.com
Interesting to me but probably no one else how my mind jumps through these connections. It makes me smile.
That could be the coffee, though.