Floofnosis

Floofnosis (floofinition) –  Trancelike state experienced by people, particularly pet owners,  induced by animals that makes people readily susceptible to the animals’ suggestions.

In use: “Many house pets find themselves forced to use floofnosis on their owners to get more treats as owners become convinced (often by insidious observations made by vets (in the animals’ view)) that the animals are overweight.”

Paper

White petals blushing with pink had drifted into piles. Snowflake sized, you wouldn’t think they’d do much, but like snow (and rain), pour enough into a place or a moment, and you start to have something. Add precipitation and time; let sit.

The rain had finally ceased. I’m not one to do yard work in the rain unless it’s critical (what could possibly be critical enough for me to do it in the rain?) so here I was, laboring against a chilly wind. Milky sunshine, lacking any sunshine, made sunglasses a necessity.

I’d had a vision: get out my blower/mulcher and rid my yard of the browning petals, part of the general cleanup. The petals had decided they liked it there. Bunching together and flattening out to endure the rain, they’d developed thick, communal layers. As I pried them off the driveway along the lawn, I found they’d turned into paper.

Nature’s paper. Dizzy implications struck. Something like this had probably been a prompt to paper’s invention. With time, heating, and more pressing, something like the petal paper could be done on a large scale. I gazed back into my imaginary past where people gathered to consider this petal paper and began thinking about what to do with this new stuff. Why, they could write on it with some berry juice.

The petals only come around once a year. What else could be used? I imagined them foraging and collecting new materials, processing and testing them, scaling up their new invention.

Temptations arose: I could treat these petals and try to develop paper. It could be an interesting experience.

Laziness prevailed. I returned to the yard work. After all, paper had already been invented.

Whitefloof

Whitefloof (floofinition) – Hard floof rock (flock) band prominent in the late 1970s and throughout the 1980s, known for their ballads and power chords.

In use: “Whitefloof’s most well-known song among floofs is likely, “Here I Floof Again” (1982), which was a major hit in the U.S.A.”

Thursday’s Theme Music

An old familiar song entered my head yesterday as I did yard work. Written by John Fogerty, the Status Quo cover of “Rockin’ All Over the World” (1977?) kept me coming.

The mind introduced the song toward the yard work’s beginning. Addressing an issue that I had to do, I told myself, “Here we go.” That invited the song’s refrain, “Here we go, here we go,” in. Once invited in, like a vampire, it can do whatever it was; I’d let it in.

It’s a simple rock song, upbeat and happy, a throwback to simpler times. Your impression of simpler times will vary according to your mileage and mindset, but it works for me.

Another Car Dream

Such a pleasant and satisfying dream last night. Nothing special to it.

A friend had built a car. Although it resembled a circa 1969 Porsche 911S, he’d built that body on a new 991 chassis. Its engine was a turbocharged 4.5 liter flat six. Fat tired but inconspicuous, it was a dainty jewel.

I was buying it from him, Gene, for next to nothing. The only thing that bothered me was its color, bright red. For the rest of the dream, it was a silvery slate blue that reflected everything in its high gleam.

Opening the hood, I checked out the engine bay. He’d done professional work, and the car’s finish was like Porsche had built it. I was extremely pleased.

After acquiring it, I picked up two friends. We were meeting two other friends at a restaurant and going to a concert. The car’s power and grace as I drove stunned me. It was so smooth and controlled, far beyond anything that I’d ever driven. The car’s quiet, unencumbered speed impressed my passengers.

Arriving at the restaurant, we met the other two. I checked out their cars. One was driving a current generation Lexus. The other drove an Infiniti. That pleased me. As I told the friends I’d picked up, there was five of us. We wanted to take one car to make it all easier, and couldn’t go in my new Porsche.

The restaurant was an expensive and charming place sitting by itself in a green field with a parking lot. As it’d just opened for dinner, we were the only customers. We sat down and ordered a light dinner. I had some paperwork from the car. Essentially, the builder had typed up an owner’s manual. I read through it as we ate.

Then, time to go, we headed out to the cars. Plans were made; one car was being left at the restaurant.  I was taking my car home, just up the road. We’d take the third car, the Lexus, to the concert.

Newer Porsches were now in the parking lot. None noticed my gem. I was experimenting with the accelerator, checking its responsiveness. The engine barked and snarled like a racing car, instantly answering the call for power with revs as I trundled it past the other parked cars. At one point, I had to stop to permit another to back out, which I did willingly, feeling cheerful and accommodating toward others.

Then we were exiting, turning left, going up a highway on a hill and around a curve. I quickly raced past others. The tach was redlined at 10,200, very high for a street car. The turbo was indicated on the tach as coming on at 8,200, which was also high. I remembered reading that, and also talking to the builder. He’d made it that high because he didn’t want to be dealing with turbo lag. With four and a half liters, it had power to do anything needed without the turbos.

I wanted to open the turbos and feel it. I was being cautious, though, intimidated by the power that I knew it had. I’d driven turbocharged vehicles and knew that the turbo could catch you out. You had to be aware when you used it.

I also knew that I needed to go home because that’s where the others were expecting me. Then I remembered, shit, I’d left my paperwork back at the restaurant.

Executing a u-turn, I returned to the restaurant. The dining room was now filled. Someone was at the table we’d used but I could see the paperwork. I told the hostess the issue and headed across to the table. By the time I arrived, the paperwork was gone. I addressed the people, a young man and woman there, and asked them about the paperwork. They hadn’t seen it.

Turning around, I realized that I was at the wrong table. The right one was behind me. And there was the paperwork. A businessman had just picked it up and told me that he was just moving it, it was there when he’d arrived. At my request, he handed it to me.

The dream ended.

The Beer Group

The weekly beer group would’ve met last night under ordinary circumstances. These being ordinary circumstances, they did not.

As a group, we range in size from six to sixteen attendees on most week. Volunteerism and traveling to visit family are the usual culprits pruning our numbers. We range in age from sixty to eighty-eight. Several college professors, computer programmers and coders, a physicist, doctor, and wildlife management people and biologists make up our group. Death has taken two since I joined it, an eon ago.

Businesses are re-opening in Ashland, Oregon. Technically, we could’ve met last night, wearing masks and social-distancing. These limitations made me laugh, right? We’re already on a group that struggles to hear one another. Imagine us now six feet apart trying to do that. Add the mask. Then, let us drink the beer.

You’d think with all this intelligence in the group, someone would devise a solution, something akin to the shower curtains being deployed in some restaurants, or the little greenhouses in Amsterdam, but no. We didn’t meet.

Think it’ll be a while before we do.

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