Floofnificant (floofinition) – Something of particular interest or importance to an animal.

In use: “Keri didn’t see nor hear anything, but something was floofnificant to her cats because both stopped washing, listening and staring, causing Keri to slowly freak out.”


Floofgarden (floofinition) – Floof grunge rock (florunck) band formed in 1984 in Floofattle, Washington. Originally active from 1984 to 1997, the band achieved significant commercial and critical success.

In use: “Songs from Floofgarden’s debut album, Floofunknown, includes “Black Floof Sun”, “Floofman”, and “Fell on Floof Days”, which all achieved commercial success as hit singles.”

Saturday’s Theme Music

A wonderfully cool breeze knifes through the warmth sunshine and sluices in over my shoulders. The touch and smell — fresh, comforting — stirs memory and longing. Letting my mind move, I slip back to 1982.

Ah, youth. Here we are on Okinawa. Coming down the hill offers a fantastic Pacific oceanscape. Sun. Sparkles. Mind. Stumbles. We’re on the far side of the world from where I was born. History and depth humbles. Imagine being the first humans slipping out to explore that vastness.

We’re laughing in our car. The little silver Toyopet Publica’s engine winds up. We rock along at sixty klicks.

The radio is playing. It’s “Rio” by Duran Duran.

It’s 1982, and it feels different.

Mixed Dreams

Weighing dreams on the scales. There was another flying dream, brief but intense. I wore goggles in this one. The wind tore at my face. An insect flew into my mouth.

My sputtering and spitting marked the end to the flying portion. In a dream picosecond, I’m in the military somewhere, temporary duty somewhere, finishing up. A woman, a major is present. She came in for the same conference. I talk to her about sharing a ride to the airport. Plans and agreements are made.

Time skips ahead. It’s later than I thought. I need to rush. I haven’t packed! I need to check out, too. The airport is ninety miles away. No, it’s ninety minutes away.

I need to hurry.

I’m racing, explaining to the front desk, I order a ride and tell them where to meet me. Hurrying to the room, I shower and change clothes. Shoes! Where are they? Oh, I’ve packed them. Where’s my thing, where‘s my toilet kit?

Anxiety ratchets up.

I see a car, a silvery blue sedan, like a Buick. A woman is driving. My ride, I think. I wave at her. She parks and leaves her car. I shout over, “I need more time, I’m almost ready.”

She walks over and starts following me. I’m talking to her, babbling. We’re at once outside and in the room. I finally find my toilet kit — I’ve already packed it. Damn it, where’s my head?

And the woman says, “I’m not your ride. I’m your replacement. How was your visit?”

In morning’s warm light, it all makes sense. The military was a comfortable space. Not very challenging, and straightforward. Structured, with few surprises, and a lot of positive feedback.

Now I’m out on my own, flying on my writing words but so damned dismayed. Is it smart enough, original enough, good enough?

Where is my toilet kit?

I know. Standard writer qualms. Standard human qualms.

Standard life qualms.

See ya.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: