Saturday’s solar beatdown began at 5:39 AM on July 3, 2021. Seemed like the previous beatdown had only finished. My house saw 101 F again yesterday. The sun started early and stayed sharp. Temps remained high late into the evening — 83 F at 11:30 PM. Smoke from the Lava Fire (by Weed, California), had dissuaded me from opening windows and doors as is my wont to cool the house in the evenings. Not a fan of wildfire smoke, but in fairness, it’s not very nice to me. Sunset today, when we’ll theoretically gain some relief, is due at 8:51 PM, if the cosmic scheduler is correct.
Musically, I’m inclined to revisit an Eagles song. The cats inspired this. Two of the three house floofs were sitting a dozen feet apart in the great room’s dining section. I was walking through, speaking with them about generalities. You know, how was your night, you’re looking good, anything big planned for today, want some coffee? They were listening, with Boo, the bedroom panther occasionally saying something back to show he’s paying attention while the ginger youngblood, Papi (aka Meep) watched me while casting glances toward Boo. The two don’t get along.
They also don’t get along with Tucker. He’s a burly, long-hair, long-tail, black and white beast. The house alpha cat. He took at that moment to execute a mad dash. He does these with a guttural cry that reminds me of Mel Gibson shouting, “Freedom,” in Braveheart. The floors are wooden in this part of the house. So here comes Tucker from out of the hallway in the general direction of the home office with his cry of freedom, claws and paws madly scrambling as he builds speed and skews into different directions.
The entrance took us all — Boo, Papi, and me — by surprise. I reacted with a bark of laughter. Boo and Papi reacted with, “OMG, a berserker, flee, flee” panic. This meant cats whirling to get out of the way, feet scrambling and sliding on the hardwood floor.
That’s when I started sharing “Life in the Fast Lane” (1977) with the floofs. I was amused; they were not.
Stay positive, test negative, wear masks as slash if slash when necessary to protect yerself and others, and get vaxxed. I will note that Oregon reached the 70% vaccinated mark yesterday, July 2, 2021. In honor of V-O Day, stores and restaurants are fully open sans restrictions.
Here’s the tune. Cheers
To start off, I’m at home with Mom, working on some project. She’s young — thirties — I’m young — twenties. Others are present. I’m working on a project. Bustling about (typical Mom style), speaking with others, Mom doesn’t wholly approve. She’s saying I’ve already done too much of that. She doesn’t want any more. I’m laughing her off because I don’t think she understands what I’m doing and doesn’t want to know. I’ve decided I’ll continue in secret and surprise her with the results.
As that’s underway, I’m also given pills to take. These are pale white capsules. Eschewing taking them, I secret them in a drawer. In there, I discover I have a cache of red capsules and blue capsules that I refused to take. It’s quite a collection. I close the drawer before others notice.
I then work on my project. I’m collecting information from the net. I’ve found a great deal that I like. They’re giving me ideas about what to do and how to do it. I collect ideas with enthusiasm, sticking them into the same drawer as the pills, not letting others see.
Food is being served. Pizza! I dislike the pizza being served and mock it. A friend and I go off for a walk. We’re walking through a very busy city, following sidewalks, crossing streets heavy with vehicular traffic, crossing railroad tracks, following traffic-light guidance, talking as we go. My friend is holding a wedge of pizza as we walk and talk. He finally tells me that he’s holding onto it for me. “As you didn’t like the other pizza offered, I thought I’d give you this one to try. It’s very good.”
I’m disinclined to eat more pizza at that point. He keeps on as we’re walking. I finally accept it and take a bite, complaining that it’s cold as I do. The pizza is alright. Nothing I’m not wowed by it, he brings out another piece. “Different pizza,” he says, offering it to me. I’m wondering, “Where are you getting these pizzas?” I’m looking around him, amused, trying to see if there’s a pizza truck or something beside him. He, amused, is evasive, refusing to say, but repeating, “It’s my mission to bring you pizza until you find one you like.”
I’m laughing at that. “What a mission. How’d you get roped into that role?”
“I volunteered,” he replied. “I wanted it.”
We’ve been crossing streets as we speak, careful of the traffic. Now we reach a chain-link fence abutting a white cement sidewalk and stop. The sidewalk looks fresh and new. In fact, that’s the general impression of everything that I see. It’s a bright, sunny day. I’ve been enjoying the walk. We’re both holding a slice of pizza. I take a bite of mine and ask, looking around, “Which direction do we go?”