Floofposter (floofinition) – Someone who writes or shares information about animals on the web.
In use: “With all the dispiriting news about pandemics, wars, fires, flooding, hurricanes, droughts, and politics, many people are drawn to floofposter sits where information is shared about animals demonstrating love and intelligence across the lines of species.”
Recent dreams — or memories of them (probably more likely) — have taken on a flash story aspect. They’re short. Concise.
I dreamed of football again. American football, playing it. My team was a ragtag group of friend. Male and female. We had no uniforms. The rules were a little weirder, too. Our playing field was a funnel about ten feet wide.
The dream initiated me to the middle of the action. I’d been put into the lineup. Others doubted me and my role. Why me and not others? I heard their doubt. Shared it myself. I resolved to impress everyone. Show them wrong.
My team was down. Time was running out. Rain was falling. Desperation hung over us. We needed a first down. The ball was thrown to me. I caught it and ran down the field. Got almost to the goal line before I was brought down. Everyone responded, “That was Seidel?” Yes, it was me.
We huddled. I put forward an idea for one of the women to carry the ball. The rest of us would block. Straightforward power run. That idea was rejected. Something else installed. The results was a shambles. I made my pitch again. I was more forceful. This time, others agreed.
We ran the play. She was not going to score. I ran back and pushed her forward, gathering others to help me. We scored as time expired.
Did we win? We thoughts so. The larger question was, were we advancing to the playoffs? Other games remained in progress. Rain fell harder. We stood as a team, awaiting word. We were told, our record was either oh and three — no wins and three losses — or three and three — or six and three. We didn’t understand. It depended on others, we were told. Wait.
“Monday, Monday.” Some of us from a certain era will go on auto, bringing up the Mamas & Papas song. Or maybe it’s just me.
Today is Monday, the first of its kind in August, dubbed August 2, 2021. Our heatwave continues as our daylight hours decline. Sunrise in Ashland was 6:05 AM. Sunset will come at 8:29 PM. We’re again expecting our high temperatures to nip into the upper nineties/low 100s. Red flag alerts for fire dangers continue.
In COVID-19 matters, many of us are quietly preparing for another lockdown. Have some safe quiet gatherings. Stock up the frig, freezer, and pantry. Numbers are climbing. Vaccinations have stalled. ICUs are filling.
Enjoying the early morning light and wind, a 2012 song by the Swedish House Mafia began looping through my thinking.
Upon a hill across a blue lake,
That’s where I had my first heartbreak.
I still remember how it all changed.
My father said,
“Don’t you worry, don’t you worry, child.
See heaven’s got a plan for you.
Don’t you worry, don’t you worry now.”
h/t to AZLyrics.com
Of course, I am a perpetual worrier. No plan is ever perfect. Execution brings out more flaws. Others don’t share agendas, visions, and dreams. Clashes arise. Accidents happen. Nature interferes via disasters and disease. Stupidity, ignorance, and obstinance — sometimes by me, frequently by others — in my view, but this is my post — creates greater difficulty.
But I’m also an optimist. A believer in the long game. The arc’s inevitable bend.
Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the vax. Here be the music. Cheers