Welcome to Threesday! Yes, Threesday. Many people aren’t aware of the origins of Thursday, but it comes from the invading hordes that were taking down the Roman Empire. The Romans thought, ‘thurs’ was a reference to ‘three’ in the pagan language because the invaders would sometimes hold up three fingers. The invaders were telling the Romans that they’d be back in three days, on Thor’s Day. Oh, the things that mixed-up communications have given us. Of course, I made most of that up just now. As far as I know, the Thor’s Day part might be true.
The cats were waiting for the sun to arrive this morning. When it did at 7:22 AM, they all yawned, stretched, and asked, “What’s for breakfast? Come on, get up! Time to eat.” The temperature then was 28 F locally. It’s expected to climb to 55 before the sun takes its show over the horizon at 5:28 this evening. Islands of white clouds linger along the northern horizons above the mountains like the promise of a new land, but the sky is otherwise a hazy, lazy blue.
I have Lenny Kravitz singing “Are You Gonna Go My Way” stuck in the morning mental music stream. I know I’ve used his 1993 release as my theme music before, but the song is worming through my head this AM. I must share it to release it. Hence, it’s the day’s theme music.
Be safe, be smart, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, get the vaxes and boosters when ye can, and take time to sit and smell the coffee. I’m now going to smell and drink my coffee. Happy Threesday to you. Cheers
I experienced three distinct airport dreams last night. Two were of the, ‘hey, I’m traveling in an airport’ style, once with my wife, and once without her. They were essentially just in the airport, milling around, waiting for my flights, without any events happening. The third was weird.
My wife and I were in our thirties and looked just as we would in photographs of that time. We were outside on asphalt, between low building with white siding. The buildings reminded me of military buildings erected in the late 1950s/early 1960s. Cyclone fencing encircled the site. Beyond were tall pines and firs in a sandy but flat land sketchy with broken asphalt and foundations where other buildings had been torn down.
We talked as we waited. I asked, “I wonder how much of this land and these buildings are going with us?” Because it was my understanding that they would fly us out by lifting the land we were on. I was struggling to visualize that process.
As time passed, we drifted into another area. Tall, fat, white, cylindrical pillars held ceiling up hundreds of feet above our heads. The paved area was open on all sides. People in knots, clumps, groups, were waiting all around although the center was clear. I walked around a while, looking, wondering when we were leaving, then found that I’d lost track of my wife. As I looked for her, I heard an announcement that our flight was ready and that we need to return to our places.
A stocky pale man with short hair, a red baseball cap, and a goatee asked, “Are you looking for your wife?” As I nodded and replied, “Yes,” he said, “She went to the Starbucks,” and pointed. I turned and saw my wife up on a platform, waving at me. Thanking the man, I walked toward her and waved her toward me, telling her, “Come on. It’s time.”