Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofplicate (floofinition) – Something made more complex or problematic because of an animal’s presence or involvement.
In use: “For many, having a pet such as a cat or dog automatically floofplicates budgets and vacationing planning, of course, but pets can also floofplicate such routines as cleaning the house or doing yardwork as the animals arrive and try to ‘help’.”
It’s 36 degrees F, with rain and snow. Happy Mother’s Day.
Yes, it’s Sunday, May 8, 2022, the second Sunday of May, which makes it Mothers’ Day in the U.S. Moms across the country are receiving cards and gifts, and are being taken out to brunch, or being served breakfast in bed in the best traditions of the day. But, that’s not how it works for some. Many mothers endure hardship and still work on Mother’s Day. And some women are not mothers; they’re women who couldn’t or didn’t want to have children for millions of different personal and biological reasons. We do have the flipside rising, where men are being noted for being mothers, because that’s their family role. The world’s twists and curves grow complicated.
Anyway, I did my duty, wrote Mom a letter and sent her a card. No flowers or foods, as I used to send, as she started complaining about getting so many flowers, she was tired of them. And the foods became less appreciated or desired as she aged and her appetite and diet were reduced. I tried gift cards for a while and learned that she was re-gifted them to my sisters, who really don’t want or need them. So I’ve fallen back on the basics. I’ll call later today, because I know the MD returns, and that she’ll be busy and can’t talk now.
Today’s high temperature will be 46 F. A freeze warning is on for tonight. Sunrise today was a slow graying of the day that began at 5:58 this morning. Sunset is expected at 8:16 this evening.
“Kyrie” by Mr. Mister is circulating around the morning mental music stream. Once again, it came about as I was feeding the cats. For some reason, my neurons felt that the 1985 rock song was the ideal soundtrack for the moment. I believe it was because I was looking up and across at the mountains, wondering if that was snow decorating the pine tops. The wind was blowing and the neurons might have been reacting to the first line in “Kyrie”: “The wind blows hard against this mountainside.”
Stay positive, test negative, and so on and so forth as they say. Time for coffee and brekkie. Cheers
The wheel turns again, taking us to Saturday, May 7, 2022, as the commonly accepted reality (CAR). Our quantum neurons had to all agree upon this alignment as the illusion du jour. It seems to be working so far, though it should be stated that if it’s not working, you think it’s another day, which is also an accepted conclusion. It’s a paradox: all is right and wrong, the same and different.
What’s not different is the rain. It’s crashing agin’ the roof and windows, pelting the leaves and blades, splashing o’er the cars and doors. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The temperature is a rain-chilled 47 F, just four off the projected high. Sunrise at 5:59 was a wet and noisy, gray and limp event. Sunset is expected thirteen hours and eighteen minutes later.
My wife has been on a Nelly kick, telling Alexa throughout the last few days, “Alexa, play Nelly.” The neurons now have “Ride Wit Me” from 2001 looping in the morning mental music stream. The flow of words keep me listening but the intriguing beat keeps me moving.
Well, I have coffee in cup in hand. Stay positive, test negative, and so on. Here’s the music. Enjoy!
This was a surprisingly short dream, and all in blue with very low lighting. The framing for all of this was very tight, staying focused on me — young again, with long, thick hair — and just the car and our very immediate background, which was blurred. I’d just been bequeathed a dark blue car. Low and wide, shaped like a blunt wedge, it was built for speed and barely came up to my thighs. Its wheels were large, and its tires were fat, and its glass was darkly tinted. Dark, dark, dark blue, reminding me of the old Penske Sunoco blue on the cars that Mark Donahue drove at Indy, and Can Am, Trans Am, and sports car racing, I walked around it, looking for a manufacturer’s badge or logo, but found none.
I heard someone — and it might have been me, to be honest, because I think it was in my head — say, “Get in and go.”
Go? Go where? Get in? How?
I didn’t see any door handles. I couldn’t even tell where the doors were. There were no lines or breaks. The car was completely seamless. Its headlights were flat, narrow slits, as were its front air intakes. I thought it could be a BMW, but it could also be a Ferrari or Tesla, McLaren or Mercedes. It could be anything.
As I walked around, scratching my head and going through the question, how does the door open, the door just opened. It was a scissor type door, raising up instead of turning out. I peered into a blue interior that seemed both plush and spartan, built solely for two, and finished in dark blues that were even darker than the body.
Breathless with excitement and anticipation, I slipped in behind the wheel and looked around, sucking up details. The door closed as the seats embraced me. Arms wrapped across my waist and chest, startling and frightening me until I realized they were like seatbelts except they were part of the seat and sealed themselves, holding me tight in the soft seat. The steering wheel was small and moved toward me when I reached for it. A soft rumbling began. A dashboard with low blue lights lit up.
I chuckled to myself, thinking, someone likes blue. The steering wheel was flat on its top and bottom and fit perfectly to my hands. The car smelled new. But, how was that possible, when someone left it to me or gave it to me?
I selected a gear with a small, black handle to my right and pressed on the gas. The car moved silently forward into a blue-black night as I grinned and thought, this will be fun.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 