We live in a divisive area. Few agree on anything. Just today, my house told me it was 105 degrees F, the car said it was 102, and Alexa said it was 100.
Floofophily (floofinition) – Tendency of people to seek out or show attraction to animals.
In use: “Her floofphily developed into a commitment to help animals, often fostering kittens and puppies and their mothers, helping them recover rough starts and then homing them”
It was a lazy fun dream about working. I was a young man and seeking new employment. A middle-aged man was offering a prospective job. I hung around, hoping. He was one of several sub-contractors on sight. Talking with him, I felt I had a chance. I didn’t know what he was going, but I was sure that I could do it, too. At least, I could help, right? I was eager to prove those things and show that I was worth it.
Turned out, he was planting starts, as were the other sub-contractors. My guy was the smallest operation. He was planting about sixty plants. The others were doing hundreds to thousands. We were inside, on a top floor doing this. The floor was open and large, like an arena, with a domed metal ceiling. Large, bright lights kept it all lit like day.
I wondered, what plants are they putting into the ground with such care? Was it marijuana? No. The plants were striped decorative grasses. I was flummoxed about such grasses being given such attention, but as I watched the work, I caught on to the system and rhythm and helped out. As we worked and I became useful, I discovered that we were doing this for a startup. Those people worked for an Internet based company. They came in and started setting up workstations and computers among the plants.
We got to talking. I told them about some of my startup experiences with medical device manufacturing, and computer and net security, installing CRMs and databases, and building call centers. They were impressed.
At the end of the day, I left and went home to tell my wife I had expectations that I was going to be offered a job, that my efforts were going to earn a payout. I awoke hopeful, optimistic, and energetic.
Yes, definitely a fun dream.
I received a haircut today, the first in two months. It was a few weeks overdue. My hair is losing its presence on top and my forehead keeps pushing my hair line back. Hair grows thick and heavy on my sides and back, and still falls in waves of curls. The whole thing can become an unmanageable beast, fighting me about what I want it to do. It won a few times this week. I finally acquiesced to a growing need to deal with it.
Part of my reluctance is the pandemic protocols. We’re in a small town. Not many barber shops, salons, and stylists are among the businesses. Our town is oriented toward college students and tourists, translating business needs into drinking and eating establishments – pizza, restaurants, and beer, wine, coffee, and pastries. Scattered among them are gas stations, grocery stores, clothing boutiques, and bookstores.
Places catering to hair are less frequent. Almost all closed on Sunday and Monday. Most close early on Saturdays. The windows to get a haircut get perilously small. Pandemic closures meant less people working in these places. Appointments are the norm, and they’re precious. I was turned away because nothing was available at three locations in the course of five attempts spent over three days.
An appointment for a haircut. That blows away my youthful memories of walking into quiet establishments, taking a number, and waiting ten to fifteen minutes. In my military days, aka my youth, I had more hair to cut and more frequent needs to cut it to meet regulations. But the prices were better. In the beginning, we’re talking $1.10 for a haircut. Slowly it went to two dollars…five…ten…
Today, I spent $30 with a tip to trim my silvery locks and tame my curls. But I put the $30 haircut into context with coffee. I used to spend fifty cents to a dollar for a cup of coffee. I spent $4 on a cuppa today. Filling my car with gas cost six dollars for a time back then, compared to the fifty I just put out. Yeah, bread was two dollars a loaf, and it now runs $7. It was white bread back then, and now it’s multigrain, and I buy it cheaper at Costco, which wasn’t around back in those days. Cat food was a quarter a tin. Now it hits a dollar each. Hell, I remember spending $7,000 to buy a new Firebird, an expense that took a deep breath to decide after hours of calculations and days of mental wrestling. Good luck finding a new car, loaded, for seven grand these days.
I’ll just put in a mention about real estate. We bought our first place for half a million dollars. Family, still used to lower prices, were stunned. It wasn’t a large place, a sixteen hundred square foot condo, three bedrooms, three baths, two car garage, three stories. My family was more astonished when we sold that place after a few years for three hundred grand more than we paid. I was astonished, too. That was almost twenty years ago.
Context. It all costs more now — houses, cars, air fare, food, clothing, and yeah, haircuts. I look good, though. Young Megan, probably in her twenties, did a good job.
Time was sneaking toward six in the morning. He was lazing in bed, floating in the space between dreams and being awake, a cat beside him singing a purr. Open windows poured cool morning air over him, a solid reversal from the hundred degrees experienced hours earlier. Just as it seemed sleeping was seizing an edge, a loud grunt – snarl – snuffle sound sent him full awake. He and the cat sat up in panic-orchestrated synchronization, turning as one to look up at the window. After listening a moment more, he raised himself up and looked out the window.
A bear on the other side of the six-foot privacy fence a dozen feet away returned his gaze. As he mumbled, “Holy shit,” to himself, the bear, apparently bored, dropped out of view. Maybe out of sight, but definitely not out of mind.
Sunday is living up to its name. The sky is asking, “What’s a cloud?” None are on the roster. Sunshine rules. Our overnight low of 68 F was the day’s high a little more than a week ago. It’s now 75 F. After seeing a C note yesterday, expectations are that we’ll be at 102 F today.
It’s June 26, 2022. Get your June tasks done, for only five June days remain. Hump day, the middle of the year, is almost over.
The sun came over the horizon at 5:46 this morning and will go metaphorically underground at 8:51 PM.
The Neurons are singing “Hold the Line” by Toto from 1978. The Neurons were again foolin’ with me. I was writing in my head after the formal session finished, and like a line which emerged. So I told myself, “Hold onto that line while I get paper and pen and write it down.” Yeah, The Neurons answered, “Playing ‘Hold the Line’.” I was like, what, no, but it was too late. The strains were already live in the stream.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as need be, etc. I hear a coffee maker singing the morning song. Hot coffee on a day like this? You betcha! Here’s the tune. Cheers