Month: June 2022

A Short Dream

I was with my wife’s family. She wasn’t present but all of them that I ever knew, alive or dead, were there.

It was a reunion and joy was the mode as people were recognized and greetings exchanged. I became the host, asking people what they would like to eat and drink. Both of those were limited to start and then quickly became consumed. Mamaw was the last to arrive. I told her that I could give her tea or brussel sprouts, but only one, because I only had one cup left, unless, of course, she wanted to have them together.

She answered, “Brussel sprouts in my tea. Well, I never have but I like both, so let’s do that.”

I responded with surprise, questioning her, confirming she was sure, but served her tea with brussel sprouts.

Time to go! Everyone began rushing around. I hurried around screen to another part of the dream. There, I had a large black stallion named Bolt. Bolt came to greet me. I told him, “Time to give you away.” I knew he was okay with that as he pranced around and neighed. He seemed happy and I laughed watching him. The auction started and the dream ended.

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Floofbrag

Floofbrag (floofinition) – Recount or comment about animals in a boastful manner.

In use: “He was a quiet man until someone mentioned dogs, and then he became a floofbrag as he shared stories about his home pack’s antics and history.”

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Saturday’s Theme Music

And so, all of us came to Saturday, June 11, almost the month’s middle, almost 2022’s middle. We’re bracing for the year’s longest day in the northern hemisphere while south of the equator, they’re prepping for the shortest day.

Spring weather continues its reign with temperatures at 72 F today, showers sometimes sprinkling us for a few seconds, and a high of 76 possible. 5:34 AM is when the show’s daylight portion began. The turning away comes at 8:47 PM.

Yesterday was a COVID-19 booster shot rollercoaster. Walking was often a Frankenstein’s monster imitation. Joints felt like they’d been carved from the finest granite and thoughts were doing a slow doggy paddle through confusion. Then, all is good! Hurray! It’s passed. No, wait, here it comes again. We surfed the net, returned to bed, read books, slept, repeat. Today, I feel pretty damn fine. She says she’s feeling better, too.

Today’s song, a 1993 offering from Billy Joel, arrived in the middle of the night. I’d gotten up to attend a cat’s need to leave the house. (“It’s urgent! I have important business,” he claimed. After he left, I heard him snicker. “Sucker.”) Returning to bed, I was thinking, it’s the middle of the night. I’ve almost been walking in my sleep. The neurons shouted, “A-one, and a-two.” Then they began “The River of Dreams”. Lovely song, so I wasn’t overly bothered.

So, you know, stay positive, etc. We shall overcome. Or endure. Here’s the music, and, yes, there’s my coffee. Cheers

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The Flying Fart Dream

Outside, in a city – maybe a U.S. suburb – at a broad intersection along under clear blue skies. I fart without warning. It’s not a large thing, just a sort of sharp, “Pop,” but with it, I take off perhaps fifty feet into the air and travel several hundred feet. Then, in dream fashion, I’m at the same point, and in quick succession, it happens twice more.

On the fourth time, I kept wind of what was happening (yeah, sorry, had to put it in). I asked myself, how can a fart like that propel me so high and far? There had to be another cause, like weather. I crane all around for what could be behind my flights. Then I fart again, launching anew, traveling the same path, height, and distance.

It must be the farts, I conclude, and wonder what I ate to give me such prodigiously powerful gas. Time is spent pondering that but I’m back on the corner, releasing without warning one more fart.

This time, I think, try to take advantage of it. I spread my arms like wings and flatten my body into a plan and lean forward. Doing this, I catch a breeze, traveling further and higher than before.

Back at my original spot, I’m laughing at events. I fly via a fart. If I learned what was fueling me, maybe I could go further. Then again, I’m always back at the same place, like some perverse Groundhog Day twist.

End dream.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Friday. June 10, 2022. That’s the bare facts of it. It gets interesting when we talk about sunrise and sunset and temperatures. That’s where places show their differences. Here in the Rogue Velly, it’s 72 F with a chance to hit 81 F. Sunny but cloudy, so it’s humid on us. Cats are in floof heaven, coming in to eat and then seeking a pleasant napping space outside, somewhere perchance to do bird watching and insect spying without getting too warm. The world’s spin will take the sun away at 8:46 PM after bringing it around to us at 5:34 AM.

Don’t tell Tucker about the weather, though, he still needs his ration of attention. Entering the office, he fixes a dark stare on me and makes a pitch: “Merow.” Having fed him, refilled all the bowls, and replenished his water, after spending a night petting him whenever the other one, Papi — they’re a tag team — woke me up, I ignore Tucker. He then comes over and sits beside me and asks, “Mmmmw.” I shake my head. A trill is issued and then Tucker jumps up onto the desk, walks around the computer, and waits for my hand to go to the mouse. As soon as it does, he begins rubbing his head and face against my hand, pouring out a purr that would shame an idling dragster.

Received my second COVID-19 booster yesterday, Moderna, and feeling it this morning. Like the body is fighting off a low-grade flu. Aching joints and listless muscles, lethargic brain, and low energy, right? Yeah. Got up late and will probably return to bed shortly. Tucker says, “I’ll join you if you do.”

The neurons are playing “Wishing You Were Here” by Chicago (1974) in the morning mental music stream. There is a chain of events for this. My wife bought me a small pin which says, “Wish you were beer.” I wear it on my Tilly hat. Often while chatting with people, they’ll say, “What’s that say on your hat.” Then they’re read it aloud. Overhearing that happen yesterday, the neurons began with the Chicago song. Why that instead of Pink Floyd, “Wish You Were Here”? Don’t know. They’re not saying.

Here’s the song. Stay pos and test neg, etc. Enjoy your day. Cheers

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Floof Lunge

Floof Lunge (floofinition) 1. An animal’s sudden forward thrust to attack someone or seize something.

In use: “Jack Ryan was the household’s smallest canine, but the Dachshund was a floof lunge master when it came to treats, often gobbling up several of the other animals’ offerings before they even realized it was there!”

2. A person’s sudden attempt to grab an animal.

In use: “They were attempting to capture the cat now called Comet but she was adept at reading animals and always evaded their floof lunges.”

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