Friday, January 6, 2023 barged in like a lion, gusting like March. Sunshine flickered in at – guess what, 7:40 in the morning, again – ameliorating the gloom, licking off the rain’s remains. Sunset comes at 4:54, just like a Chevy big block (yeah, that’s a 454). It’s 46 F now, gonna be 50 F before the sun’s remains drift away.
A lovely sky, striated and marbled blues, lords over the area. Winds keep coming and will keep coming till this evening, they inform us. Down California way, southwesterly of our location, it’s flooding, with trees crashing down, and rocks and mud slip-sliding away, as the atmospheric river wrecks havoc. I think we should name that river the Shitstorm. Then we can just say, “The Shitstorm is running fast again,” and the rest of us will nod and understand. “It’s coming our way.” Then we’ll all know to batten down the patio and get some books and puzzles and candles, and food that can eaten without being heated, and figure out how to keep warm. Been there in other life segments.
I wasted some of my morning singing to my cat. (What, you don’t sing to your pets? Animal.) I was singing to the tune of “Fell in Love with a Girl” by the White Stripes (2002). It was one of those songs I regularly heard while blitzing errands in that era, living in Half Moon Bay, dashing over the hill to go to work Monday to Friday and shopping on the weekends. The floof in question was Tucker, who was shadowing for attention, so I cheered him up with the song. That was the plan but the boy looked more like he was thinking, “That’s not what I wanted at all.”
Anyway, The Neurons of course delivered the real song by the White Stripes to the morning mental music stream, where Jack White still delivers chords and manic vocals to my head.
Time for coffee, isn’t it? Are you sure?
I’m sure, so here I go again, for the day’s first cup. Have a merry one. Stay pos and test neg. Here’s the Stripes. Cheers
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Greetings and hello, Michael! Hope Friday is being kind to you. Cheers, M
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