Tuesday’s Wandering Thought
They were reading anecdotes about children mentioning previous life experiences.
“Did you ever have something like that?” his wife asked.
He nodded. “When I was a child, less than five years old, I told people that I’d been in the civil war. I called myself a rebel, and always wanted CSA hats and flags and wore them, carrying a bugle, and was really proud of being born in Virginia because that’s where our capitol was. Adults were always correcting me about the capitol being Washington D.C. and not in Virginia, so it was confusing and frustrating for a while.”
Snowsday’s Theme Music
The rear door was cracked open.
A shout went up. “A runner approaches.”
Papi, the famous ginger cat, galloped in to great applause and cheers. The door was shut and locked behind him.
Locals crowded around the dashing feline. “What’s the word, Papi? What’s it like out there?”
The heroic floof’s amber eyes flashed. His tail slashed the air. “Snow. Everywhere. Up to my belly. And still, it snows. Quick, I need food. Hurry, damn it.”
It’s been about sixteen hours straight of snow falling. Am I sure that it didn’t stop in the night? No. But it was falling whenever I looked. This is the small, dry powdery stuff. Little relative moisture in it. And it’s piling up. Eight inches in some places around my Ashlandia patch. No wind, so there’s no drifts.
It’s Tuesday, February 28, 2022. Sunrise’s ticket was punched at 6:48 AM. Sunset: (trumpet flourish) 6 PM.
The sky is white, as is the ground, and white stuff religiously falls. It’s like the white album. 30 degrees F out there, so not too cold. Today’s high will be 35. Tonight’s line will be 29. It’s a narrow operating margin. Feels like a good day to stay home. Drink coffee, read, write. Got books, will sit. And we have heat, power, all those things, and food. We’re in good shape compared to quake and tornado victims, and homeless folks. The city and churches have opened shelters and established places for people to go. Breakfast and dinner is served.
The Neurons are showing an impish side, playing Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” (1982). “It’s a nice day, for a, white wedding,” Idol sneers. “It’s a nice day to start again.”
Okay.
Stay pos. Hope you’re doing well wherever you be on this day, and that good things happen for you, to you, etc. Coffee is served. Here is Billy. Cheers
Waste
It was a lot of waste.
Morgan was uncomfortable. It felt unnatural. All these years of recycling and trying to reduce waste. Now he was piling it outside.
“There.” Grinning in delight, ogling their pile of junk, Joyce backed away from it. “That’s a pretty good pile of junk and garbage.”
His wife peered up into the sky. “When are they supposed to come?”
“Any time.” Exasperation frosted Morgan’s tone. This had been explained numerous times. “They know it’s here. They’ll come and get it.”
Joyce answered, “Why can’t they tell us when?”
That, too, had been gutted as a topic. “I don’t know.”
He and Joyce studied their pile. Old printers and laptops. Unused televisions. Rugs. Boxes of junk. Old paint. Bags of shredded personal papers. Joyce insisted they be shredded. She didn’t trust the aliens. Like, what did she think was going to happen? These extra terrestrials from another solar system had come to Earth to steal their personal information?
It was good that they’d come. First, they cleaned all the oceans, and then junkyards. They paid well for everything.
“This is a great place,” a leader, Galic, said in a televised press conference.
Galic was a gorgeous black woman. Every female alien he’d seen was eye-watering stunning. He’d not seen any males among the ET, formally known as Porqzens. R-Q-Z was pronounced as a hacking sound.
Galic said, “We love your junk. We’ll take all of it that you can give us.” They were also eager to tear down houses, buildings, and bridges not in use. They wanted it all. “We’ll you if you want. Gold, dollars, diamonds, crypto. Just name it.”
Not everyone liked it. “Why are they doing this? What do they want it?” Mostly conservatives were asking these questions because Galic told them, “We’ll reprocess it to create materials and energy. We’re already so efficient that we have no waste.”
Humans weren’t appeased. They had reasons behind their doubts. “How do we know they’re real?” GOP Presidential candidate asked. “What if they’re taking all these resources to build machines to take us over? What about the recycling and garbage disposal companies? They’ll all go out of business. That’ll put unemployment up.”
Others speculated, “This is a liberal trick. There are no aliens. They’re using these materials to secretly build death rays and disintegration guns. They’re gonna use the disintegration guns to take away all our guns.”
Yes, it was a pickle.
Flat-earthers were freaked. “The Porqzens are Underworlders. They’ve lived on the other side of the planet, the bottom. They’re coming to take us over.”
Morgan didn’t care. All he had to do was put his junk at his curb for pickup? Lot easier than loading it up, hauling it to the various places, and unloading it. And they were paying him, instead of him paying them? Groovy.
A Porqzen popped into the space in front of Morgan and Joyce. Gorgeous, of course. Tight dark red outfit. Looked like leather. Blonde. Smile like a billion watts.
“Hi, Morgan and Joyce. I’m Zugar. We’re taking your waste now.” She handed them dark goggles. “Most people want to see it happen, so we provide these goggles. Please cover your eyes so the light doesn’t hurt them.”
Morgan and Joyce did. Through the lens, Morgan witnessed a dull light cover his pile. Looked purplish under the lens. Stayed there for about five seconds.
“That’s it,” Zugar said. “All gone. You can take your goggles off. Those are yours to keep for future pickups.” She whipped out a slim wallet and counted paper money out. “One thousand dollars, as agreed. It’s the minimum, I’m afraid.” She sounded like she meant it.
Joyce took the money. She and Morgan stared at it.
Zugar said, “It is real U.S. currency.” She laughed. “We sold a bucket of leftover lithium to the U.S. government.” She handed Morgan a card. “Just call us when you’re ready for your next pickup. Any questions?”
The humans shook their heads.
“Then I’ll take my leave. You all have a great day.” With a small bow and a bright smile, Zugar disappeared.
“Well, that was easy,” Joyce said. “She looked like Farrah Fawcett, don’t you think?”
Morgan nodded. “Do you think we’ll ever go to their planet?”
YouFloof
YouFloof (floofinition) – Social media site where animals post videos predominantly featuring humans acting silly, being sweet, or featuring stories of animals saving humans. Some videos of humans being cruel are also shared as a learning experience.
In use: “A popular YouFloof video depicts a team of humans working together to rescue stranded kittens. Many animals remark in the comments that such behavior restores their faith in humans.”
Monday’s Wandering Thought
Ashlandia’s Little Libraries are being emptied. People are stealing the books and selling them online. A person has been seen doing it. Elder white male, they describe, with a white beard and a green jacket. Doesn’t really narrow the field in Ashlandia, which has a population stacked with elderly white males with white beards. He was driving an older red Subaru, which figures; Subarus are as numerous as grass in Ashlandia.
The crime isn’t limited to Ashlandia. Stealing the books raises questions. The books are free and there to be taken. So can they be stolen?
My answer is that when you go through town and empty a dozen Little Libraries and take all the books and sell them online, you’re violating the spirit. I guess you can’t be charged and convicted for that, though.
Flurrsday’s Theme Music
Sunrise’s 0650 arrival showed us, flurries. They’re on the smallish side but they’re earnest. With the thermometer flailing at 33 degrees F, the flurries pile up. But it all melts when they take a pause. Most be demoralizing to work so hard, dropping millions of flakes and yet see no appreciable accumulation.
It’s Monday. Feb. 27, 2023, the NTL day of February, in case you’ve not been told that February has twenty-eight days this year. Children are walking, school buses are running, parents are dropping off students and zipping off for errands, work, exercise classes. My wife went off to the last.
Sunset is due at 5:58 PM. The weather whizzes tell us 40 F is Ashlandia’s high temperature expectation.
The cats are amfloofvalent about the snow. Tucker looks out without comment. Papi demands freedom. Released to the back yard, he zips around through the flurries to the front porch and demands permission to come back in. He knows Oregon weather at this time of year, so he expects it to change, but it’s not happening as fast as he’d like. I suggest he sit down, maybe have a cup of coffee and observe the weather through the window. He replies, “Meeep.” It’s his trademark sound. That was his name. He’s sometimes referenced as the floof formerly known as Meep.
Meep and Tucker did eat in the same room this morning. That’s a remarkable achievement. Maybe flooftente is thawing. They’ve only lived together for six years. It takes time.
Tucker is doing better with his hind section but still can’t jump. Appetite is much improved, though. We took a risk last week. Bought a twenty-five pound bag of kibble from Costco. Tucker is very discriminating about what he’ll eat, like a child eyeing whatever is offered. Papi is more liberal with what he puts in his mouth. He’s like, “Food! Yes!” Chomp chomp. Neither of them like anything with sweet potato in it. The purchased food is chicken and rice.
Well, Tucker leaped into the new food with gusto. Emptied his kibble bowl and then pulled over the bag to paw out more. See? Improved appetite.
In dispiriting news from around the U.S., Republicans keep pushing to pull books from schools and libraries. Fear, you know. What will their blessed offspring learn? God, what will they see? Might see nekkid people. May even discover that everyone poops. In the name of the holy bible, we can’t have that. They much prefer blinders on their little ones.
They’re playing, “Let’s pretend.” Let’s pretend that people don’t identify differently from the genders we think they are. There are only two, you know. That’s what Jesus said, and the disciples agreed with them to a man. Let’s pretend that slavery was a good thing and that racism doesn’t exist. Thus it is that books may not reference sex, racism, slavery, and other things that make certain people ill. See, it’s only certain people pushing these agendas, a terrified vocal minority.
Okay, end snark.
Was pleased with the SAG results last night, as far as Everything Everywhere All at Once winning four honors. I enjoyed the movie and thought it deserving. Didn’t see many of the other movies, so I don’t know if my opinion is relevant.
BTW, just finished a novel, Legends and Lattes by Travis Baltree. Cited as high fantasy, and featuring a Orc swordswoman as the protagonist, it’s almost like a cozy, but it’s an entertaining and clever send-up of coffee houses as well. My wife found it and passed it on to me after she enjoyed it. I recommend it if you’re looking for a light read.
After a raucous dream night, I have “Bang!” playing on the morning mental music stream loud system. AJR released it a few years ago. It’s an interesting ditty, not about Jack and Diane, but about adulting, being responsible, like moving to your own place, filing taxes, and trying to remember a password.
Stay pos. The oaties have been eaten — they were of a sweet variety today, with brown sugar and blackberries. I have coffee at hand. Sips have been consumed. I am a go. Here’s the music. Pretend you know this song.
Cheers
Floofabration
Floofabration (floofinition) – An animal’s activity to mark something by festivities or other deviation from routine.
In use: “After capturing a mouse and releasing it in the house, the cat began a floofabration, singing at the top of its lungs, “All praise the mighty hunter and the presents which he brings you, come see, come see, come see,” even though it was oh heavy snoring in the morning.”
Michael Seidel, writer 