Today’s Wandering Thought

He liked creating games out of the things he did. Arriving at the coffee shop, he noted the parked cars. The game was, ‘Whose Car is This?’ He liked matching cars with the individuals inside.

Another regular game was Sock Toss when he put clothes away after the laundry was done. He had a .600 average.

The oddest game was probably sneak up on the cats. Tucker wasn’t included much any longer. He was old and slept deeply. Papi was his usual target, but the little ginger usually moved ears and lifted his head to smile at him before he was within three feet. Papi knew the game, and he always won.

The Guitar Dream

I was younger, as it often happens in my dreams these days. At first, I thought I was alone. In a room, I had a red and white electric guitar and was teaching myself how to play. I’d just gotten a riff going that I was enjoying when others came in, telling me that I was needed.

One of them was a young AF lieutenant who I once worked with. As she walked ahead of me, she said over her shoulder, “They’re ready to move and need you to make some decisions.” We entered a narrow, crowded hall. She and I turned and went in through a concealed door and up into a rectangular work center. It had consoles, chairs, a black and white floor, and a half wall which reached my waist. From there, I could see and control everything. People queued all around it. The looey and I began answering questions. She would often need to turn to me for help providing an answer. Meanwhile, I had no issues.

We were called out of the work center. I went down into the crowd. Most knew me and wanted to shake my hand or hug me and say hello. I gave guidance on what was being moved and its order to a trio of short, stocky, powerfully built men. They asked questions and left to begin the move. The staff gathered closer around me, peppering me with queries about their roles. I sorted them out quickly and then went to find my guitar to play more.

I couldn’t find the guitar and circled through the gathering, asking if others had seen it. None had and most weren’t aware that I had a guitar. Irritation and concern rose in me.

The lieutenant called me back to the control center. I was surprised when I reached it. The center’s half wall was much taller than before. I inquired about this. During that process, it became higher yet. I went up inside and could not see out. Returning back down, a contractor was led to me. I questioned him about the wall’s increased height. He explained that another person wanted it higher. I replied, “Well, I’m sorry, but I have the final authority on this. Take it back down to its previous height.”

Another man told me that the move was done. We could go to our new location. My commander called all of us in for a little celebration dinner. He thanked me for everything I’d done and followed it with several compliments. After eating, he directed me to lead us to the new place. Everyone began walking in a single line. I made my way past them and then went to a new center. Much longer, wider, and neater, it was a lean design but packed with equipment and technology. We all thought it was a great improvement, although it amused me that it had no roof and sat alone in a green field. I mentioned the lack of a roof to another. He replied, “We don’t need a roof, do we?” I laughed, agreeing, “I suppose we don’t.”

Everyone was in there, about twenty-five people, all known from RL and various jobs and cities. The commander announced that we should have a party, and then asked me if it was okay with me. I agreed, and a party with drinks, cake, and music began.

Another friend came up and asked, “Is this your guitar?” He held up a red and white guitar which I recognized as mine. “Yes, it is, thanks.”

Taking the guitar away from him, I back up a small hillock. From there, I could look down on our new control center and watch everything going on. I said something to myself about it being the commander’s staff, and then told myself, “No, this is my command staff.” That made me smile.

Stepping away, I began playing my guitar.

The Writing Moment

His wife commented on his recent restlessness at night. He’d been watching television until he fell asleep and she wondered why.

“Well, I start writing, editing, and plotting in my head. Once I do that, it takes hours to fall asleep. The TV distracts me from doing that.”

She answered, “I thought you’d fall asleep easily if you’re writing in your head. Daydreaming always makes me fall asleep.”

He responded with a hard stare. “Writing is not daydreaming.”

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Give me an F. Give me an E. Give me a B.

Well, that’s enough of that.

Yes, February has arrived. Today is the first day of our shortest month. At least, it’s the shortest month in the U.S. It’s also Black History Month. Feb. has several holidays embedded in it and will be home to Superbowl LVII. Not bad for a short month from the sticks.

I personally like February. Not because it’s short, or the holidays, nor Black History Month, but because I can feel that transition from winter to spring begin in Feb. Daylight spreads into more hours with earlier sunshine in the morning and later sunsets at night. The air warms a few traces, and a feeling of hopefulness arises. That’s just me, I suppose.

It’s also Wednesday. Now 32 F outside, the sky is bluish and rich with sunny promise. Sunrise was at7:24 AM but it was nice walking into the living room at 6:40 Papi Standard Time and be able to see and walk about without problem because natural light was squeaking in through and around the window blinds. Sunset comes ten hours after the sunrise was noted, giving Ashlandia’s first ten hours of daylight in 2023. More to come, I hope.

Fuel is in the morning mental music stream with “Hemorrhage (In My Hands”. The song was released back when the century rolled over from the 1900s to the 2000s. It’s one of those that I often heard while commuting to work. I later read that the songwriter’s inspiration was his grandmother’s death from cancer, which made me listen more carefully to the song. Today it’s here in my head due to one string of lyrics: “Memories are just where you leave them, drag the waters, ’til the depths give up their dead.”

And no, that’s not about my life but about plotting, writing, and characters.

Stay positive. Make February a month which counts. My coffee has been swallowed and the bottom of the cup lays bare, damp, and sad. Here is Fuel. Cheers

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