Happy Friday to the carousel riders. We’ve come around again.
It’s Friday, Feb. 27, 2023. The sun staked its claim at 7:05. Clear skies and sunshine hold court over Ashlandia while swelling clouds jealousy circle the valley and mutter threats about taking over. 34 F now, and the weather gurus say it will climb to 47 F before day’s end. Sunset: 5:46 this evening.
Nursing a sore ankle. Leaped off a wall, landed badly on uneven pavement, had to cruise on back home. No swelling or the like, just parts of it saying, “Hey, ouch, stop that, don’t do that.”
Musically, The Neurons have steered me to “Baby’s on Fire” by Brian Eno. I was late as a fan to him, getting introduced to him via King Crimson. Robert Fripp plays guitar on BoF, and it’s a wild, raw sound. Eno is in mind out of conversation with a percussionist friend. As we traded memories, I asked if he listened to any Brian Eno. His expression and voice blew up with enthusiasm. So, this one is for him.
Stay pos. Treat Friday right, or it won’t come again, right? Sure. Coffee is at hand. Here we go, Friday, here we go.
The standard coffee house greeting is, “Hi, what can I git ya?” It’s said so often but after a bit, it slides under the cover of other sounds as his mind fixates on his writing.
The weather witches (it is too a thing) whisper to me that we’ll be functioning between 30 and 38 degrees F outside, as Winting continues holding on to Ashlandia. The sun blended in at 7:06 AM, a little heat, a little light, then suddenly shafts of brilliant bright, gone before you blink. Clouds will be hanging about throughout the day, Thursday, Feb. 18, 2023. Sunset’s moment comes at 5:45 PM.
Had a relaxing meetup with friends for beers last night, just eight of us for about ninety minutes at a local brewery, Caldera. Good to see them and reflect on news, culture, and life. A quick five was spent remembering horses’ names from movies and television shows. Silver, Buttermilk, Scout, Ol’ Blue, Hidalgo, etc. News of Raquel Welch’s passing had made the news just before we met up, so there was extensive conversation about 1,000,000 Years B.C. from 1967, followed up by a Quest for Fire and Caveman.
Despite the cold temperatures, Papi insisted on braving the temps to prove himself. He was out and then back in ten minutes later, as that sunshine just didn’t cut the cold enough. Part of that experience had be telling him, “I’m going to close the door in three, two, one,” before he made the dash. The Neurons pulled out a song called “After Hours” and slotted it into the morning mental music stream. “After Hours” was released in 1969 but I didn’t know it until the mid-seventies. Stationed at Clark Air Base on a unaccompanied tour, I picked up a Velvet Underground tape, and this song was on it. The Neurons keyed on the words, “But if you close the door,” which is repeated often in the school. It’s a sweet, mellow song.
The wife has a Zoom coffee call in the other room. People who used to live in Ashlandia, who were attending the Y exercise class — you know the one, led by Mary for the last thirty-five years, right? — wanted to see their friends and share their news. K has been attending this Mon-Wed-Fri class since we moved here in 2005. It’s been the key to many social connections, including the book club which she started with five other class members. Membership has changed but they continue to meet once a month. K hosts in March, which means we’ll be doing a big clean.
Stay pos, and carpe diem. I’ll carpe some coffee first. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofhewn(floofinition) – Something that is in a rough or poor shape because of animal or animals’ activities.
In use: “The floofhewn white sofa had shredded arms and damaged pillows. It was unclear whether it was the dog or the cat, gazing at him with innocence personified, who was the floofpetrator. He suspected teamwork.”
Winting continues to ride Ashlandia, where the children are above average. Snow is melted in the valley’s bosom but look east and snow royally caps the mountainsides. It’s up to 27 F on the way to a 47 degrees F high. Sunshine, vaulting over the horizon like an arriving hero at 7:06 this morning, bullets a blue sky. 5:43 PM will be seen on the clock as the sun does it slow roll exit. It’s February 15, 2023.
My cats are happy with the sunshine but they’re not fond of those low temps. Tucker acted like he was going out but feeling that air on his heavy fur, did and an about face and floofered off. Papi, of course, galloped out per his secret identity, “The Galloping Ginger”, and then banged the door windows for re-admittance sharpish minutes later.
Plans are being planned for house painting, carpet cleaning, and those sort of matters, along with vacation. Yardwork is being given a gimlet eye. Our evening streaming rotates among Hacks, The Last of Us, Frayed, Shrinking, Lockwood and co, Station Eleven, CB Strike, and Astrid. Documentaries and comedy shows are sprinkled in as they become available. No puzzles are being assembled, with no plans to do any. K continues on her diet, pleased with her results. Makes the kitchen an interesting evening experience as we prepare our individual meals. Burners, oven, microwave going, timers ping, buzz, and chime. We dance around each other, plates, foods, and utensils in hand.
Today’s theme music is “Bullet the Blue Sky” by U2 out of 1987. Th Neurons delivered as I read a summary of gun violence in America, 2023. Can’t say it hasn’t changed this year as the rate of shootings increases. Fortunately, naught will be done because needless death is not as important as other matters.
Got coffee, and released Papi back into the sun-soaked rear yard. Stay pos, and own Wednesday. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 