Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Her car needed its gas tank filled. They devised a plan. Run errands — mail bills, drop off the utilities payment, pick up some needed items at the grocery store, drop off her top to return it — the color wasn’t at all like the blue depicted in the photo online — and get gas for her car.
Going by order of direction, the gas station was first. He pulled in and headed for the pump.
“No, go to the other pumps, the filler cap is on this side,” she said from the passenger seat.
“No,” he retorted, glancing at the gage. “Look at the arrow. It’s this side.”
“No, it’s on this side,” she answered. “They won’t do it on the other side. It has to be on the same side as the pump.”
“Which is this side.”
Silence fell as she looked at the gage. He clapped his hands and burst out laughing, then she said, “Oh my God, we brought the car,” and threw herself back with laughter.
Of course, it was so funny to them, she had to call friends and share.
Is today a holiday or a travesty? Talking about former POTUS reporting to the court in New York. Some decry it all as political theater. Others shout, “‘Bout friggin’ time.” More wail, “No, presidents and former presidents are sacrosanct and should NEVER be arrested.” More say, “Hey, none of us are supposed to be above the law.” That’s where I stand. No one is above the law. Investigate and present the evidence, hear the arguments. Let a court decide. It’s a balancing act.
It is interesting to note that so many conservatives, solid law and order supporting individuals, are claiming this isn’t part of law and order, declaiming that there is no evidence, etc., whenever the law at any level focuses on Trump. Mind you, he’s been screaming to lock people up, especially political opponents but also anyone who crosses or displeases him. Evidence also keeps emerging that he kept trying to weaponize the Justice Department, especially the FBI, during his term. Then he tried to fire those people he appointed and wanted to lock them up because they wouldn’t do as he bid.
It’s Tuesday, April 4, 2023. We have more April snow on the ground. Just a wet inch which is already fleeing, vampire like, from the thin sunshine squeezing in past clouds. The surrounding mountains have much more snow to the east. Good for the base and the needs for our other seasons, growing things like hemp and marijuana, wine grapes, barley, and hops, and feeding us all with the valley’s network of organic farms. Better, the rain and snow will help the region combat wildfires this year. Yeah, fingers crossed, as always.
The discussion about the former POTUS and his legal situation and the country’s political atmosphere has The Neurons pulling David Bowie’s music out of the mental cellar, putting it into the morning mental music stream. “Law (Earthlings On Fire)” came out in 1997. The song’s main refrain is, “I don’t want knowledge, I want certainty.” Feels like that’s a weighty component of what’s happening in the U.S. at this point. I don’t know. I’ve not had coffee yet.
Stay pos. and have a magnificent Tuesday, baby. Coffee is standing by. Cheers
It’s snowing. Snowed last night, too. Snow accumulated, slipshod in the quantity and depths. Two inches on the house’s northern side. Barely there on the south. Nevertheless, snow in an accumulation has the floofstamp of disapproval. Wind has picked up, too, a double bogey for the cats. There is sunshine but feels like an imitation of actual sunshine, not much glow to its shine, and little heat.
I watch the dogwalkers shuffle past, dogs on leashes behind them. The dogs seem to want to continue smelling and investigating but their stony-faced people want none of that, tugging on leashes, urging the pooches, come on. The dogs particularly like my front bushes, where the cats go in and out of the yard. I see dogs draw up and turn back, expression lively as they hustle back, asking themselves, hey, what’s that smell? That smells interesting. But the unsmelling people pull them on before more than a few olfactory cells can be indulged.
It’s April 3, 2023, for the record. Monday. Up to 34 F now. 28 was our low last night, a very un-Ashlandian spring night, what with snow gently covering the plants. Clouds throng like coeds on a spring break beach. Rain is expected, and a high of 42 F before the sun sashays over the horizon at 7:40 this evening.
A song emerged from people watching while shopping yesterday. A young blonde girl in big rubber boots followed Mom as Mom shopped and talked about what she needed. The girl, who seemed about six in this reporter’s guess, had a blank stare and was totally unengaged. This prompted The Neurons to power up Mick and the Stones with a 1978 country-western song they wrote and performed called “Far Away Eyes”. I heard it off the album, Some Girls, when it was released. Over twenty years later, I discovered a video of it and had a good laugh at Mick’s performance. Found it for you this morning.
Stay pos. Hope your day has begun well and just keeps getting better, and that’s not meant in a sarcastic way. I have coffee, so I’m pretty set for the next five minutes. Here are the Stones. Cheers
He did the coffee shop bathroom combo, pushing the buttons in with his index finger. Each number blinked red. He finished with the pound sign. The door lock flashed green. He pushed the door open.
He always moved cautiously going into the restroom. People forget to look the door. Or pressed the lock button twice, unwittingly unlocking it. He didn’t want to move in on people. No need for a naked sight today. God knows not many pretty people were at the coffee shop today. He chortled. Including him, if he was honest.
He stopped, holding the door open.
Two people were inside.
On the floor.
Young. Boy and girl.
Blood pooled around them.
His mind recorded it, loading memory.
He closed the door and rushed to the counter, cutting to the line’s front, saw the manager and shouted her name.
Bonnie turned. He jerked his head and waved once. Come on. Shifted toward the bathroom hall.
She looked puzzled but began to follow.
“Bring your phone,” he said.
Then thought. Two bodies. An unlocked door.
He didn’t remember seeing a weapon.
There had probably been a murderer in the coffee house.
He was at the coffee shop. Two men of his age were at the next table. They were trying to remember war movies and their stars, and struggling. He passed on telling them who was in The Great Escape, The Longest Day, Where Eagles Dare, and The Bridge at Remagen. Surprising that he could easily remember all that stuff, he remarked to himself, pleased. Just one of those days.
But he had to step up to the other table when they couldn’t recall the name of the movie with Clint Eastwood, Donald Sutherland, Don Rickles, and Telly Selvales. “Kelly’s Heroes,” he finally called out.
“Thank you,” they answered.
He nodded. “Welcome.” Just doing his civic duty.
Disappointed and relieved. We’ve had days of buildup about this storm on the way. Well, unlike the Feb & March storms, this one didn’t bother us. Not even on the nearby mountains. Still doesn’t feel like spring out there, though.
It’s 43 F today, Sunday, April 2, 2023. Sunlight is being shy but the clouds have gathered like a clowder of kittens hearing the kibble coming out. High will be 48 F, the weather oracles tell us. I think it might get higher, like 50. A few degrees make a difference in Ashlandia.
I dreamed about cats of my past last night. We — my wife and I — were in the white BMW 2002 we drove in Germany. Pulling off the road, we stopped. We were looking for somewhere, so we got out, asking, “Is this it?” It was a little wiggle of an asphalt road, working through ups and downs between older houses. Suddenly, many floof friends who graced us with their presence appeared, meowing greetings our way. Little Quinn, the fluffy furred gray black foot, was directly behind me when cats we didn’t know emerged and raced toward us. One was a diluted tortie, dashing right for us and Quinn. But tail up, they gave my leg a broadside of fur and went on to Quinn. The two greeted each other like familiars, as did all the cats, presently me with happiness. I mentioned it to my wife but she was walking away, my words unnoticed.
Today’s song is from 1971, by a gifted singer and songwriter named John Prine, who passed from COVID back in 2020. “Hello In There” is about aging and life changes. The Neurons brought it back to me as I watched people at the coffee house and on the streets. Some seemed very old. Now I might be considered old by some, like my wife. She is a year younger than me as she doesn’t fail to remind me. I’m 67.75 years old but as my Mom once answered me when I pointed out that she was getting elderly, “I’m talking about really old people, like 90, or 100.” That was a few years ago. Mom is almost to that age now. Like many, I’m a different age inside, 38 for me. But watching the other folks established in years passing by and pursuing activities, the John Prine song heard in my youth surfaced.
Stay pos and make this Sunday what you want. It’s writing, reading, and shopping for moi. I shall begin with coffee. Here’s the music. It’s a Sunday morning piece, a quiet offering for contemplation.
Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 