Tuesday’s Ashlandia by the numbers. 041123, 41/55 F, 6:34/7:48. Rain showers took the night. More rain visitations are anticipated for today.
It’s smelling and feeling like spring outside. Temperatures pushed up to a glorious 74 degrees F. Foamy white clouds ring the blue bowl over Ashlandia. Snow still stands on patches of the surrounding mountains but a green world and blue sky dominate.
I complained to friends about my weather forecast irritation. One responded with a story out of The Atlantic about how/why apps fail to provide satisfying and consistently accurate forecasts. Embedded in the tale was a site called forecastadvisor.com. This site tells what apps and sources are most and least accurate in their forecasts by percentage of days. Good data to gobble.
John Mellencamp was selected by The Neurons for residency in today’s morning mental music stream. Song is “The Real Life”. 1987. Went to a concert for that album, Lonesome Jubilee. Germany. Song came up from the mental vaults due to reflections on what is meant by living a real life? Seems like a definite spectrum to that answer, which changes by age, experiences, and circumstances. I feel like I’ve found my real life spending time in isolation, writing, editing, posting, corresponding. Others would disagree, chiding me for ‘not doing anything, not going anywhere, not being social’. I can debate with them whether that is ‘the real life’. Farmers might tell you the real life is all about growing things. Parents might say it’s about raising children who become adults and raise more children who become adults ad infinitum. I’ve heard others state that living the real life means helping others.
Here’s the song. Stay pos and live the real life, whatever you decide that is for you for now. My real life definitely involves coffee so I’m off to the kitchen. Cheers
Stripping down to shower, he tossed his dirty undies on the floor to be taken to the hamper. The cat immediately marched over, sniffed the garment, and sat down on it. A purr boomed out.
When the spinning stopped, we knew we were at a new place. Reality heartbeated in. A short man approached and announced, “I am spring. Welcome to my home. Please, relax, enjoy.”
Sunshine, check. Blue skies, kind of. Flowers – yes, and buds and blossoms, and green coverings on the ground. Warm air? Getting there.
Popping over the horizon with a low snap, the sun said, “I am here, I am here,” at six something-ish. Temperature now is 55 F but the weather clerks are promising low to mid 70s before the sun takes a bows and leaves at seven something-ish PM. Not sure if they really know what’s going on.
It is Monday. The energy drive is stumbling a little this AM. I plied it with some caffeinated black water, an old trick which I picked up from an old man in a far away time. The hoped-for impact was felt after a few minutes. The energy drive soon kicked The Neurons’ asses and they knocked into gear.
The Neurons planted some music bulbs earlier. When they bloomed, I found “I’m Waiting for the Man” by The Velvet Underground coming up in the morning mental music stream. Looking for it online brought up a video of Lou Reed and David Bowie playing it together onstage, wholly apropos as Bowie covered it, too. I like it so I hope you do as well.
Here’s the music. Be pos. Have coffee. Or tea. Beer. Wine. Whatever fits your hour, mood, need. Have a strong Monday. Cheers
He needed to iron a shirt. Short sleeve. Cotton. Button up.
Been so long since he’d ironed a shirt. Used to do it almost every day in the military and quite often when he was in marketing. New materials and different work activities and standards had lessened requirements to iron.
He was still using their thirty-year-old iron. Why not? It works. He figured smart irons have finally arrived, though what a smart iron would do, he doesn’t know. Probably robot irons have arrived, too, just give it the shirt and it’ll know what to do. But he had to manually do it, setting up the little board and then plying seams, collar, yoke, sleeves, and most treacherous of all for him, the placket with steam and heat to make it all look unwrinkled.
After all that, he didn’t wear the shirt. Oh, well. It’d be ready for next time.
You should be outside in Ashlandia. Feels like winter’s reins have loosened on our neck of the small valley. While the sun plays peek a boo with us, the air temp is already 50. The weather whisperers chant, it may reach 70 F. Kind of leaves us in a dressing conundrum. Do you trust the whisperers, sun, clouds, and seasons? They’ve been very capricious this year.
Today is Easter Sunday, 4/9/23. Per Easter rules, established in my life under my mother’s reign when I was a child, there will be an Easter meal. In this case, it’s brunch. My wife and I hooked up with a tribe who does the same things as our parents for these holidays. Funny how that works. Jews, Christians, Catholics, Unies, atheists, and agnostics will play games and have an Easter egg hunt. At 66.75 years old, I’m the second youngest there. My wife holds that honor of youngest.
Easter sunrise was inspiring. Golden sunshine broke over the landscape at 6:40 AM. The sun’s sojourn through our area is expected to continue until 7:45 PM. Good long day.
The Neurons planted a joyful song in the morning mental music stream today. “Blister in the Sun” by the Violent Femmes (1983 – forty years ago) was never released as a single but gained popularity from the album and from its use in television commercials, movies, and television shows. It’s a happy, jaunty song, and no, it’s not about masturbation. Come and listen.
Stay pos. Enjoy your day whether it’s a holiday for you or just another workday or day of leisure or whatever. I’m up for coffee now. Here’s the Femmes. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 