Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Most of us view ourselves as younger than we are. Just a trick of psychology. I can see, then, how disturbing using a cane or walker because you’re now elderly and need it can severely disrupt your self-image.
Mood: bouncy
Tuesday has been plated and is ready for serving. It’s August 15, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the ground is dry and the rivers are low. It’s currently 79 degrees F, but the thermometer’s final destination is 102 F for today. The indicators on my weather station hit 108 F yesterday afternoon but it looks like the official top was 105 F. The heat stayed until close to midnight, when it finally dropped into the mid 80s. Yes, air conditioning’s influence was sought when the house’s interior popped over 85 F in the evening.
I watched lightening shyly flickering and dancing on our southern border with California. This was just after midnight. Come 6:20, I thought, it feels like it’s going to rain. I imagined that as some slight barometric pressure changes felt, along with a tilt to the smell, coupled with experience of like times from beforedays. Over an hour later, 7:33, the drumroll began. Never got heavy nor fast, and lingered but five minutes, but the petrichor and sound were a welcome morning interlude in wet. Thunder accented a few seconds and brought Papi, the ginger wonder, to my side, as he is a firm disliker of thunder, but that ended before the rain. Now comes fire watch to see if any new fires have been discovered in the dry mountain forests.
Can’t say it’s a blue sky today. Conniving smoke and clouds are keeping that title at bay. But the sun and high pressure system are determined to keep it hot. This will last until Thursday, we’re told.
The Neurons have locked “Wasted” by The Runaways (1977) in the morning mental music stream. I haven’t been able to trace the impetus for this song. Don’t think I have heard it in decades. I remember being with a friend while in the US in the mid 80s. This song came on. A younger guy, he asked, “Who is it?” The Runaways, I answered. “Never heard of them,” he replied. “They kind of sound like Joan Jett.” That’s ’cause Joan Jett was The Runaways’ lead vocalist on that song. He was like, oh.
Time for liftoff. Stay pos, be strong, and look ’em in the eye. Coffee service has commenced. Make it black and pure for me. Here we go. Let’s start with the video. Cheers
I read about Trump strongholds and the lack of an impact the charges and indictments have on the former president’s supporters. One description struck me more deeply. From the NY Times:
“Among voters who plan to vote for Mr. Trump again, Nicholas Kalamvokis, 58, said he liked the former president’s “regular people” persona and was willing to overlook his role in the events of Jan. 6, which he did not believe rose to the level of a crime.”
The former president’s “regular people” persona is a startling description. Trump has been found to cheat in business, compulsively lie, and demonstrates little self control. Full of pompous bluster, he’s cheated on his wife, has been married three times, shows little intellectual curiosity, and is both demonstrably petty and greedy. As a business person, he has multiple bankruptcies and has led numerous failed business efforts, while his WH administration set a new record for indictments and convictions. Meanwhile, since leaving office, Trump has set records for the most indictments ever levied on a former POTUS, including obstruction of justice as he lied about keeping classified information and tried hiding the requested documents from the government.
Liar. Thief. Cheat. Immoral. Unethical. Untrustworthy.
If this is a typical Republican’s view of ‘regular people’, their attachment to reality is more tenuous than I ever imagined, and I wouldn’t want to hang out with their ‘regular people’. Then again, I suspect that people like Kalamvokis live in an information bubble. The light seems different in there from the light with which I view the world.
Let me in let me in let me in let me in!
This is not how the day should begin!
I shouldn’t be out there while you’re within.
And closing the door on me is a mighty sin.
How do I know that you’re well?
What would I do if you fell?
I’ve said it before, must I say it again?
Let me in let me in let me in let me in!
Mood: bold
The arrival board clicked; yes, Monday had arrived on schedule and was pulling into gate 8/14/2023.
It’s hot in Ashlandia, 84 F at 9:45, heading for 105 today. Cooled down to 70 during the night but it was a late cool down and the sun cracked the whip on the heat as soon as it showed up.
Spend a pleasant day yesterday away from Ashlandia, where the businesses are average and the tourists are good-looking. Went to Jacksonville, a thirty-five minute drive via highway and country roads. Bon voyage party for friends, who are moving to Spain. They’ve been planning it for years, and have lived a few months at a time in the past few years. Now they’re awaiting their visas and putting their stuff in storage, and doing the paperwork through a lawyer to ensure everything is properly accomplished regarding health insurance, etc.
We met them in 2005, just after moving to Ashland. The mechanism was the Y exercise class. My wife, who enjoys exercising, joined the Family Y and began attending that class every M-W-F, and met the woman, Linda. Coffee, lunches, shopping adventures, book clubs, and going out for dancing so followed. Linda and her hubby are terrifically social, friendly, happy people. They always had something going on, and they just started including us.
The Neurons ended up lifting good-bye songs from the grey matter on the drive home. Simple Minds carry the morning mental music stream with “Don’t You Forget About Me” from 1985.
Well, gonna go do yardwork before it gets too hot, than off to write. Shoot down a cuppa coffee first. Stay pos, be strong, remain sane. Here we go. Cheers
I enjoy people watching, especially at the coffee shop. Everyone has a story. It’s not always clear, so I’ll make one up for them, if they’re interesting enough.
Well, Austin is interesting enough. About six foot one, pale skin, moderate build, neat strawberry blond hair, he’s dressed for the outdoors and carries a full pack, a serious hiking and camping pack, white ear pods inserted. First time I saw him in April, I figured that he was another off the Pacific Crest Trail. It runs through this area and many hiking it will pop into Ashland. See the movie Wild or read the book by the same name, and you’ll see my town featured. That’s our plaza in the link I posted.
(Side note to all that: the city posted where they’d be filming the movie so we could avoid the area because of road closures and delays, and all that. You know what that did, right? Also, to have the right season depicted, the leaves had already departed the trees, so they made leaves, attached them to the naked branches, and then removed them after filming.)
Well, Austin remains here months later. I’ve wondered why. He comes into the coffee shop several times a day while I’m there. He’d usually just drink cold water. Sometimes hot tea. Rarely buys more. I’ve seen people offer him money, and he always turns it down. He only speaks to the baristas, which is how I know his name. He’s told me thank you as I was leaving and he was entering and I held the door. Thrice. That’s it.
I sense he wants to be alone, so I leave him alone. Also, I’m there to write, so I don’t want to strike up conversations. I initially thought he was just recharging his batteries. Then, waiting for something to arrive in the mail. Now I think he’s on the run, and hiding out in Ashlandia. The question is, why? Who is after him? What will happen when they find him?
Whatever, he’ll probably show up in a story sometime. That’s just how it goes when you cross a writer’s path.
Rawgod, Jill, and Tecumseh have launched a blog by and for animals. Stop by to share your flooftales and read entertaining tales from the litter box.
Mood: moderate
I blinked, and it’s Sunday once again. Seems like it was Sunday just last week. Ever get tired of that routine? Maybe we should expand the names of the days of the week. The government could have a big auction. Proceeds would go to education, homelessness programs, Medicare, and Medicaid. So we could have Appleday, IBMday, Floday (sponsored by Progressive Insurance), Fordday, MCUday, Primeday, etc. It’d be odd at first, sure, but we would adjust. They would earn the rights for a quarter. That way, things could be seasonal, or used for movie promotions. Sunday could be Barbieday.
Today is August 13, 2023. 77 F and climbing. Gonna be a hot one. Like seven inches from the midday sun. 103 is expected.
The Neurons stirred “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears (1985) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark hot). The CD that song was on was Songs from the Big Chair and was part of my long-distance rotation while going on temporary duty assignments in ’85, when I was stationed in South Carolina. I’m not surprised Les Neurons plucked this song out of memory, as I was head over heels in dreams last night. Nothing particularly interesting. Mostly anxiety dream varieties. That’s what’s been dominating.
Smoke entered the valley last night so it was shut the windows, keep them closed, and stayed inside. Air Quality Index entered the Moderate zone. I smelled and felt it, though, eyes tearing up and drying up, nose developing a drip, throat growing sore. Amazingly quick period before that all happened. I suspect that it’s a COVID leftover from last year’s bout. Never used to be like this for me. Of course, it might be just aging.
While still mesmerized by Hawaii’s disaster, news in the state today is about the increase of cougar sightings. The article pointed out that the cougar population has grown to 6,000, and that the growth of security cameras in houses and increased trail cams has increased our awareness of them. We have almost daily stories of them here in Ashlandia, where the people are worried, and pets are kept in sight.
Time to kick off this Oppenheimerday. Stay pos and be strong. Remember to love yourself a little. Nothing freaky, okay? Coffee? Mine is black and hot, without sugar, thanks. French roast.
Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 