Day: September 23, 2023

Saturday’s Wandering Thought

While visiting in Pittsburgh for a wedding, we spoke with some rabid MAGAts. Common ground was found around three things:

  1. We don’t like the country’s current direction (but disagree on why, except inflation)
  2. Term limits are needed for US representatives and senators.
  3. A age limit is also needed for all Federally elected offices.

Unfortunately, we agreed, the ones most responsible for the mess are also the ones who can effect change easiest but passing laws for numbers two and three from our list.

We know that the final problem is, these elected representatives of, by, and for the people, will never pass laws which make them more responsible to the people.

So, really, we had five things we agreed upon in our search for common ground. None of us were real thrilled with most aspects of the media, too.

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Another Porsche Dream

Here we go. I dreamed about a Porsche last night. It didn’t belong to me, and it was two pieces.

Let’s step back to what I start remembering of the dream.

I was attending some function being held outside. Pleasant late summer weather ruled. A picnic atmosphere prevailed. I have no idea what triggered the gathering, nor my role. Although I never ‘saw’ other people in the dream for a while, sounds informed me they were present.

The first startling thing was the Porsche.

I came across the rear first. Mounted on a piece of asphalt roadway, the car’s rear was planted in a position that lead me to think that the car was plowing into the ground.

Then, almost immediately, I saw the front end. Facing in the same direction, mounting on a piece of road, it seemed to be emerging from the earth about forty yards away. An older vintage spyder with the top down, it seemed to be a model 365, a car which I like, gray or silver in color.

Oh, what they do for art, I thought. I wondered if it was original, and if it had an engine, and the crazy artist’s identity.

Announcements began from a person holding a megaphone. They were gauzy with distance. I didn’t recognize anything about them.

I discovered that the car belonged to a ‘director’. Little details emerged except the director was a a tall, slender woman with a short blonde bob in a red dress, no one I knew.

The director wanted somebody to drive the car, giving others rides in it for a fee which would be donated to charity. Were there any volunteers?

Silence answered. I spoke up, clarifying what was being asked. I pondered, was there another Porsche involved? Then I discovered the intact car in front of me.

Naturally, I was surprised. I looked at the artwork installation. The road pieces remained but the car pieces were gone. Miraculously to me, they were a solid car. I tried to understand how that happened.

“I’ll drive it,” I volunteered. The chance to drive a vintage Porsche thrilled me. This was going to be fun.

Keys were given to me, and instructions about my agenda. First I was to drive the car to another location.

The director made another announcement; “My car is dirty. I need a volunteer to wash my car.”

Again, nobody spoke so I said that I would do it. That pleased me. Weird as it may sound, I enjoy washing, cleaning, and polishing cars.

In a dream jump, that was done. I was driving the little spyder, top down, on a two lane road. The car, which is a two-seater sports vehicle, now had a big seat, and I had four or five passengers. I could glimpse in the car’s rearview mirror, and heard them chattering, and laughing, enjoying the ride.

I pressed the brake pedal to slow us as we came up on traffic. The car slowed some but we ended up bumping into the car in front of us. It wasn’t a hard impact. I was embarrassed and surprised, and hoped I’d not caused any damage.

The other driver, a bland guy, and I met at the bumpers. He looked at it and shrugged, waving it off. I didn’t see any damage to the Porsche, so I climbed back in and set off.

Though I planned and adjusted for the car’s weak brakes, I almost rear-ended another. This really dismayed me.

“Just as I thought,” I told my wife. “This car has next to no brakes. That’s why it took so long to stop. I’ll need to be careful.”

On those words, the dream ended. I came away thinking that I can step up but exercise some caution. I took that from volunteering when others wouldn’t. However, the brakes weren’t working as expected, hence the idea that caution is needed.

Conversely, my neurons were just having fun with me.

The choices seem equally plausible.

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The Writing Moment

It was mid-Saturday morning.

I’d arrived in my favorite coffee locale for my writing session. Vintage soulful music with a jazzy edge was playing on the overhead speaker system. The baristas were busy with drive-through business. Only one other person shared the tables with me, a young woman in a far corner who displayed predatory interest in her cell phone. I’d seen her there before, never with anyone else, and always engaged in her cell. As usual, she was dressed in a sloppy style of what looked like pink and gray pajamas. Her solitude, isolation, and deep focus on her phone piqued my writer side. Oddly, I’d never caught her name from the baristas when her order was called.

I’d pulled my laptop out and had it set up. My mind was already in writing mode. I’m halfway through the first revision of a novel-in-progress with a weird working title, Yum. With my nephew’s wedding and the travel to Pittsburgh and other activities it entailed done, I was eager to delve into the story I’d written. Its speculative nature readily engaged me, and I’m really pleased with what I have so far.

“M, your coffee is up.”

The speaker was the barista, Nate, a good-looking, dark-haired man who seems in his early twenties. I gt along with him quite well. He’s always in a good mood, and we’ll often talk about subjects outside of coffee, inclding smoke and politics.

I headed up to collect my cup and discovered it filled to the brim. Grinning at me, Nate said, “You said you wanted no room.”

I laughed. “Clever.” I reached for a straw.

“Want me to pour some out?” Nate asked while making coffee drinks.

Shaking my head, I gave him a severe look. “Pour out fresh coffee?” Its steamy smell filled my nose. “No, no, challenge accept.”

Inserting the straw into the hot beverage, I sucked some up so it wouldn’t slop any over when I walked. Nate watched and laughed.

“Good job,” he shouted as I took my drink and headed for my table.

“Damn straight,” I answered. If coffee was to be wasted today, it wouldn’t be at my hand.

Time to write like crazy, one more time.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: moody

My mood is sometimes up today, eager to get on with things. But I look outside. Smoke from wildfires filled our air overnight. A check of the indexes verify that we’ve gone into the unhealthy range. I can guess that; the light gray and white smoke obliterates views of the trees and mountains. Visibility is truncated at a few hundred yards. The smell, mildly chemical in this round, reminiscent of burning plastic, irritates my nostrils and eyes. My sinuses clog and spirits droop. I was planning to engage the yard with some cutting implements. That probably won’t happen with this smoke. Yes, I can make like a bandit, don a mask and get it done, but it’s not a critical task.

So begins Saturday, September 23, 2023.

Beyond the smoke, it’s 56 F outside, with a chance it’ll reach 76 F outside today. I’m doubtful about that, given the smoke layer blanketing it. The smoke keeps the sun out and chills the air. Sunshine is reaching the house’s backside, which faces the east.

Whenever smoke spills into the valley, like most, I search for the source. We especially worry that a new, closer fire has started. None appears on the map. With the lack of a woody smell to it, I suspected it’s a wind shift. Besides, we’ve not be warned by any government entity to get ready to pack up and go.

The smoke is snaking to us from the southwest, indicative of the California fires. This screenshot is a product of the Western Fire Chiefs Association website. Ashland, where I am, is directly north of the Happy Camp Complex.

My sister, L, is making a good recovery from her cancer surgery, but it’s early days. She received the flowers and expressed delight with them and the message. Fingers remain in the crossed position.

The Neurons are feeding the morning mental music stream (Trademark bogus) with music by Talking Heads and David Byrne. Today I’m hearing “What A Day That Was”. This song’s spirited beat and sound, and the stories conveyed, bolster my energy and optimism. The Neurons undoubtably chose this tune because of my reflections back on my nephew’s wedding last Saturday. Such a happy mood prevailed, bathing us with positive energy. What a day that was.

Stay pos, be strong, and carpe diem. I’ve carped the coffee; half a cup of the black sustaining beverage has been reduced. Here’s the tune. Hey ho, let’s go.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ocn6jqLHdrA
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