The Writing Moment

I had a strong and productive writing session yesterday. But being so involved, my sense of time evaporated. I found myself leaving the coffee shop an hour later than usual.

I couldn’t go directly home, but had to go buy light bulbs. Finishing with that errand, I jumped into the car to head home. By now, I was an hour and a half later than usual.

My phone rang. It was my wife. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Where are you?” she answered. “You’re much later than your usual time. I’m calling to see if you’re dead or unconscious in a hospital.”

“You called to see if I was dead or unconscious?” I laughed.

She did not.

Lights Out

Light bulbs are so like cereal, ice cream, and bread. The range of choices sprawl along store aisles like invading armies staging to attack.

It’s been a period of lights out in our house. Light bulbs retired in the last several weeks all over our house. Kitchen, stove top, office, bedroom, garage, living room accent light have all been afflicted. As each burned out, I checked pulled it and checked it out for the replacement. Several of them hadn’t been replaced since being installed in 2006, when we moved in, so we got our mileage out of them. Easiest, in theory, was the office light, which had been first to go dark.

There are actually three bulbs up there. I pulled off the shade to take a look. One was burned out; one socket was empty. The third was almost an antique: 60 watts, GE, filament, frosted white. Poor thing.

“Can we get something brighter?” my wife asked. She’s had a lifetime of vision issues and compensates by turning on every light possible. When she uses the kitchen, she generally turns on four sets of lights. Yes, four. There are ceiling spotlights, under-cabinet work lights, and breakfast bar lights. The dining room is adjacent, just on the other side of the breakfast counter, so she always turns on it on to, adding the lumens from its five bulbs. There are basically 23 bulbs of different wattage going on when she’s in the kitchen.

The only one no in use alone is the sink task light. The others’ switches are clustered together, four switches under one faceplate by the kitchen’s entrance. She just spreads her fingers, flattens her palm, and hits them all, usually simultaneously click. But the sink task light is by the sink, and she forgets it. Funny, because it’s my favorite, and the one I mostly use, usually the only one I use. Just for the record, there’s also the range top lights, which are part of the hood/fan assembly attached to the microwave’s underside. She doesn’t use them. I use them when I’m cooking or to leave a light on when we’re out of the house and returning after dark.

The office required a sixty-watt bulb. Easy peasy, right? But how many Ks should it have, and lumens? I want an energy saver but of what nature? These were things that I didn’t know that I needed to know. I ended up with 60-watt comparable LED daylight white 5000K bulbs boasting of 750 lumens. Three were installed and the shade installed. Then, click.

OMG. “Wow.” My wife sounded giddy. “I can see.”

I was overwhelmed. She often accuses me of being in the dark, scolding, “How can you see in here?” Under the force of these three bulbs, I felt that sunglasses would be suitable. And they only use eight watts of power, don’t emit much heat, and should last over ten years.

“So you like them?” I facetiously asked. “Do you want them in the bedroom?”

“Yes!”

With that done to her satisfaction, I turned to the kitchen. The ceiling spotlights, all old energy-savers, issued a duller light. “Want me to install daylight bulbs in here?”

She hesitated. “They’re awfully bright.”

Screw it; I did it. Well, there are four of them. I replaced three.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “I can see. Wow. This place is really dirty.”

No, it wasn’t, but she’s fond of using hyperbole like that.

“Too bright?” I asked. They were 75-watt comparable LED spotlights rated at 650 lumens and 4800K clear daylight. Yes, indeed, they were bright. They also cost about eight dollars each but would endure for almost twelve years. Their specs also claimed their use would only cost about $.016 per year. The last coaxed doubt out of me. Surely that couldn’t be right.

After those bulbs, the rest were anticlimactic. 40 watts for the range. 35-watts LED with a G8 pin base for the under-cabinet work lights. A 50-watts soft white pin mini spotlight (L9) for the living room accent installation over the fireplace, and one of the 60-watt LED bulbs (I’d purchased a ten-pack of the FEIT offering) in the garage. In all, I installed fifteen bulbs, learned a smattering more about the world of lighting, and spent about $57 in light bulbs. But I should spend less on replacements and use less energy.

We’ll see. It was so, so different from the old days of finding a small hardware section and buying almost exclusively on their wattage. Like cereal, which now has what seems like a million choices. Or bread and all of its options over wheat, grain, multi-grain, gluten-free — well, you probably know the dealio. We’ve come a long way from sliced white bread.

Or ice cream. You better know what you want when you decide to buy ice cream in a grocery store. Low fat, dairy free, gluten free, etc. That’s just a start. Then there are sizes and flavors. Prices. Or are you going to go with other options, like frozen yogurt? Options and choices can be overwhelming.

Just like when you buy light bulbs.

Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: sunny

Greetings to my companions as we continue our interstellar journey on this spinning orb, racing around the sun as the solar system gallops along and the galaxy chases its revolutions. It’s Saturday, the tenth of Feb. in the common era year 2024, and it’s the start of the Lunar New Year. Let’s celebrate new beginnings.

Sunny and blue-ish describes our day. 49 F now, 58 F is in the running as today’s high. Our house is masked for painting, so the windows were all covered in fluttering clear plastic. Made for interesting window gazing. Everything was out of focus and indistinct. Protected by those, I felt like I was in a nest, womb, or spaceship. A later walk found me admiring a skeletal snow crown atop a peak, glittering with sunshine against a clear blue space of sky.

With the painting going on, Tucker planted himself in a napzone and let nature take him to the land of nod. Papi bolted out and staked out a space where he could alternate between monitoring painting activities, his territory, and napping.

I did a small information-finding exercise last night, visiting the Billboard TicToc top 50 songs just to taste what is listened to in that realm and its inhabitants. Many talented performers are featured on the site, and there are a wide range of sounds and intriguing videos, delivering an entertaining and provocative trip.

One song which engaged The Neurons was “Little Life” by Cordeilia. They caught enough of it to pull it back into the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) today as I went through the AM routines. It’s a quiet song, like a small brook bubbling past, exuding an introspective, reflective tone. Lyrics like, “I think I like this little life”, emerges in Cordelia’s gentle lilting voice, striking notes about how life goes as you mature. Listening it to with my mind’s ears, I returned in spirit back to hikes through woods or along shore, quiet moments contemplating sunsets and sunrises, and instances when I yearned to turn my back on secular matters and journey inward.

Stay positive, be strong, keep leaning forward, and register and vote, y’all. Here’s to coffee and the rewards it brings. Let’s enjoy the music. Cheers

Today’s Wandering Thought

Heading into a store, I encountered a woman standing to one said, leash in hand. On the leash’s other end was a handsome but elderly golden retriever, sitting and yawning. I said good morning to her and then addressed the dog, “What a handsome, yawning puppy.”

Without a beat passing, the woman replied, “I’ll let him know what you said.”

We both burst out laughing.

Floofgetfulness

Floofgetfulness (floofinition) – A condition where things are forgotten or not done because of an animal.

In Use: “He was planning to vacuum the living room carpet but the little kitten was deeply asleep and looked so sweet, he couldn’t bear to disturb the floof and decided he’d do it later. Then floofgetfunless slipped in, and the vacuuming was not done at all.”

In Use: “Enduring a splash of floofgetfulness, Connor left his sandwich out, giving his dog an opportunity to help herself.”

Recent Use: “Demonstrating the profound floofgetfulness of a newby puppy owner, Maurice left the puppy running free in the house while he ran to a store for a few items, and returned to a disaster zone.”

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: enthusiastic

It’s Friday, it’s Febrary 9, it’s still 2024, it’s 40 F and it’s unrelenting cloudy. Layers of clouds, deepest dark in the forefront, light gray white serving as background, all blocking blue sky and warm sun. Sprinter has yielded back to winter. High will be a sweltering 43 F.

They’re masking the house today to begin painting tomorrow. I’m surprised by the conditions they work in, cold and rainy. But if it works, it works. We have two good guys, Brad and Gary, from Rick Stevens painting doing the work. They’re thorough and hardworking, clear professionals who have mastered the processes. Fun cheering them on toward the finish.

The weather has the cats playing in-out-in, a very popular game among floofs. Papi excels. Tucker took one turn, came back in, and headed for the bedroom and sleep. Papi, though, played at least five rounds, taking time between rounds to request food and pets. He’s a sweet little stinker.

I’m late with posting today. A few weeks ago, I wrote a little bit around a prompt about someone named Darla. I shared it with a few friends. They loved it and pestered me to write more. That wasn’t in my plans but I kept thinking about it, playing out different trajectories and concepts, etc. Today I awoke with more Darla in mind. I built out a long scene and then sat at the ‘puter and typed. With a few pauses to dress, eat, talk to the painters and my wife, and drive to the coffee shop, I wrote twenty pages today. It just kept pulling me along. Love writing days like this.

Songwise, nothing was homethere until I thought about the drive to write that piece after I stopped writing. Then The Neurons punted “Got to Get You Into My Life” into the no-longer-morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks, I promise). I guess The Neurons thought the song was playing into my writing urge. Well, okay.

This Beatle song was released in 1966, when I was ten. Paul McCartney wrote it, and in this video, he performs it at the White House for President Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, and a few guests in 2014.

Stay positive, remain strong, lean forward, and register and vote. That’s all I ask, except for coffee, security, kidness to animals, etc. Here’s the music.

Cheers

Déjà Floof

Déjà Floof (floofinition) 1. An animal who reminds people or other animals of another animal.

In Use: “When she saw the kitten available for adoption, Rose experienced déjà floof, because the little character looked just like her old cat, Smudge, which she’d lost the year before.”

Recent Use: “Papi looked nothing like Quinn but the way Papi sometimes behaved frequently triggered déjà floof.”

2. A sense of experiencing or enduring an event with an animal that happened before.

In Use: “The sequence of his dog’s declining health triggered déjà floof for Bob, who dreaded what he knew was going to come.”

Recent Use: “Déjà floof descended on Brenda when she saw her husband notice the hungry young stray cats. Animals in need were always finding him, reducing him to a big softy ready to do everything to save them.”

Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: nostalgic

Hello, fellow travelers through time and space. Welcome to Thursday, February 8, 2024.

It’s a cold day here, despite sunshine. The weather is deftly nicking us with a cold and sharp northern wind. Growling crowds are creeping in, darkening and getting fat. Rain is expected later this afternoon. It’s now 42 F, not far off from our expected high of 44 F.

Although keeping up with news, I don’t feel up to commenting on anything, so pressin’ on. Today’s theme music is brought to you by Nickelback. “Gotta Be Somebody” was released in 2008. The Neurons let it loose in my morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) after I experienced deja vu when I stepped outside and breathed in the cold but fresh air this morning. Soaking in sunlight, watching the cats regarding the yard, I thought, I remember days like this from previous years. It was a marvelously bittersweet few minutes. Thinking, déjà vu, The Neurons pumped in more of NIckelback’s song:

It’s just like déjà vu, me standing here with you
So I’ll be holding my breath
Could this be the end?
Is it that moment when
I find the one that I’ll spend forever with?

‘Cause nobody wants to be the last one there
‘Cause everyone wants to feel like someone cares
Someone to love with my life in their hands
There’s gotta be somebody for me like that
‘Cause nobody wants to do it on their own (Their own)
And everyone wants to know they’re not alone (Not alone)
There’s somebody else that feels the same somewhere (The same somewhere)
There’s gotta be somebody for me out there

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Keep leaning forward, be strong, stay positive, and register and vote, right? Coffee has blessed my esophagus; time to move on with other activities. Here’s the music. Cheers

The Protection Dreams

My wife and I received another round of COVID=19 vaccinations yesterday. We agreed that one kicked us harder than the others.

We received them at 11 AM. Other than pain and stiffness at the injection site, all was going well. After meeting with friends for beers in the late afternoon, I returned home and exercised. Then, about 10 PM, it seemed like someone encased my body in concrete. My newfound stiffness stunned me. Reaching down, sitting down, standing up, movement of any kind was met with defiant resistance.

Next, cold invaded my body. It reminded me of being in Korea one winter. Heavy shivering gripped me. My hands and feet felt so cold, I stuck my hands down my shorts against my groin to warm them and gasped at the shock of my cold hands. I normally sashay through the house in gym shorts and a tee shirt. Now I applied additional layers, including socks. Socks! The indignation. Then came headaches and a mild fever. I woke up at one point soaked with sweat.

Meanwhile though, I dreamed when I slept. I was heading a horizon. Tall, dark walls were being erected. That’s my protection against COVID-19, I told myself. I had variations of that dream three times during the night. The walls were different each time. In the second dream, I said, “I need bigger, stouter walls, taller walls.” Someone — a male — replied, “They’re coming.”

All three of these dreams were short. They felt like they were less than a minute, and in each, it was only me, darkening skies, and protective walls.

A Dream Shard

Hearing something — can’t even saw what it was — today when I was in the coffee shop writing, I suddenly see a forgotten dream from last night. Really, just a shard. First person personal point of view, I’m driving in a car along a winding country highway. Leafy green trees blur by on either side. It sometimes seems like someone is with me but that’s inconsistent. I mostly seem to be alone.

Everything is going smoothly. I’m on a long road trip. Ahead is where I’m going to leave the country highway and jump onto the Interstate. The first road is climbing and turning. I split off. Cresting a ridge, the on-ramp veers left and goes down a steep hill and into intense banking as the ramp joins the Interstate and the Interstate goes left. Sunshine bathes the cars and roadway.

I won’t be on this road long, just a few miles. As I hit the banked curve and merge with the traffic, I press the brake pedal and recognize, I’m not slowing. Speed picks up despite greater pressure on the pedal. I announce, “I don’t have any brakes.” Someone in the other seat replies, “What?”

I repeat what I said and lean their way. But no one occupies the seat. I mutter, “I’m not on the road long. My exit is just ahead.” I can see it, a long, lean hill that ends at an intersection with a traffic light. “But I’m going to need to stop. I’ll add some brake fluid when I can. I think that’ll fix it. First, though, I need to stop.”

The car hits the exit ramp. It’s flying over bumps. Grinning, beginning to laugh, I kick out the floorboard. “Just do it like Fred Flintstone.” I put my feet down onto the cement road. Pressing the soles down with all my strength, I drag the car to a stop.

Dream end.

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