Month: July 2024

Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

The area’s electric power went down. It was a valley-wide outage affecting all of our little city, along with several other small cities. Turned out to be a major transmission line failure. A crew went out and found and fixed it.

Electricity ceased about 11:24 AM. I was at my writing haunt, which is a locally known coffee shop. It was suddenly so quiet, and a little darker. “The power is out,” a barista exclaimed.

Only three customers were in the shop. One barista looked over at me and asked, “What did you do, Michael?”

I was innocent, of course. We were all told to leave. Turned out it wasn’t just that little corner of existence.

I drove home. All the traffic lights were out. People were handling it with courtesy and awareness in my part of town, but others later said they witnessed some flagrant driver idiocy. Takes all kinds, we agreed.

It’s weird how something like this can affect the day. Like, okay, power is out. I drove home. Clicked on the garage door opener to verify it didn’t work and parked in the driveway. Went in with a key to the side door. I was thinking what will I do with this time? Well, I can still write on the computer. I just won’t be on the net. Battery will last a while. Or I can dust furniture or cut the lawn.

A smoke detector was announcing that its battery was on low. So I located it, got out the small metal step ladder and took care of that. I remember my wife not wanting me to purchase those little steps. “Just use a chair,” she urged. But I figured we were adults and should have the proper tool for the job, so I paid the $40 for the stairs.

My wife then arrived home. She didn’t have any house keys, and I saw her trying to ring the doorbell. After I let her in, we wondered, what does work for us? Can we get texts and make phone calls? She had one text from the county telling about the outage. I called her. Her phone rang but we couldn’t connect.

So we sat and talked. Not like we don’t sit and talk every day but something new is always coming up. Then I get a text from my sister saying, “I see trump just screwed up again.”

I texted back, “what happened? We don’t have power.” But my text wouldn’t go. How could I receive a text but not send one?

Fifteen minutes later, the power was back on. It too much longer than the outage lasted to return to the rhythm of the day.

3

The Delivery

Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) came to the room’s door. Sitting down, he composed his tail and then looked at me. Then, very deliberately, in a deadpan voice, he enunciated, “Me. Ow. Me. Ow.”

It was so weird. He never says “me. ow.” He says, Mrrrmpf,” and variations of that, like a grumbling old man too bored to bother with a whole meow. Or very loudly, sharply, “Mmrrrrowl.” But “me. ow”? No.

It was like he was doing some offbeat feline impression of Bob Newhart or Steven Wright as a cat. “Me. Ow.”

1

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Wednesdaycopic

This is it, the last day of July of 2024. It’s gonna roll on without you so hurry on down to the Last Chance Saloon to get your final taste of July of 2024.

July was a tumltuous month. The RNC was held and Don Old Trump wisely chose a lying hypocritical sycophant as his running mate. An assassination attempt enlivened the news days. Judge Cannon, a Don Old Trump appointee, dismissed the classified document case on him with reasoning that shocked legal experts. Heat records were set for the planet. Disasters unfolded across the world, including wildfires throughout the United States, and the stock market continued going up. President Biden dropped out of the running to be POTUS again, Vice President Harris leaped into the fray, and the Olympics began. Those are just the basics.

It’s Wednesday here in Ashlandia, where the wine is fine and the weed does the deed. 73 F now, we’re anticipating a high of 97 F. I’m awaiting my furnace control board so I can continue my DIY repairs on my HVAC. I haven’t been working on it because of the high heat. Although we both agree, we’ve been surprising comfortable about ninety percent of the time, my wife is beginning to show signs of impatience.

Our quality is good, still, ranging in the 20 to 30 range around town.

We’re under 100 days until the election. Think it’s 98 now. The pressure is getting ratcheted up. Don Old Trump is looking shaky these days. Vance is offering little reassurance in his early performances.

In other words, they’re under pressure. The Neurons selected “Under Pressure” from the grey mental jukebox and has the David Bowie and Queen collaboration from 1981 is rousing the morning mental music stream (Trademark carbonized). Hope it works for you as theme music for today.

2

The Writing Moment

Still editing a novel-in-progress. Rev 7 remains underway for Memories of Why. I finished page 450 of 575 today. Don’t know if I’ll do a rev 8 until after I read the final chapters. I remember how I ended it but I’m not sure that ending is satisfying. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, I jumped into writing a new novel back on July 19, 2024. It just sucked me in. The working title is Gravity’s Emotions. As it’s a style and kind of novel that I don’t usually write, it stretches my nerves to breaking while engrossing and worrying me. Eighty pages have been written, so it’s been going fast. Breaking a standard rule, I share bits of the novel in walk off lines with my wife. Some of what I tell her freaks her out. That makes me giddy.

But I also need to return to finish Darla. Friends read the first sixty pages that I dashed off and want to read more of it.

It’s so entertaining and stimulating right now, imagining, thinking, writing, editing, revising, planning. I could easily see myself going non-stop writing and editing, but life needs pull me back into life’s embrace.

3

Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

A middle old person — 75 to 84 years old — has a penny. He asks several other middle-old people if they can read the date on that penny. “My eyes aren’t good enough,” he proclaimed.

Three other middle old people gathering. No, not without my glasses, they were all saying, chuckling. Glasses were pulled from purses and pockets. More folks moved in to try to read the penny’s date. Soon it’s a crowd of seven.

They all fail. The original gentleman takes his penny to the counter and asks the young barista for help. She studies it for several seconds, shifting the penny, squinting, bending her head lower.

A result is announced but I don’t hear it. He pockets his penny and thanks her.

It’s life.

1

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Proharris

It’s good Tuesday in Ashlandia. With air quality in the good zone — just two on the index — and a temperature of 68 degrees F under a crystal blue sky, we slipped out early and went to the Growers Market. Our hunting and gathering succeeded. We returned home with our plunder of organic, locally grown fruits and veggies. Tomatoes, peaches, blackberries, carrots, greens.

It’s the 30th of July, the penultimate day to the month. Expectations have been lowered and our temperature will crease 88 degrees F. Traffic is light and the day has a comfy, low-key feel.

I perused the Booker long list today and plotted about which I want to read first, etc. Tommy Orange and Richard Powers are favorites of mine, so I go with them, but several other authors buzz my interest.

Other than that, it’s politics and disasters sucking in my energy. I reflect on the heavy GOP rotation of lies and hypocrisy and I’m newly depressed and saddened. Some varnishing of truth and polishing of positions is natural in politics to help candidates gain traction but the wholesale bullshit on display with the MAGA fueled GOP sucks the oxygen out of thoughts. Such lies that they tell. Such plots that they undertake.

And so, Les Neurons who are paying attention treat my morning mental music stream (Trademark buried) to Jewel performing “Who Will Save Your Soul” from 1996. Who will save their souls for the lies that they tell? Not lies to them, apparently; the ends justify the means to subvert others’ wills and take us from being a democratic republic to a christian autocracy. So many potential voters seem to think of this as a popularity contest, asking themselves, which one do I like better, Don Old Trump, or Kamala Harris? Like they’re equivalent, as if Don Old Trump doesn’t have a long list of lies and deceit, as if he has not been convicted of actual crimes, as if he’s not still indicted for more crimes, as if he wasn’t twice impeached as President. Oh, brother.

Be strong. Stay positive. Lean forward. Vote Blue.

Coffee is being processed by the body’s systems. Time to write and roll. Here’s the music. Cheers

4

Floodiac

Floodiac (floofinition) – The definition of a band of twelve floofstellations dictating the properties and characteristics that floof display. Origins: Middle Flooflish, borrowed from Floofglo-Froof and Flootin. First noted use in the 14th century.

In Use: “Based on how their animals race around the house, many people mistakenly think their floof is a Zoomacorn, but in floofuality, zoomies are just one trait among many that assign floofs their sign on the Floodiac.”

In Use: “The way that her cat, Marmie, loved water, Karin knew her girl was born under one of the water signs in the Floodiac, like Aquafloofius.”

In Use: “Chester’s dog’s amazing balance had Chester believing that Cormac’s Floodiac sign was Libfloof.”

0

Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

When my wife mentioned a duckana, I said, “What the hell is that?”

Turns out that we’re a couple years behind the times.

A duckana is a statue or depiction of a duck emerging from a peeled banana. It apparently began with London Drugs in Canada in 2022. Once I saw one, I found them endearing, clever, and hilarious.

Now I’m reading that people are over duckanas. The thing now is the Avo-cat-o.

Those zany Canadians. Gotta love ’em.

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