Fabfloofist

Fabfloofist (floofinition)1. Someone who makes up stories about animals.

In use: “Sarah was just three years old, but she was already a fabfloofist, regaling her relatives with adventure tales featuring the family’s cat and dog.”

Tuesday’s Theme Music

A taut white sheet covers the valley sky. Sunlight finds a small rent and slips through like an exploring cat.

It’s Tuesday, January 31, 2023, and 30 degrees F outside. Inside, the furnace keeps us at 68. Black coffee warms me more, a solid antidote for the morning’s cold impressions. That sun popped in at 7:25, duping the cats and me into thinking we were up for a sunny day. Now the clouds have dropped. But in the way of weather, the clouds signal a warm front and higher temperatures. We’re heading for a high in the mid-fifties as the Arctic blast shifts east. Sunset will be one minute short of ten hours after sunrise.

Local news reports our Mayor has resigned. Then a city council member designed. No clarifying comments were made by either for their reasons. The city will now go through the replacement process for each. It’s already fired up political bases. They’d just calmed down after the November results were swallowed and digested. We never believed the calm would last. The budget debate is ongoing, as are the homeless challenge, drought and its impact, along with our local economy, of course. Our economy depends on snow in the winter for skiing and full rivers, clear skies, and fresh air in the summer for outdoor activities like hiking and boating. Little snow and prolonged drought, tourism has suffered for several years before the COVID load was put on it.

The other big industry here is the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Before COVID, wildfire and smoke spiked performances and revenues as the air was deemed unbreathable or dangerous and performances were shut down. Restaurant and hotel businesses fell like dominos. It’s been about five years since we’ve had a healthy economy and the budget has suffered.

Over in my head, The Neurons have planted “It’s My Life” by Talk Talk from 1984 into the morning mental music stream. I know it from hearing it on the car radio as I drove around the island of Okinawa, where my wife and I lived at that time. It has that 80s tech feel to it. Seeds for the song came about as I was trying to make decisions and ended up chatting to myself about my life. This was one of several songs that floated in and out of the conversation but its volume went up later, so here we are.

Stay positive. Get ready for February, because if you didn’t notice, it’s here tomorrow. Here’s Talk Talk. Cheers

Moanday’s Theme Music

6:37 Papi Standard Time. 22 degrees F. “Let me out,” the ginger floof bellows while prancing around on his tippy toes, tail up.

I walk along, explaining to the walls that it’s 22 degrees outside, too cold for Papi to go outside, but I open the door for him. Papi steps up, looks out, takes a breath, steps back. “Let’s try the front door,” Papi suggests. We do, just to satisfy him. Open-step up-breath-back in. “That’s not what I want,” Papi says. “Feed me.”

I feed him, along with Tucker, who is a savvy fellow and saw where this was going. Then I’m back to bed. See, I went through this once four hours earlier with Papi. Except he went out that time. Stayed out for almost twenty minutes before hammering the door for re-entry. He blasted through the house when I opened the door, living up to his nom de floof, Thunderpaws.

I, of course, went to the bathroom. My bladder said, since you’re up. Sure. Somewhere in there, The Neurons began singing “Lucretia MacEvil”.

Hello, Monday.

It’s January 30, 2023. 9 AM now, the temperatures has climbed the heights to 27 F. Other than the cold, it’s a fine sunny day, complete with blue sky, and frost free, too. Sunrise came at 7:26 AM and the turning away will remove sunshine from our visible range at 5:23 PM.

“Lucretia MacEvil” is a funky, brass dominated song by Blood, Sweat, and Tears, released in 1970. I have no idea why it’s circulating the morning mental music stream. I’d dreamed, yes. Women were featured, yes. But the dreams and women were all pleasant. Who knows the ways of The Neurons? Not I.

The ‘MacEvil’ part of the song’s title always puts me in mind of McDonald’s, right? I say ‘MacEvil’ and I have that little Micky D theme song follow it. I figure it must be some kind of adult meal. It’s not on the menu and you must know the code word to order it. It’s only sold to adults, and you must provide ID. Totally worth it, though, I imagine.

I have my coffee. Countdown has commenced. We’ll soon have liftoff. Stay positive. Happy Moanday. Here’s the mood music. Cheers

Floof Over Matter

Floof Over Matter (Often abbreviated as FOM or F.O.M.) (floofinition) 1. Ad hoc policy that a household or organization’s care of animals is paramount.

In use: “He planned to make some changes in the house, but they were immediately terminated because of F.O.M., as his wife said, ‘You can’t do that. It’ll upset the cats and dogs.’ He could have argued that, but they’d been married over a quarter of a century. He understood floof over matter. It was only the floofs and their health and happiness who mattered most.”

2. Magic talents used by animals to make the impossible appear to happen.

In use: “She never understood how her cat got into the places which seemed impossible. Then she read a blog post about F.O.M. — Floof Over Matter — and began to understand that animals had powers which were beyond human comprehension.”

Shineday’s Theme Music

It’s a shiny new cold day in the thumb of Ashland, Oregon, where my house sits. 29 F with a high of 39 F projected. Sunshine slithered over the mountains and through the branches at 7:30-ish this morning, but its rays didn’t strike any of our windowpanes until over an hour later. That’s the nature of the angles and impediments to the sunshine at this period of year.

Today is Sunday, January 29, 2023. Just two shopping days left until February pounces on us. They told us we’d have rain yesterday; never saw or heard any. Then they mentioned snow. Should start at 10 PM. No, make that after midnight, Sunday morning, really. Saw none of that the few times I glanced out the window. I thought, maybe they got their Sundays confused. Easy to do almost any time of year, but especially winter, when little is growing. The days appear the same because markings aren’t there to mark any changes. We just keep warm and wait for the shift to begin at our house.

Reading books and news and pondering generalities, The Neurons decided to entertain me with “Lunatic Fringe” by Red Rider from 1981. It’s circulating around the morning mental music stream, bobbing in and out of conscious thought. The song is about the rise of antisemitism which the songwriter, Tom Cochrane, noticed in the late 1970s. Here we are, almost fifty years later, and we were are again, dealing with antisemitism on the rise. It’s a defiant song.

Lunatic fringe
In the twilight's last gleaming
But this is open season
But you won't get too far
'Cause you've got to blame someone
For your own confusion
We're on guard this time (on guard this time)
Against your final solution

h/t to Lyrics.com

The blessed smell entertaining my nose tells me my coffee is brewed. So off I go. Stay positive, as best as you can. We know it’s a sliding scale, spectrum of relativity. Here is the song. Enjoy.

Cheers

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