I like this quote. This is how I view my story-telling – a dimension of time and movement. It doesn’t make it easy reading (and it can be challenging writing) but such dimensions of time and movement entertain me.
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Thursday’s Theme Music
It’s Thanksgiving in the United States today, a holiday imbued with myths and traditions, and many memories for someone like me.
I have some wonderful Thanksgiving memories. Mom worked hard to make holidays a success — except Mother’s Day (yeah, d’uh, she took the day off, didn’t she?) — and Thanksgiving was always terrific at her house. Later, in the military, my wife took on the same role. Overseas, she coordinated and orchestrated Thanksgiving dinner among several families, and we always invited the single people to come over so they felt less alone.
I benefited from that, too. My Uncle and his family had me over for Thanksgiving when I was in basic training, saving me from a chowhall dinner. I had a great time with them. There were other Thanksgivings with co-workers’ families a few times when I was stationed overseas on temporary unaccompanied duty, like the time with Tony’s family in the Philippines. There were also a couple chowhall Thanksgivings, though.
All that brought the Alan Parsons Project song, “Time” (1981). It came out the year that we reported for duty in Germany. We lived off based that first year, and it was one of the times when it was just my wife and I. It was still memorable.
Why “Time”? Because of the lines, “But time keeps flowing like a river, to the sea.”
Yep, although it does make me think, there’s a sea of time out there, somewhere.
Flooffiti
Flooffiti (floofinition) – 1. A small tropical island where only animals live and visit. 2. Unauthorized writing or drawing by or about animals on public surfaces.
In use: “To reach flooffiti, most animals use the floof-exchange. It’s so much easier then swimming or flying. Without humans to mistreat and abuse them, it’s considered the number one floofcation destination.”
Floofurnal
Floofurnal (floofinition) – Of, or pertaining to, hours of the day or night that an animal decides they will be active without regard to what’s normal, expected, or accepted.
In use: “Becoming floofurnal, first the cat chased the dogs around at night, then he ambushed and stalked him during the day, and then demanded he be let out at three in the morning, and back in at four in the morning.”
Bang Bang Bang
I had three agents interested in April Showers 1921. Bang, bang, bang, all three came back yesterday and this morning, and said, “Thanks, I’m passing.”
Bang.
Conspiracy, I thought. They’re all conspiring against me. Then —
Rejection.
Dejection.
Frustration.
Depression.
Shrug.
Reset.
Go on.
Check on the other places where I’ve submitted. Remember that three out of the original twenty (which later turned out to be eighteen) were interested, not a great percentage (let’s not do the math, okay?), but still, somebody. Hey, I’m a writer. I’m required to be moody, temperamental, pessimistic, optimistic, and stubborn. At least, that’s what my muses insist.
Meanwhile, there are other agents. I’ll submit to them.
Meanwhile, there’s another novel being written, and it’s a lot of damn fun.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
“Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin was released in 1974. I’ve been hearing a live cover by George Michael, with Elton John as his guest (1991) at the coffee shop. Naturally, it ended up stuck in the stream, looping around a few times.
There are many memories associated with the song (like dances, kisses, and good-byes). It came out right after I graduated high school and went into the military, so it’s branded as part of that era, that transition from teenager living at home to adult on their own. As the Michael version came out during my final tour, it almost exactly bracketed my military career. Just a little coincidence, but one that ends up attaching sentiments to the song for me.
Snow Memories
As an adult, snow and I share a difficult relationship. Snow wants to do what it’ll do, and I prefer that it doesn’t disturb my routines. I think these things even knowing that snow is necessary for the snowpack that provides us water throughout the year (so go up in the mountains and snow heavy there, right?) and some of our local industries (like the ski lodge on Mount Ashland) depends on the snow.
But a day of blinding, fat flurries (like today — look out that window — how can you not?) always takes me back to snow memories, especially childish times. When I was a boy in school, seeing snow outside the windows was a harbinger of entertaining times like snowball fights, forts, and sledding. Snow diffused daylight, blending night and day into a special, secret zone of being. Snow muffled the sounds and tamped adult activities, leaving the world to us, the brave, the crazy, the children. Interruptions would arrive – cars stuck on hills, tires spinning in a whining hiss, vehicles with chains clanging past, snowplows grinding by, building new boundaries of small mountains alongside the roads.
Après outings were coming into a warm house where boots, mittens, and layers of frozen soaked clothes were shed. All had to be hung, put onto radiators or into dryers, depending on the era and house. Hot chocolate with marshmallows and cookies were offered, or tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches (white bread and American cheese, in those days) with a dill pickle.
Evening would come with a hesitant stillness, slipping in like it didn’t want to disturb the world. Books were read, drawings were completed, games played, television watched. Popcorn and fudge was made. The television was watched for news — would there be more snow? Will school be cancelled tomorrow? (Fingers crossed, breath held, eyes big as the news was awaited.) And more gazing out the window, at the amazing white world and the wonders of snow, were indulged.
Young and innocent, protected and secure, playful and happy. Everyone should enjoy such a life.
