Author: Michael Seidel

Science fiction, fantasy, and mystery writer. Singer (sorry, no shows) & nudist (in my home). Beer, cat, cheese, coffee, pie and wine friend. Left IBM and Silicon Valley for the southern Oregon life but I miss the ocean. We're too far inland. Gotta move.

Saturday’s Theme Music

You ever been asked, “You have too much time on your hands?”

When I worked, the answer was sometimes, “Yep.” Work was so segregated and encapsulated into specific roles and tasks that if I did mine fast, which I frequently did, I’d end up waiting for others with nothing to do. Exasperating. I often spent that time by reading company or government periodicals. Whether that was the military or corporate side, that helped me broaden my outlook, which was always a benefit.

Since I quit working to write full time, I never feel like I have too much time on my hands. My response is more likely to be an incredulous spewing of coffee, beer, or wine, followed by, “Are you kidding me?”

Someone asked yesterday. I didn’t spew – that was just in there for comic effect – but I did laugh and reply, “No.” Thinking about his question later brought up the 1981 Styx song, “Too Much Time on My Hands”. It’d been released just before my wife and I arrived for a four-year military assignment at Kadena Air Base, Okinawa, Japan. We quite enjoyed that assignment. Thanks to the interesting culture, wonderful friends, educational opportunities, and the ocean, we never felt like we had too much time on our hands.

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Stereofloof

Stereofloof (floofinition) – A widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a pet.

In use: “Batting balls around with wide-eyed zeal, ambushing and attacking anything that moved, purring when petted, and of course, appearing absolutely adorable, Logan the kitten was a stereofloof of kittens.

 

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Flooftub

Flooftub (floofinition) – A typically wide, open, deep, and round container used for holding  water, growing plants, etc., repurposed by pets as sleeping, hiding, and playing spaces.

In use: “During hot days, Ashley converted the main tub into a flooftub, stretching her long furry body out along the cool, porcelain bottom for afternoon naps that none dared to interrupt.”

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And Again, and Again, and Again

He talks to his wife across the house,

demanding answers that she doesn’t give.

She doesn’t hear him, and he gets mad,

again, and again, and again.

He trips on the cat in the dark,

and curses the cat for not learning.

He goes the same way, every time,

again, and again, and again.

He leaves the lights on and the water running,

and complains about the waste,

and argues about whodunit,

again, and again, and again.

He sleeps the same times,

and does the same things,

eats the same food,

and complains the same ways.

Goes to the same places,

listens to the same tunes,

watches the same tube,

and hears the same news.

Then he complains that nothing changes?

Again, and again, and again.

 

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Friday’s Theme Music

Today’s was a direct and simple connection between walking, thinking, and my theme music.

Thinking about time, I was walking through some low humidity, ninety degree sunshine. Across the valley was clear from my vantage. It was its typical summer brown, the green baked away, a striking but depressing tableau under a crystal blue sky. With that vision of heat and dryness dancing with memories of wildfires from the last five years, I hoped for rain.

The opening words that Sting sings from “Desert Rose”, a duet with Cheb Mami (2000), rose in voice in my mind.

I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand

h/t AZLyrics.com

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Five Times Too Many

It’s a sad situation; a neighbor ran over their cat while parking, the fifth time in my life that a friend or neighbor ran over their cat. 

This victim was a cat, but it can happen with children, dogs, and other animals and people. The situation begins with a routine, complacency, and an assumption: “He/she is always there. I expected them to move. They always did.” That assumption is a killer.

His name was Buddy. He was a small, elderly black cat. Probably weighed seven pounds, but had the voice of a lion. He was sweet, trotting over to me for a treat and a scratch when I came out to do yard work or go check the mail.

I wasn’t present when Buddy met his demise. The woman’s three elementary school-age girls were.

The temp was in the nineties. Maybe Buddy was hot or ill, or deeply asleep. Like each of the other four situations, Buddy didn’t move as he usually does.

Such accidents and deaths can be avoided. Don’t assume. Get the visuals. Take the time to confirm the cat’s location. Confirm that he moved.

It’s already happened five times too many to my friends and neighbors during my lifetime. Please learn from Buddy.

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At Your Disposal

Well, I finally did it. I pulled the plug. It was time.

My garbage disposal was a decent enough Badger 5. Not pricey, it was a half power workhouse. It had some issues. First, it’d been a leak from the sink flange. I fixed that, twice, vowing the second time, NEVER MORE! Meanwhile, god forbid a lemon seed or popcorn kernel were dropped into it. Either would immediately jammed it, calling out the need for the hex key to unjam it. Lemon and veggies would often rumble around for a few days before finally succumbing to the blades and disappearing.

Then, though, the seals began leaking. After assessing it and confirming it was the seals, I put a bucket under it. I’d monitor and empty the bucket as required.

There’s no-how for you.

Sorry, I mean ‘know-how’, of course.

Finally, though, a day came when the disposal didn’t want to work any more. It made humming sounds but the cogs weren’t jammed. It just didn’t want to play any longer. A new one was required.

That took me into search land, the perfect occupation who tends to overthink stuff. Size, price, horsepower, noise, reputation, issues…over and over I read, compared, and studied. It came down to Waste King and Insinkerator. Love those names, gotta say. They could easily be pro wrestlers or transformers. The Waste King won. I ordered it Wednesday, and it was waiting at the door when I came home from the hospital Friday.

Perfect! The next day, after I came back from writing and walking, I set aside time to tackle the garbage disposal. Getting the old one out was harsh duty. Like a loyal soldier, it didn’t want to leave its post. I’d mentioned that it’d experience some leaking issues. Those led to some rusting issues, which trickled into removal issues. That bear took a sweaty hour to remove it.

Installing the Waste King, though, was a peach. Fifteen minutes, and boom, done. I’m not a handyman, so you know it was a well-engineered product if I installed it in fifteen minutes. Running it for the first time, its volume disappointed me. It’s a one h/p brute, though, and anything put into is liquefied in seconds.

Did I make the right choice? Probably as good as any of them. We’ll see, right.

Meanwhile, anyone need a used garbage disposal? It has no miles on it at all.

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