Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
We’re cleaning up. Purging. Reducing our possessions.
I’m reaching into dark spaces in the garage not touched by humans in years. Gloves are donned. Because this is black widow country.
I don’t kill them. I want us to peacefully co-exist. But I don’t know if they got the word.
Nonfloofpete Agreement (floofinition) Agreement between animals not to fight and to cooperate when socializing or interacting with humans. Origins: 18th Century Floofgress Instruments for Successful Living Among Humans (ISLAH).
In Use: “Humans don’t know about nonfloofpete agreements and are suprised when the cats and dogs and other creatures sleep and play together, sharing food, treats, and lap time.”
Mood: Wonstalgic
Thwump thwump thwump thwump
The copter continues the watershed cleanup. I can watch him manuever through the kitchen window. Sounds give clues of his comings and goings. Right now, he’s resting in the air above the peak of a conifered-blessed mountain.
Looks like a good flying day out there on Tuesday, April 23, 2024. Sunshine gleams off windows and cars. Full-fledged green leaves on trees dapple lawns and houses with shadows. A few clusters of cloud islands hold steady on the western horizon.
It’s 17C outside, about 62 F. We’re heading for a 76 degrees F high. Rain has a chance but it’s less than 40% chance. Usually at those odds, we don’t see it.
Mom is supposed to be heading home today. She should actually be there, per the schedule, as she told me she was being released noon Eastern. Which was almost an hour ago. I find that most hospitals are optimistic about when things will happen. Like the military and DMV, there’s a lot of waiting at a hospital. I’m living on a hope that she’ll go home today and be relatively healthy and happy for a while and put some of these health scares to rest.
With that thinking, I tripped down the trail of what it used to be like back home, when I still held the flowers of youth in my appearance. The Neurons responded by conjuring a jazzy Stevie Wonder song that speaks to that essence, “I Wish”. The 1977 song is echoing through my morning mental music stream (Trademark drifting). I found an online offering of him doing the song live in 1982. Sweet. I hope you enjoy it.
Here we go. Stay positive and be strong. Vote Blue in 2024, and let’s see if we can stem the retreat of rights and sanity. Coffee is brewed and ready to be introduced to my body.
Here’s the video. Cheers
Floofsumptive (floofinition) – 1. Descriptor for an animal’s approach who assumes they are the apex resident in a household. First noted use circa 1970, New York, USA.
In Use: “Closed doors impinged Queen Champ’s floofsumptive foundation that something must be happening on the other side. This was her empire and announced her displeasure with loud caterwauling and scratching.”
2. An animal which takes for granted that they are authorized to go anywhere, do anything, and eat everything. Origins: 1740 colonial America.
In Use: “As soon as food was set down, Sheldon made a presumptive claim with his chompers, no matter the food group.”
3. A belief that animal’s movements, activities, or behavior is expected and predictable. Origins: AOL, late 1990s.
In Use: “Following a floofsumptive bias, Kelly expected Hannibal to trot out and greet her, but the little pup was nowhere in sight, inducing floofxiety in her that something had happened to him.”
Mood:
Thwump thwump thwump…the helicopter goes on, up above the mountain high, hovering and waiting, waiting and hovering, picking up its load, going away again, dumping the load, coming back again.
Gotta be boring up there. Least the pilot should have a nice view, up above the trees so high, like a moon in the sky.
It’s a clear Monday, with blue running infinitely on and back again. Sunshine drenches the scene. 69 F now after an overnight low of 40 F, the thermometer is scaling the degrees. Probably stop at 76 F, they tell me. It’s April 22, 2024, for those keeping score at home.
The cats are as happy as floofs lazing in sunshine. An ear sometimes stirs. Another moment witnesses an eye cracking open a hair width. Other than those infrequent movements, they seem set for the next few hours.
Back in Pittsburgh, a new report has Mom feeling unwell again. Tests are being run. She’d been doing well and was scheduled to return home tomorrow. We’ll monitor all for the outcome. Little sister, aka grandma G, provides me with updates. She and her hubby had been sick herself recently. But they’re better know. Just seemed like a mild flu. I think we live in an era of health uncertainty. Sure the pandemic plays a role. I notice that many people around Ashlandia grow angry but resigned when they get sick. Wonder if that’s must my bias, or does this happen elsewhere?
Musically, The Neurons have “For All the Cows” ringing in my morning mental music stream (Trademark backtracking). Utilizing that song’s melody, I’d been singing about coffee. Actually, it was about my coffee cup. Like, I need a cup, a coffee cup, I’ll fill it up, if I had a coffee cup. I’d been wandering with the cup. It mindlessly departed my hand as I slipped through rooms and tasks. Found it in the third place I looked, my bathroom. Yes, I drink coffee in the bathroom while I’m shaving and dressing, okay. Although I didn’t shave today. Didn’t feel the need for a blade on my skin.
“For All the Cows” is a Dave Grohl/Foo Fighters production. Came out in 1995. It’s soft quasi-jazz opening and strange words are beguiling. I listen to it and search for some kind of meaning for what he’s singing about. I’ve always tentatively concluded it delivers an analogy comparing people to cows but also addressed success and the changes success brings to the herd, how you change herds with success. I don’t know. My understanding shifts, depending on my moo-ed. Heh.
Stay positive, strong, optimistic (that the same as positive?), and lean forward. Please Vote Blue. Now, more coffee and cow music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 