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.

Sixteen Days

Note: Blame Afterwards for this. He posted Afterwards Writing Prompt #1 – Monday 8th of January – “Darla” – Sci Fi – Something a little sci fi to start the year off.

As I’m occupied with revising and editing a novel, my muses got excited and pushed out a small piece just to alleviate some creative juices. Cheers

Sixteen Days

Her first words were, “My name is Darla,” spoken a few seconds after she opened her luminous gray eyes, about a minute after they’d cut her umbilical cord.

As expected, a speaking infant galvanized reactions in the delivery room. They were just recovering from her eyes opening and the way she’d looked around. “I have never seen anything like that,” the nurse, Dee, avowed, her own eyes big and glowing with shock, “and I’ve been doing deliveries for twenty-six years and gave birth to five children of my own.”

The mother, Amy asked, “What’s going on?” A clamoring of explanations followed until her husband, Andi, said loudly, “Our daughter just told us her name is Darla.”

Amy said, “That’s not what I want to name her.”

“I know, I know,” Andi said. “The, the, the baby said it. The baby is the one who said her name is Darla.”

With Amy repeating with arching eyebrows, “The baby said that,” Darla said as the nurse handed her to Amy, “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you wanted to name me after Heather Cox Richardson because you admire her, but I was named before I was born. I’m Darla. It can’t be changed now. The history is already written.”

While others verbally speculated over what Darla said and hunted for clarification, Amy didn’t. Exhausted from giving birth, worn out from being pregnant, pleased to have this phase of her life completed and the fear of it gone, Amy just said, “Oh, okay.” Looking down into Darla’s intelligent eyes looking up into her own, she was thinking that she’d make sense of it later, after she’d slept about a year, after her body healed. She was just too exhausted to make sense of it now.

###

Three days old, Darla clambered out of her white bassinet – which was already too small – and walked over to the kitchen table where her mother was surfing the net on her phone. “Mom,” the little one said. “I’m sorry to disturb you but I want to talk to you while we have a chance.” Darla glanced back in a listening pose. “Before Grandma comes back.”

Amy, to be honest, wasn’t recovering well. Not post-partum depression, no, it was just shock over what her daughter was already doing. That dynamic made Amy avoid her daughter. “Seriously,” she told her mother, Gina, “I don’t like how my daughter looks at me. Is that crazy, Mom? Is that normal?”

“I don’t know.” Gina didn’t want to tell her daughter, hell yes, that’s crazy. Your daughter’s eyes aren’t supposed to be open yet. She’s not supposed to be talking and walking around and opening the refrigerator. Having given birth twice, she knew these things and had talked to her own mother about it. A walking, talking baby like Darla was creepy.

“How did you learn to talk like that?” Amy asked Darla.

“I learned while I was in your womb.” Darla had to constrain her impatience. She fully expected questions like this. “Remember, Mom, you carried me for nine months. You and Daddy read to me and played me classical music, along with some pop. FYI, I am so sick of Taylor Swift now, you played so much of her. Anyway, that’s how I learned to talk.”

“But that’s not natural. Are you really my daughter?” Amy refrained from letting the weird idea that her daughter was a demon, alien, or robot, be expressed because she didn’t want to embrace that in any way, but what else could she be?

Darla put her tiny hands on her little hips and stared up at her mother. “You ask me that after carrying me for nine months and six days, and then going through sixteen hours of labor? What do you think that all was, virtual reality? You – our whole family – talks a lot and you almost always had a television or radio on. I heard a lot, and I had a lot of time on my hands, so I was able to practice. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.”

Judging her mother’s reaction, she said more gently, “Seriously, I know what you mean, Mom. I understand what you’re thinking, but believe me, I am your daughter. I’m not an alien or something like that, but I’m part of a project, which is called Project New Born. I know that it’s kind of cheesy, but I didn’t choose it.”

Darla stopped to listen for Grandma coming back. She’d heard steps and creaking and believed Grandma Gina – she had two grandmothers, but Grandma Belle had refused to visit her walking, talking grandchild, considering her, Darla heard her tell Andi, possessed by the Devil – was around the corner, listening. Spying, really. So what. Grandma Gina needed to learn this stuff sooner or later and she’d be pretty cool about it.

“Project New Born?” Amy listlessly repeated.

“I’ll tell you more about that later. I need to go somewhere tomorrow, so I’ll be gone. Don’t freak out, though, because I am coming back. I’ll be back in sixteen days, so don’t go crazy while I’m gone, Mom. I need you, I need your help, and I need you to be sane and sober, okay? Daddy is going to lose it, but he doesn’t matter nearly as much. I can overcome that. You matter more, Mom, you matter more, okay?”

Eyes half-closing, Amy said, “Wait, what? I didn’t understand any of that. Can you say it again?”

Indulging her mother, Darla began a repetition like she was reciting a poem. Amy broke in to ask, “You’ll be back in sixteen days?”

Her question pleased Darla because it showed everything was on track. “Yes, sixteen days. I know I’ll be back then because that’s how far I can see into the future.”

Fulfilling expectations, Amy repeated, “You can see into the future?”

“Yes, just sixteen days now, but that’ll change. Like, it wasn’t only one day when I was born, but it increases as I get more in tune with it, providing I stay on track, and will be able to see further and further into it. Part of that is because I’m from the far, far future, I’m talking centuries, and I’m genetically engineered to see the future. Yes, I’ve been sent back to save humanity. I’m just the first, though. There will be more of me, and then it’ll all start making more sense, okay? And yes, I am your child, you and Daddy, because your eggs and his sperm were acquired and sent ahead, okay? Listen, we’ll talk more later. First, I am starving, so let me go get Grandma Gina so she can make something to eat. Also, though, I also mention this today because I’ll be much more grown when I come back, so if you want pictures of me when I’m little, you need to get them today.”

She looked at her mother’s chest. “By the way, you’re leaking, Mom. I think you need to pump your breasts again.”

Turning, little Darla strode away on her tiptoes. Darla heard her muttering, “Stupid diapers. I can’t wait to grow more so that I reach things and use the toilet, and get my own food. I’m friggin’ starving.”

Amy watched her tiny dark-haired daughter go around the corner. Then she heard her speaking. She wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. Picking up the breast pump, Amy smiled for the first time since giving birth. It could be worse. At least Darla had ten fingers and toes and two eyes and was otherwise a perfect little girl with pretty eyes and a sweet face.

Pumping her breast, Amy thought, it’s going to be an interesting sixteen days.

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Flooace

Flooace (floofinition) 1. A person who is not an animal expert or but is knowledgeable about animals from experience. Origins: Internet era circa 2003 in this meaning, a combination of floof and ace.

In Use: “Growing up with dogs and cats — her mother’s cat slept with her from the day she was brought home, engendering some mild, amused jealousy in Mom that Marla had stolen her cat — made Marla a flooace by the time she was fifteen. Everyone thought she would be a vet, but she instead went into politics because she’d decided that the world needed to change and she was the one who was going to do it.”

Recent Use: “People post lost or found animals on Nextdoor, and flooaces get online to offer opinions in the comments sections about what to do to resolve the problem.”

2. The locations where animals like to stay or rest. Origins: Text messages first noted in 2019, created from joining floof and place.

In Use: “Tucker’s go-to flooace is under the dining room table when Michael isn’t home, but on Michael’s desk, chair, or computer, when Michael is home and on his computer.”

In Use: “Being a large dog, the Maxinator enjoyed the kingsized bed in the master suite as his flooace, but the rules said he wasn’t allowed in there, so he had to go to his secondary location, on his huge bed by the family room patio door.”

Recent Use: “Some cats, such as Marley — yes, named after the dog in the book and movie — like to find the most unusual flooace to sleep, like it’s a competition to upstage other floofs.”

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Excitgry (excited but hungry)

Light rain and gray clouds sang in Tuesday’s entrance on January 9, 2024. Snow is gone from the valley floor. Fog veils the mountains and ridges so I don’t know what the situation is up there. Gloomy is the word, the word that you heard. It speaks to the day’s general malaise, weather-wise. It is 39 F now, humming along to a 44 F high. My floofs are nestled into comfortable niches where they can sleep in warmth and safety.

Pretty much as expected, Republicans are descending into tit-for-tat politics, talking about trying to remove President Biden from the POTUS ballots in several states, reflecting their deranged approach to politics. “Because you removed Trump!” they whine. “Because look at what Biden is doing to the border,” they declare. “And his birth certificate. I mean, her emails. I mean, Hunter Biden.”

They’re descending into a new low level, setting themselves up as a punch line in history books. “Look at how they used to act,” people will say, discussing the GOP of this era. “How did they become so lost and confused about what was going on? What happened to their principles and leadership?” We in this era reply, they became consumed with desire to be in power. “Power tends to corrupt,” Lord Acton wrote in a previous century, summarizing what others had observed. Power tends to corrupt. That seems to be what we’re seeing in the GOP as they corrupt their values and principles to stay in power, no matter how they malign the ideal the founders established, no matter how far their behavior guides them from the principles they claim to uphold.

Of course, their hold on what is ‘supposed to be’ regarding our founders’ intentions are as nebulous as a kitten’s grip on their own tail. Can you imagine what the founders would be saying to Lauren Boebert after she declared that she was tired of this separation of church and state junk?

I can’t honestly say, though. I only wonder. I don’t know how they, the founders, would say to multiple arguments of this modern era. What would they say to the “Moms of Liberty” for banning ideas and books? How would they respond to Republicans like DeSantis declaring what parts of history should not be taught? And I don’t know how the founders would stand regarding the mass murders with automatic weapons that happen so routinely in the US in this ‘modern age of reason’. I like to think that the founders would be horrified and take action to stop it, but then, I thought the GOP, the ‘pro-life’ party as they call themselves without irony, would be horrified by the murders, deaths, and sorrows, and take some action. I just can’t gauge the depths of the GOP’s corruption, hypocrisy, and cynicism. Each time that I believe they’ve hit bottom, they go lower.

And of course, pundits are wondering, what will happen if Trump runs for POTUS in 2024 and loses? Will the GOP peacefully support the result, accept defeat, and continue with governing? Or will they go full-blown rebellion and insurrection? There is enough darkness glimmering in the MAGA base frothing at Trump’s whiney ‘campaigning’ that there is serious reason to believe they’ll go Jan 6 once again but escalate it to new levels of violence.

Meanwhile, a fragment of them will say the Pledge of Allegiance, loudly enunciating, “Under God”, and then talk about how they hate Democrats, and want to kill them or send them to another country. Do they have any self-awareness?

Beyond all that, The Neurons have the Eagles singing the 1980 song, “I Can’t Tell You Why”, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark separated). The Neurons had caught on with my thinking — they can be sharp at times — about not being able to comprehend and explain things. I can’t tell you why Republicans let Justice Clarence Thomas remain in office as revelations of his relationship with wealthy Republican patrons generate concern about Thomas’s ethics. I can’t tell you why they let Thomas remain involved in cases regarding Trump as POTUS in the face of revelations about his wife’s role. I can’t tell you why they turn a blind eye to Trump’s bullshit. I can declare it’s politics as usual, but it’s not the kind of politics seen in this nation for several decades. I thought, and it seems I was naive, that we as a political body, no matter the party, had evolved past that. Of course, I never foresaw what social media, AI, and web bots would do to our political discourse. I never foresaw people who weren’t being treated for mental issues clinging to insane conspiracy theories, and I can’t tell you why they cling to them. All I can do is make up my own theories.

Ah, well, time to shuffle news and politics aside and rebalance myself. Coffee helps, of course. Stay pos, be strong, and keep leaning forward. Don’t let yourself get too wrapped up in the minutiae of trying to understand and explain why. Keep your eye on our own shared goals of freedom, justice, democracy, and equality, and the idea that we should all enjoy them. I once read that those are pretty good ideals to chase.

Here’s the music. Admire the Eagle’s youth seen in this video, and remember. Cheers

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Infloofcerate

Infloofcerate (floofinition) – 1. To confine an animal. Origins: 1575, in general use.

In Use: “Many people fostering young animals such as kittens or puppies infloofcerate them at first until they’re more developed, comfortable, and aware.”

In Use: “Whenever guests came over, Barb infloofcerated Chet because he was such an energetic, inquisitive, and social fellow, jumping on guests, furniture, and counters to better involve himself.”

Recent Use: “Cam systems have become a regular tool for folks when they infloofcerate, allowing them to track the animals and ensure they stay healthy, comfortable, and safe.”

2. To be trapped or imprisoned by an animal.

In Use: Whenever Kat sat, she was quickly infloofcerated as pets found her and claimed spaces on and around her, limiting her ability to shift, let off moving.”

Recent Use: “Jorge’s pizza was inflooferated as soon as he opened the box as his tiny new kitten, Forester, immediately grabbed a piece by the crust and stood in the pizza’s middle, refusing to cede his spoils.”

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Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: wintslow (wintry and slow)

Yes, it’s a wintslow Monday on this January 8, 2024. First off: how long after New Year begins is it acceptable to wish people happy New Year or variations of that? After I challenged a person telling me happy New Year, I countered, Merry Christmas: it is coming.

Winter holds court outside. Snow sketches lines over the mountain ridge’s dark pines and firs. Grey clouds mute the sun’s impact and diminishes the land’s colors, though the starkness of snow and mountains across the valley is majestic and pulls eyes and thoughts. It’s 33 F now, with 46 F offered as a cap to today’s warm streak.

Most are pleased that snow has fallen at last. One young woman, a high school senior, told me yesterday that when the big flakes started really dumping, she went out and danced in the snow. ‘Course the skies and snowshoes have come out and people are heading for slopes and mountain treks.

Just a pause to note that one person conversing with me yesterday claimed the local hospital is full of COVID patients. She’s a nurse so I have some faith in her observation.

Football and award shows about popular culture hold forth in the news today, although some elements are also addressing the upcoming Iowa caucuses. Many world and national events are still ignored, or not spoken about, at least, part of the stalemate in communications which we’ve reached. F’r instance, the economy is ‘better’ and ‘doing great’ but that doesn’t mean much if you’re hanging on to pay for necessities or are suffering food or shelter insecurity. Just as it’s been for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. There are some who have more than enough to indulge whatever they want for themselves, and a chunk who live in desperate situations. Fault lines shift but the bottom line throughout history is that the rich get richer. After all, from being born to advantage, to having people grovel before them because of ‘who they are’ — i.e., the money they have, which begets power — to being able to buy favoritism and special treatment, money moves our civilization and the wealthy are indulged with preferential treatment.

The Neurons, being who and what they are, served up “Do You Wanna Dance” to the morning mental music stream (Trademark launched). This came as I was asking the cats as part of our morning routine, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Yes, they told me, Tucker in his quiet and understated manner, Papi in his youthful, energetic, more vocal style. Meanwhile, The Ramones had taken over my head with their 1978 cover of the song had my head jerking and my feet tapping as I dished out pate to the floofs.

Stay pos., be strong, remain calm, and lean forward. I am presently leaning toward my coffee; once I drink more, I hope to right myself. Here’s the music. Sing it to your floofs. Let me know what they think. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: Sunlow (Sunday mellow)

This is Sunday, January 7, 2024. It was a wintry day this morning after a 24 hours of competing precipitation. We cycled through various snow forms, slush, and pellets with fog smearing the background optics. The sun would prairie dog in to see what was happening on the ground but the air stayed chill. Looking out and seeing the situation, my wife said, “It’s good to be retired.”

Today brought us light snow in some places layered over 32 F air temp. My partner had a birthday party to attend. I’d been excused to do my thing but that plan collapsed when she saw the roads and asked if I’d go to the party. You know, so I could drive. Thus is why I’m posting late.

Good party, and worth attending, a friend, Barb, celebrating number 80. She did it right with champagne and mimosas and tables starting to splinter under the weight of food. While Barb made most, people also brought food (my wife took her five minute almond tarts, an Ashlandia favorite). (Ashlandia, where the food is above average.) To complement those food offerings, Barb also hired a crepe truck. We had choices of caprese, lemon, cinammon, or chocolate crepes made to order. With a house packed full with friends, and people coming and going from ten AM until the planned end, seven PM, how could you not but have a good time?

I went walking yesterday afternoon, enjoying the wintry ambiance. Reminded me of young years in the places where I lived where climate invited snow and ice on a regular basis — Ohio, Iowa, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Illinois, West Virginia. Breathing in cold air, same cold air scolding my skin, a little dribble out of my nostrils. Snow changes sound and light. When you’re out there alone, a sense of isolation descends. I could hear my breathing, feel my heartbeat, and entertained new thinking.

The Neurons unleashed “Good Feeling” into the mental music stream, and it carried over into today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark frozen). “Good Feeling” is by Flo Rida and was released waaayyy back in 2011. It’s good music for me for today because despite what reality might push into my face, I remain optmistic and I have a feeling things will get better. Fingers crossed. Knock on wood.

Before I close, I want to offer this for reflection: the ‘sound’ of the solar wind. Because everything isn’t about the privilge and deprivation of this world’s people. There’s something out there beyond ourselves. This ‘sound’ comes to us unnoticed every second of every minute, hour, day, month, year. Pausing to consider it offers perspective that existence is more than this planet and what we see and hear. Yes, many reply, but this is our home, and the only place where we are — well, as far as we know with our limited understanding.

Stay pos, be real, be strong, and lean forward. Coffee has been served; hurry before it runs out. Here’s the music. Feel free to sing along and rap along. Cheers
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Floonergy

Floonergy (floofinition) – 1. The animation, action, and movement demonstrated by animals. Origins: 1974, United States.

In Use: “A pile of puppies’ floonergy can overwhelm many households; having children on hand to watch and play with them is a good counterstrategy.”

In Use: “The cat demonstrated huge levels of floonergy as a kitten, accepting every challenge to climb curtains, take over the ceiling fan, and lounge in a room’s tallest places, and she kept that same floonergy until her middle teens, impressing everyone.”

Recent Use: “Videos of pets demonstrating their floonergy permeate the net, where viewers marvel over animals galloping around a house and leaping over furniture.”

2. Calming influence cast by animals over others.

In Use: “Reaching home, Carmel immediately removed her shoes and sat down. Her cats joined her, spreading their relaxing floonergy over her and extinguishing her work weariness.”

Recent Use: “Although a huge dog, Master G radiated a peaceful floonergy which immediately relaxed those in the same room.”

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