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.
Floofmaster(floofinition) 1. Animal which is in charge of, or controls, people, or other animals.
In use: “Sherman was a small dog with a deep bark, a large heart, and immense fearlessness, attributes which led him to being an unquestioned floofmaster, instilling neighborhood order, breaking up fights, and fostering friendships.”
2. A person who effectively bridges gaps with animals with words and actions.
In use: “Introduced to animals at a young age, Jill was soon a floofmaster who could calm animals and instill trust, leading her to home the most recalcitrant of animals, animals which would otherwise never know a home.”
Lovely moon out last night. I checked it out about 12:30 AM, when the air quality levels were improved and the temperature hovered about 60 F. Did you see that moon? Part of the perigean moon cycle, it seemed quite large, almost full, and pretty clear for us, meaning only soft marigold brushstrokes marred its clarity.
Now it’s 61 F. Clearish air, with some bluish smoky sky. AQI is better but the smoke smell is there to be sucked up as soon as you step out. Where there is smoke, there’s particulates, and possible respiratory system damages. Myself suffers from an AM stuffy nose and sinuses, and a sore throat. Shot of saline up each nostril helps the first, and a cough drop is sucked on once in a while for the latter.
Today’s high will be in the low 80s. This is Wednesday, August 30, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the children seek advancement, and the parents press for sanity.
Tracking the Hurricane Idalia, worrying about my fellow citizens, and tracking fires, worrying about everyone and everything. Engenders a sense of helplessness to track information and understand how little I can affect the course of activities. But track I must. I want to know what’s going on in a multitude of areas.
All that takes me back to how much I take for granted, which is a testament to the past, where problems were recognized and people worked out solutions. I mean things like highways and roads, fresh water supplies, electricity, the net, the food chain. Not all were perfect and some cause us problems, and because people are invested with how well those solutions work, they refuse to admit their solutions are now problems. Also, money. Security. Power. MSP. Follow the MSP and you’ll learn more than you want to know. I mean, think about how insecure wealthy people must be, if they must keep acquiring more money and power to prop themselves up. It’s a sad sickness.
Hearing about taking things for granted caused The Neurons to bring up Todd Rundgren and “Hello, It’s Me,” from the early 1970s. See, he wrote about and sings, “I take for granted that you’re always there.” So easy to fall into the mind slip of taking people and things for granted, and as I was thinking on that, the song began playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark ancient). I found an interesting stripped down, live version that I hope you enjoy.
I’ve had a half cuppa joe, and the mind has picked up speed. Be strong and stay pos. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofophile(floofinition) – A person who greatly admires animals, or favors them in dealings.
In use: “After being friendly with animals for most of his life and a true felinophile since he was a boy, Chas met a woman with dogs and birds, and was overnight a floofophile forever.”
Deeply into revision after letting the novel in progress simmer for a few days. Surprising early cuts come, which weirdly feel ‘natural’. Like the book is already out there, and I’m shaping the manuscript to fit it.
The process is much more involved and slower than the creative writing stage. With the entire story from beginning to end filled in before me, I know how I want to sharpen its focus. Ten pages have been sliced away from the beginning. What remained of that bird required extensive rewriting. It’s like that first draft was an exploration of the history of an event and the characters populating it. Now that I’m familiar with it, I can properly tell the story. From less comes more.
I probably ranted about this before, because I’m a natural ranter.
While inconsiderate/inattentive drivers have long commanded a top spot on my pet peeve register, a new one has steadily climbed the chart. Now I find myself annoyed with people walking while looking at their phone. Don’t know what they’re considering on it – videos, photos, games, text messages, whatever. I guess they think they’re multi-tasking.
Doesn’t matter. What matters to me is that others must move aside for these self-absorbed individuals as they silently peruse stuff while walking. I’m tired of standing aside for these people who don’t even acknowledge others with excuse me or thank you. I’ve now just taken to stopping in their path — which is my path — forcing their attention away from the phone and into the world. And then, when they realize I’m there, I say, “Excuse me.”
I know. It’s petty. Passive aggressive. I accept that. I’m just fed up with standing aside for them. Let them stand aside for me.
I live partway up a hill that heads on to mountains. The street ends a few hundred feet beyond my house. That’s where the city ceases. South of the end in a few miles is where California’s border with Oregon rests. Distant barking, distant sirens, a distant small airplane, distant truck and car sounds, shape the city to my west and north.
It’s a robust 57 F outside. Today’s top end will be 77 F. Fires dot the rugged land east and south of us, feeding us a perpetual smoke diet. Smoke is worst to the west, suffocating towns like Grants Pass and Medford.
A blood red moon rode our night sky last night like some bad omen. Today’s sun is clearer than other recent days, more of a yellow cast to its brilliance. Sunrise is earlier, sunrise is later as the shifts brought up by our journey through the solar system are reinstated again, part of the annual journey. It’s Tuesday, August 29, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the children are polite, and the adults are political.
I don’t know what’s going on with Les Neurons this AM. They’ve switched on Donnie and Marie Osmond’s cover of “I’m Leaving It Up to You” 1974. That was the year I graduated HS and joined the military. Donnie & Marie are not part of my usual musical palette but that was one of the day’s ubiquitous songs in my region. The part which goes, “I’m leaving it all up to you. You decide, what you’re gonna do. Now do you want my love? Or are we through?” That’s how I remember it. Maybe The Neurons are feeling nostalgic for an earlier life period, when I was young and things were simpler. Who knows what those rascals are up to.
Coffee has been picked up, sniffed deeply, sampled for quality. Time to get on it. Stay pos, be strong, and remember, 42. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 