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.
Floofsent (floofinition) – A state where animals won’t give or will withold approval or agreement, leaving others frustrated and confused; an ambivalent response by an animal caused by conflicting messages with their environment or memories. Origins: United States, early twenty-first century, Internet.
In Use: “One challenge many humans encounter is the animal concept of floofsent, in which they’ll display intentions to agree or accomodate what is being proposed while also demonstrating that something is bothering them.”
In Use: “The eminent floofologist, I.M. Thunken, believes that floofsent is a state animals encounter while trying to address mixed messages their superior senses are communicating to them, or issues of trust generated by their memories.”
Recent Use: “The injured stray dog wanted to trust the people but his floofsent was in turmoil as he confronted his rescuers and felt vibrations reminiscent of his recent tormentors.”
I was in a room, high walls painted sky blue, tall windows which looked out over a hill which lead to a beach and see, white ceiling. ‘My book’ as I referenced it was on an old but polished dark brown table that I’d been using to write. My book was finished and had a cover which I partially saw: sky blue, yellow, with a red frame around some scene and the title in red.
I left the room and returned, finding the table gone, along with my book. I hurried back into the other room and asked what someone to tell me what had happened. I’d been half expecting the table to be taken away but having my book removed upset me. A tall, angular woman with short brown hair told me that the mover had taken the table and inadvertently took my book with it. They’re realized their error and were bringing the book back. I was looking out the window while she spoke. “There they are now,” she said, pointing out.
A helicopter was high in the sky coming toward us. This was one of those heavy lift Chinooks with two rotors. A large white lighthouse with a red tile roof dangled on a hook and cable. “Yes, I see it,” I answered and settled down to patiently arrive, and begin hearing its distinctive helicopter sound getting louder.
The helicopter arrived and lowered the lighthouse. When they finished, I went into the original room and found my book. Unfortunately, it was high on the wall and out of my reach. I searched for a ladder. None was available, so I returned to the other room and complained to the angular woman. She said, “I’ll get it moved so you can reach it.”
I went back into the other room. The book had been lowered. Standing on my toe tips and stretching fully out, I was just able to reach it. With it finally in hand, I opened the tome and began reading.
Dream end.
After I awoke and thought about the dream, I realized that my dream self had equated the book as the lighthouse, and meditated a while about what that meant.
It’s a late start again for me as far as writing and posting go. Friends are in town and we met for a big coffee gathering. See, there’s a tradition established around a M-W-F exercise class. It engages at 8:30 AM. Finishes at 9:30. Then a group goes off for coffee. The female side of the visiting friends was part of this coffee klatch, so she did the class and then all joined for coffee. Several husbands and I, who are a normal part of the gathering, joined the gathering to see our friends and socialize. The visitors lived here in Ashlandia, then moved to Portland, and now are in the process of moving to Spain. That last isn’t an easy process but they’ve been going every year during the last three and are committed to making the move.
The winter storm they’ve been warning us about slammed into the valley. For a while, we hung at 34 F as snow charged down and clung to the Earth, building its base. Warmer air crowded in. Snow became rain and melted all the snow at our elevation. Bright sunshine now smothers the valley, and the temperature is working close to the expected high of 48 F. Friendly white clouds are driving in a blue sky.
My morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) has been like a radio station. A sample of today’s music heard in me head:
“Our Day Will Come” – Ruby and the Romantics, 1963
“Little Red Corvette” – Prince, 1983
“Turn the Page” – Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, 1973
“The Luck You Got” – The High Strung, 2005
“I’m Alright” – Kenny Loggins, 1980
“Our Day Will Come” seemed like a dream remnant. The Neurons plugged in “Little Red Corvette” because I’d seen a red Corvette the day before, a 1984 one, like Dad’s, except Dad’s was Navy blue. “Turn the Page” is a natural arising from on month’s ending and another month’s start. “I’m Alright” was cranked into the stream after I completed my daily self-assessment, done after walking around, seeing if anything is misaligned, malfunctioning, or gone, as far as my body and mind goes. Another two or three songs were featured in the MMMS but I went with “The Luck You Got” by The High Strung because it demonstrated the strongest presence.
I learned about The High Strung from an episode of This American Life I was listening to while driving one day and then sought their music on the net. Of course, I did hear “The Luck You Got” not too long ago when my wife and I checked out the US version of “Shameless”. We’d watched the Brit version back in the day and were leery of what an American version would be like. When I heard the theme music I thought, hold it, I know this song. Weirdly, just as I began looking it up, I fully remembered it.
Be strong, lean forward, vote, and remain positive. Fortified with coffee, I’m right there with you. Seize the Friday. Here’s the music. Cheers
The barista and I chatted when I ‘ordered’. Ordering wasn’t needed; my order was known and delivered before I reached the counter.
During our chat, it was somehow revealed that the barista was 20 years old. Then it came out that her father was three years older than her when he became a father (she was the oldest), and she couldn’t imagine that. She was nowhere ready to be a parent, herself.
I, meanwhile, did the math, and made that her father was probably about 43 years old. Meaning, he wasn’t born when the Stones song I listened to on the car radio on the way to the coffee shop was released (“Wild Horses”, 1970). Curious, I asked her if she knew who the Stones were. Yes, she said. She knew them because Dad was a fan. His older brother had introduced him to them after their parents introduced the Stones to the older brother. All this made me think that her grandparents were probably just a few years older than me.
And all of this is so right and fine, and amusing.
Mood: coffeebitious: a hopeful state of mind fed by coffee consumption
Thursday, February 29, 2024, has touched down. The month ends tomorrow, leaving just ten months of 2024 remaining.
I let Papi out at 6:06 this morning, the usual time that he begins crying to leave us. There was enough light that I let him out, suspecting he’d be returning in 20 minutes. Yes, at 6:30, I answered his call to come back in. I noticed it’d been raining and went by Alexa* to inquire about the temperature.
“It’s 44 degrees in Ashland,” she answered. “Today’s high is 44 degrees.”
Oh.
That’s all Fahrenheit, though she didn’t mention it. An hour later, letting Papi back in again, I discovered snowflakes big as silver dollars falling and accumulating. I checked with Alexa about the temp: 34, she told me.
It snowed for an hour more. The northern mountains and ridges were covered down to 3000 feet while the southern view had sparse snow sprinkled over the dark conifers. Now, about 11 AM, a smattering of snow remains but it’s dwindling. The temperature is back up to 41 F. No sun has broken through the sky’s uniformly off-gray cover, but the clouds are thin enough that the sun is almost breaking through. Light rain keeps windshield wipers busy.
Now to the asterisk. Current days, I find myself consulting five different weather sources, including Alexa. I have a home system that seems moderately accurate, but I constantly seek verification of its accuracy. Southern Oregon University has a weather station set up that I also check. A mile away and fifteen hundred feet lower, it’s not good for my location but it features a nice set of historic data for comparisons. A friend has set up a Wunderground station for his house, but he’s on a higher elevation and almost two miles away. Surrounded by trees, living on a mountain’s northern side, his weather varies from mine, but it’s nice to note what another part of town is experiencing. The other two are online offered by browsers and are usually fed by Weather.com. They’re not as accurate for me but they have nice forecast trend models which present some idea of what the weather will be beyond today.
Dreams swarmed my mind last night. At the final dream’s end, I found “I Remember You” filling the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). Written in 1941, I know the song well because I heard it often by different performers while navigating my teens in the 1960s. The song has been covered a lot. Most did it as a torch song. Even the Beatles did it. But the version I best knew was sung by a woman to an up-tempo arrangement. I cannot find that version and don’t know who it was singing it. Nor does Mom know.
That let The Neurons down some, but as I was searching, I came across other interesting songs. One was “I Remember You” by Skid Row, a 1989 power ballad not anything like “I Remember You” with Johhny Mercer’s lyrics. I remember hearing Skid Row’s song on the radio as I drove around to and from work and all that. While searching, I also slid sideways into “Remember (Walking in the Sand)”. The Neurons dished both the Shangri-Las and Aerosmith versions into the MMMS. More interesting to me was Lena Horne singing a song written in 1933, “Stormy Weather”. I knew that song well, too, and her voice and style mesmerized me. So that’s today’s theme music. Although several videos exist of her giving tremendous performances in her youth and middle age, I went with one when she was 80. BTW, it sounds like the guitarist supporting her might have been George Benson. Seems like his style.
Stay strong, lean forward, be positive, and vote, yeah? I’ll do the same, as best as I can. Coffee helps, and I have had a cup so I raring to go. Have a good one. Here’s the music. Cheers
Schefloofule – (floofinition) – An animal’s timetable about when things should be done.
In Use: “Many animals demand that their schefloofule be obeyed, with dogs and cats doing things like beating on their food bowl when they’re supposed to be fed.”
In Use: “Many people often complain about their cat’s schefloofule because it includes things like playing or being fed at a time when the human wants to be asleep.”
In Use: “Dogs thrive on routine, and when changes are forced into their schefloofule, they need an adjustment period.”
Recent Use: “Videos and stories on social media have surfaced show how floofs have adopted their people’s routines as their schefloofules and are adamant that they be followed to the minute when it comes to feeding or going to bed for the night.”
