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.
Discountfloofer(floofinition) 1. Animal who no one wants.
In use: “With its large, strangely flaring ears, huge, crossed eyes, giant head, and tiny body, few people were attracted to Magnifico, but to Billy, the discountfloofer was a perfect companion and a calming presence.”
2. Animal who is planned for euthanasia or left for dead.
In use: “Because of their conditions, the three kittens were labeled by many as discountfloofers, but the vet decided it was against her code to just let them die as long as they breathed, and undertook the work that allowed them to survive and thrive.”
3. A creature able to stave off others’ approach with looks or sounds.
In use: “The tiny kitten, later named Mango, used a loud, fierce growl, prodigious hisses, and furious spitting to stake his claim that he was a discountfloofer and not to be messed with, and backed up the noises with swift, sharp claw swipes.”
It’s another day of rock and roll in Ashlandia, where musicians are elderly and the students are young. July 29, 2023. Sattiday. 66 F now, 89 F is expected to knock on the door before we take leave of the sun.
Same three fires burning around us — Bedrock, Flat, Golden — north, west, east. Wildfire smoke boiled in yesterday afternoon and stayed through most of the night. Tastes of chemicals and burnt wood. Sinuses back up in protest. Eyes get gritty. Little dribble of snot wants to leave the air holes. Fortunately, the house cooled down on its own. We avoid running the air to salve our conscious about a few different matters. Inside the house dropped from 82 to 72 overnight. I usually need to open doors and windows after dusk takes over to make that happen. Smoke’s cover pushed the evening temps down fast, which made the difference. It’s typically still about 80 F at ten. Yesterday, we had 78 before eight.
82 F, friends say. In the house? That’s too hot. Naw, we run a fan as we do things. Yes, we sweat, but, so? We also bath. Tasks are completed early, while it’s still cool. Doesn’t get warm in the house until after 3:30. Then it creeps into the eighties in the house, By then we’re ‘puting, cooking, reading, streaming. We run the kitchen vent fan when we cook so we don’t kick the room temp up too much.
Today, some dirty air scuds over the blue shine. Looking north, the sky changes from blue to smoky white.
Yesterday, my wife said, “Well, pangram was easy.” So I knew I was cursed. We each do Wordle and the Spelling Bee everyday on the NYTimes site. We call Spelling Bee ‘pangram’ because we’re really only interested in getting the pangram(s). Anytime that one of us expresses the conclusion that Wordle or pangram was easy, the other is immediately cursed. So it was with me. I pulled it up and stared at the letters, coming up with BEATZIP. Site said, not a word. Okay, how ’bout ZIPBEAT? Nope. I vowed to come back later.
Later came when I was closing the ‘puter for the day and realized, I never did the thing. I flipped to the page. Immediately saw BAPTIZE. WTH couldn’t I see that before? It was the curse.
The Neurons tossed “Tripping Billies” by The Dave Matthews Band into the morning mental music stream (trademark fantasized). As is often true, The Neurons don’t drop any clues about this song choice. I haven’t heard it in longer than I can remember. Don’t hear anything in the lyrics that I can connect to thinking or what I’m doing. Fun to blast it, though. Brought up old times.
Stay pos, be strong, and ride the way of thinking, emotions, and activities. I’ll be back tomorrow. Here’s the coffee, and away we go.
I awoke. Alarm seizes me. I don’t think I’ve set the rechargers for the house.
Was I supposed to set the rechargers for the house?
Does the house — can the house be recharged?
But it has to be recharged. Its engines need to be recharged.
Does the have engines? No, it doesn’t have engines.
Then how does it move?
These were my thoughts as I sat up in bed, suddenly awoke, coping again, with the dream about the house flying through space. I’ve dreamed this seven times recently, posting about it a few times. In it, my house and plot of land have been lifted from the Earth. My wife and cats are with me, and I’m actually impressed and pleased that we’re flying through space. Aliens have done this, I know, but I don’t know why.
After awakening from the dream, I visit the bathroom and check on the cats. Papi, the ginger blade, is drinking from the water bowl on the front porch. Tucker, the black and white enigma, was on the back porch drinking water from that bowl. Interesting symmetry. I returned to bed, and to sleep. Other dreams were experienced but whenever I awoke, I thought immediately of the house flying through space, and whether I’d recharged the engines.
Don’t know my age when it started. Seemed like I was a young adult.
Dad and I were sharing a smallish but modern apartment. A winter storm howled outside, snow pummeling the world in unending shovelfuls. A general sense of disturbing chaos reigned.
I had a few cats. I was trying to feed them but they were running around, attacking each other, hiding. In the midst of this, in the living room by the stereo, I discovered a large window was broken. I stopped to check on it, inspecting it, confirming, because it was hard to tell, yes, a panel is gone. You’d think that’d be easy to see with snow falling, cold weather, a murdering wind, but it required earnest consideration of it for me to figure it out in the dream.
Yes, the window was broken. Several panes were missing or shattered, laying in pieces in a growing snowdrift. The cats tried to get out. As I lunged to pull them back, they retreated on their own, discouraged by the storm. Confusion seemed to paralyze me.
Dad came in, talking about a need to go somewhere, to get food, I think. Impatiently, he told me to hurry up. I was grabbing a cat, checking on the cats, looking at the broken windows. Concern over the stereo getting ruined rose up, so I moved components. Dad shouted at me to come on. I locked the cats in another room and followed Dad out. As we went, I was telling him, “Dad, there’s something you should know, there’s a window broken in the living room.”
It felt like it took some repetition of telling him this before what I was saying sank in. Then, he responded in alarm, “You should have told me this before.”
Next thing I knew, we were going back home because he was worried, and I was defensively trying to tell him that I’d been checking out the window, and I tried telling him but he wasn’t listening.
Then we were in the living room. The heater was running, hot air coming out of vents but snow dusted the floor and crusted the sofa, table, and chairs. Many things were turned over. Things were missing. The stereo and television were gone. We realized people had broken in; we realized, looking out the window, it was teenagers. They were running away with our stuff.
Dad said with bitter disappointment, “You didn’t do anything. You knew this had happened, and you didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you do anything?”
I was an adult now, and shocked. He was right; why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I take action? I could have called someone to repair the window, or put up boards. I could have done something, but I didn’t.
Mood: slow, mentally and physically. Took me an hour to yawn this morning. Emergency coffee begun.
Yeah, Friday. July 28, 2023. See that date, kiddos? July almost done, another young older, another year gone.
Cool mountain air has been climbing all over me through the open windows. 66 F now, we’re looking at 90 as the top end. Fires are burning but our skies remain clear, knock head. Hope everyone else surrounded by disasters or engulfed by them are doing well.
Well, sis finally told Mom ’bout her cancer, so we can all talk about it openly. Youngest one was diagnosed with rectal cancer. First reported symptoms were rectal bleeding. Went on a while before her older sister forced her to the doctor. A large polyp was removed but now her rectum will be removed. As others have said, and I have said, and will probably say again, cancer sucks.
Along with that, her young son had a severe, terrifying seizure earlier in the month. First one ever. They’re searching for the root cause. A few years short of being eligible to get a a driver’s license, he’s scared. Yes, sis and her fam are having a not very good year. There are bright spots; #1 son just got his license. He graduates HS next year and spent part of his summer visiting college campuses.
I have “Rocky Mountain Way” by Joe Walsh in my morning mental music stream (trademark surprised) today. Why it’s there is a question for the ages. Why do Der Neurons do anything? They rarely explain themselves these days, like they’ve becoming indifferent to what I think.
Meanwhile, I’ve been preoccupied with the GOP and their CRA to overturn endangered species protections for the lesser Prairie Chicken. They used gems like this to rationalize their decision:
‘Rep. Bruce Westerman, an Arkansas Republican who chairs the House Natural Resources Committee, called the Endangered Species Act an important but outdated part of U.S. history.
“The unavoidable truth about the ESA is that a listing means less private investment, which harms conservation efforts,” he said.’
So, to be clear, investment is more important than life, in his opinion.
This one by Sen. Moran was a laughter.
‘On the Senate floor, Republican Sen. Jerry Moran of Kansas said the rule threatens ranchers and farmers.
“I am confident there are ways to conserve the species without hindering economic opportunity in rural communities,” he said.
He said what Kansas needs is “more rainfall not more regulations.”’
See, the numbers for this species have been plummeting for years. I think a smart child would point out to the senator that if there were ways to conserve the species without regulations, it would have already been done.
Sure. Experts point out that this species is often used as a bell weather for an ecology’s state. As the species goes, so does the region. Meanwhile, heat records are being smashed around the northern hemisphere. The GOP actively blocks efforts to deal with climate change.
And this is the GOP in a nutshell to me, a party that ignores facts in pursuit of BAU, a reactionary party that will drag itself, the nation, and the world over a cliff while telling everyone that it’ll be fine.
Sen. Moran, BTW, also thinks that protecting the lesser Prairie Chicken will also harm energy producers, because, you know, despite record profits and high executive pay and bonuses, that industry is hurting. *end snark*
Well, that certainly did nothing for my mood. Deep breath. Stay pos and strong. Move forward, and specify what that means. Here’s the music. Coffee is half gone, brothers and sisters. Time to awaken. Here’s the music from fifty years ago to cheer us up and move us on. Am I being ironic, hypocritical, or just plain ol’ ridiculous?
Floofidecimal System(floofinition) – Process by which animals can make them seem like they weigh ten times as much as their normal weight or appear to ten times their actual size.
In use: “Marcia loved sleeping with her dog and twin felines but they often used the floofidecimal system and end up taking over the entire bed, leaving a small edge for her to use.”
It was a short one. I was young again. Looked like I was in my twenties.
Hustling along through a building, I passed through a doorway and down a short fight of steps. In there were many friends and co-workers. (I realized on awakening that all were male.)
I don’t know how many were there. None of these people have been seen in the last dozen years, and most haven’t been seen or spoken with since the last century.
We were all wearing tee shirts, the sort worn to support sports teams and rock bands. All were young like me. Several of us took seats in a semi-circle around a fire pit which had no fire. Others took seats behind us. We were talking, joking, laughing, playing tricks on one another and just acting silly. I recognized at least Jeff, Gil, Ray, Jim. An ex-brother-in-law was seated beside me on my right. Gil was two seats over on my left.
A man began playing guitar and singing. Dressed in black trimmed with silver, he was seated in a chair off to one side, an amplifier beside him. Despite the amp, he played and sang low. We all needed to stay silent to hear him. The song was his own composition, I was told by another. I don’t remember any of the lyrics or melodies. I remember thinking that he could be a professional. Gil said, “It’s like we’re at a concert.” Ian answered, “We are at a concert.” That exchange brought out some chuckling.
The concert ended. We all stood, socializing. Jeff, who I saw earlier, came in. He was wearing a different tee shirt. It had Roberto Clemente’s likeness and number on it. Clemente had been my childhood hero. Grinning, I went to Jeff and said, “Hello, Roberto.”
Jeff was much smaller than I remembered him being. He was taller than me in RL. Although he looked as he did back when we worked together, he was now a foot shorter. “Hello,” he answered, grinning.
To begin this day, once upon a time in Ashlandia — actually, we can be more specific. To begin this day, once upon Thursday, July 27, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the dogs and the deer struggle to get along and both avoid the bears, there were two cats named Papi and Tucker. Sorry, that’s all I have.
A cool 68 F air holds sway in our dominion. 88 F is the anticipated high for the day, continuing Ashlandia’s trend for a mellow, less heated summer, knock on wood (I use my head as a substitute, when called for). While my weather system shows two days over triple diggies have been reached this year, the official records say, nope, hasn’t happened. Three fires — Bedrock, Golden, and Flat — continue burning, contributing their smoke to our fresh air, but it’s not been much of a factor thus far, knock head. Hope the dedicated firefighters can get them contained and done soon. Bet they’re hoping the same. Hard life, fighting wildfires, according to five friends who did or do it for their employment.
Not much on the agenda for the moment, which is superfine, yeah? A dream inspired The Neurons (motto: “We don’t know and we don’t care”) to upload “Say You, Say Me” by Lionel Richie, 1985 to the morning mental music stream (trademark laughable). He was The Man for romantic music in the 1980s, and his album, Can’t Slow Down, was huge. We were living in Columbia, SC, at that time while I was stationed at Shaw AFB, but I was traveling a lot, mostly to Africa, but also to Europe and Florida. It’s just an association, you know? “Say You, Say Me” and the 1985 travels.
Time to start up and go. The Neurons have now begun “Kickstart My Heart” by Mötley Crüe (1989 – livin’ in Germany then) in the morning mental music stream. So it goes. Stay pos, be strong, remain hopeful and optimistic, and persist. Ah, there’s my coffee. Here is the music. Cheers, my friends.
Michael Seidel, writer 