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.
We were talking about classes we wished we’d had when we were young. Like, explanations about how much your body might change as you age. We knew that would happen, of course. Saw it in mother and father, aunts and uncles, etc. But how do you impress how much of it’s within and outside of your control, and how there is an accumulative impact? Despite exercise and health, some of these things take you by surprise and take you down, mentally, physically, emotionally.
Maybe such information is now being taught. Of course, with the net and technology, more of it is available.
July 22, 2023. It’s a warm, quiet Saturday morning in Ashlandia, where the trees are old and so are most of the people. 71 F with smoke — a light haze, really — nature is pressing on the pedal and taking us up to 95 F. That’s where she likes cruising in our life zone these days.
The thing about our weather is that it’s a slow build. Sweetly pleasant in the morning, it gets warm but not uncomfortable. People go outside and exclaim how nice it is. Stays like that, gently skipping through the low 80s. Then, around 3 PM, BAM. You hear a noise and look at one another. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sounded like it was outside.”
“We’d better go look.”
So we leave our cool enclosure and walk out and then, say to each other as we fan our faces, “Oh my god, it’s so hot out.”
The cats then shift into deeper shadow. Papi and Tucker, who normally stay away from one another, make a treaty and settle in shade on the porch, riding out the heat until the evening, when hostilities re-commence. The heat stays in the air until after nine on these nights, then scales down into the high seventies by ten. Windows and doors are opened to receive the cool night air. Sleep, rise, repeat.
We’re heading to Lake of the Woods Resort. Less than an hour from us up in the low mountains, the small lake is comforted by tall, old trees. Doesn’t get nearly as hot, and the lake breezes are muy refreshing. A band will be playing and BBQ will be underway. They’ll be dancing and socializing like it’s 1988, as the band, Saucy, covers songs from that area. Should be a good time. I’m excited about going.
Perhaps because of the heat, I have a Lover Boy song from 1983, “Hot Girls in Love” in the morning mental music stream (trademark dismissed). I can only guess the hot weather is why The Neurons slipped into the MMMS. Other guesses are welcomed.
Remain positive, stay calm, and keep on keeping on. The coffee has been injected, I mean, sipped. I feel my energy rising. Keep it real. Hey, ho, let’s go. Here’s the tune.
He watched a series called “Quarterbacks” on Netflix. It focused on three NFL quarterbacks. One of them is Patrick Mahomes of Kansas City. After a big play that clinched a game for his team, Mahomes ran around the field, jumping and shouting, “That’s what I fucking do. That’s what I fucking do. That’s what I fucking do.”
He admired the man’s enthusiasm, energy, and celebration. Maybe after finishing a chapter in the novel in progress, he should celebrate in the same way, leaping up and running around the coffee shop shouting, “That’s what I fucking do. That’s what I fucking do. That’s what I fucking do.”
Probably wouldn’t go over too well, he decided. Disrupt the ambiance too much. Best to just continue celebrating successes with private exultation.
Greetings from Ashlandia, where the political arguments are on Next Door and the homeless wander the streets. It’s Friday, 7/21/23. 66 F and smoky now. Smoke from the Flat fire to the west (15K + acres, 936 personnel fighting it, no word on containment or lining) is the primary source. The air quality is creeping up into the moderate range and warnings out that it’s gonna be unhealthy for us this weekend. High today will be in the 97 to 99 degrees F — let’s just call it 98 F.
Had an interesting moment last night. I enjoy yogurt with granola as an evening snack. I generally use this cup I bought at a thrift shop about thirty years ago. Cost me a dollar. Use it for my evening yogurt and my morning oatmeal. Wash it out after use, and set it on a pad to dry.
Last night, I began putting the yogurt into a drinking glass situated by my yogurt cup. Almost immediately stopped with a “WTF” demand of myself. Poured the yogurt out of the glass into the cup and washed the glass but it shook me, doing such an absent-minded thing.
And reading this, I think, man, am I a best of habit or what?
We went to the city band concert in the park last night. Wonderful time. I’d been concerned about heat, crowds, smoke. But Lithia Park at 6:30 PM was cool, shady, comfortable, and smoke free, and a pleasant evening was had. The concert theme was children. Children were provided with kazoos, conductor batons, and little bubble blowers, and were instructed and encouraged to use it all. The concert began with an introduction of each of the instruments present, with the players each playing a brief solo so we could hear their instrument’s sound. Some amusing moments as the bass tubas offered us the Jaws warning followed by a little “Baby Shark”
What really impressed me was the children’s energy. Flying up and down the lawn, traveling at the speed of sound around its perimeter, dancing in crazy ways, tumbling and rolling. Amazing.
I got “Oh, Pretty Woman” stuck in the morning mental music stream (trademark fabricated). The neurons introduced it to the stream yesterday afternoon when I came home and said, “Where’s my pretty woman?” Interesting thing is that The Neurons couldn’t decide if they wanted the Roy Orbison version from 1964 — Roy co-wrote the song and was the original performer — or the 1982 cover by Van Halen. I’ve ended up with a mixed tape of the two versions in the morning MMS but I went with an Orbison version. Gotta admit, love how it opens, and the clean sound, along with Roy’s terrific voice. Some terrific backup performers give the presentation a new dimension. Springsteen’s performance cracks me up.
Stay positive and strong as new carbon steel. Got my coffee, and I’m firing up my Friday mode. Here’s the music. Cheers
I usually dream of sports cars, especially Porsches. Last night, I dreamed I was standing on the side of a divided highway. Seemed like an Interstate. I never saw myself so I don’t know what dream version of me was being offered up.
I was waiting for a car, though. A white Chrysler was coming. I wasn’t familiar with this Chrysler — I’ve never owned one and I would’ve been five when this car was on the road though I’d naturally know them as used cars — but I knew the one coming, a sparkling white convertible from the early 1960s, with a large chrome grill and front reflecting the landscape as it came on, was the car I awaited.
That’s all the dream was, except when I saw it coming, I thought, at last. Looking it up today, here was the car of my dream.
Arifloofacy (floofinition) – Governing or ruling by a small set of animals.
In use: “The novel by George Orwell, Animal Farm, is about an arifloofacy and the changes it brings to the farm’s dynamics, but anyone with pets have probably experienced an arifloofacy in action, or had to deal with it, for example, fending off the arifloofacy while eating.”
Welcome back to Ashlandia, where the men are fit and the women are fitter.
It’s Thursday, July 20, 2023. In brief, it’s 69, clear but smoky, with a high in the upper 90s, depending on how much smoke rolls in. We’re in the yellow zone of the AQI’s spectrum about how healthy the air is. I’m trying to figure out whether this smoke is coming up from California or over from the Flat fire in Agnes, Oregon. Might be both.
Today’s music is “Tomorrow Never Knows” by the Beatles, 1966. When I first heard it as a teenager, I was ‘interested’ in its sounds. It was later, while reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead that the song grew more enticing. That took place during my mysticism exploration era, which roughly began when I was nineteen and stationed with the military in the Philippines, and lasted a few years. Never took LSD, but I was instructed in transcendental meditation and meditated each day for over a decade.
I haven’t heard this song in a long time, at least twenty years, I think. Came about today I think because Les Neurons caught me thinking about the beginning of different things. That brought about that long period of the song when Lennon is singing, “in the beginning, in the beginning.” Next thing I know, it’s playing in the morning mental music stream (trademark pretended).
Stay as positive and strong as you can. I can it can sometimes feel like work. Sometimes, it is work, I think. Hopefully, good will come to you from being positive, strong, and shall we add optimistic? I’ve had some coffee, so, sure, let’s through optimistic in there.
Okay, ready? Three…two…one…let’s begin with your mantra. Ooommm. Here’s the music. Cheers
Flooming (floofinition) – Animal’s washing of a human to show their pleasure.
In use: “Whenever Jade began flooming Carrie, she began with Carrie’s hair. Always interested in being part of whatever was going on, Honey the Beagle would join the flooming, eagerly washing Carrie’s face as Jade started on her arms.”
Michael Seidel, writer 