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.
A clothing purge was conducted last week. On of the items uncovered in the closet was my military cap. Last worn in 1995, I put that sucker on my head.
Or tried.
It would not cover my head as accustomed in my mil days. I took it into the other room for my wife to enjoy. With a burst of laughter, she exclaimed, “That looks like a skull cap.”
Questions arose. Did the hat shrink as it sat on a shelf for the last 28 years, or did my head really grow that much? I might start measuring my head, track its progress, see how much it changes in the next ten years.
For me, my first coffee sip is with the nose. Having that steaming dark freshness clambering over my olfactory system grants a momentary lull and a psyche lift.
It’s cool and blue in Ashlandia, where the nights are getting longer, and the people are looking inward. 60 F now on this Thursday, the seventh day of September, 2023 in the common era, but we will experience 81 F today. I’ll take that. No wildfire smoke. The fires are slowly being contained. Last week’s rain helped. That pressure — worrying about fires encroaching on your town, your home, and eating it until only blackened messes remained — has eased.
The cats approve of the weather change. Papi remains on his out-at-night schedule, but he’s now more likely to be visible in a resting space just outside one of the doors during the day. Tucker has decided he’s an elder statesfloof, who are beings who don’t worry about details about weather and seasons.
Watching Hurricane Lee’s progress today. Another destructive storm, it is missing Puerto Rico at this point, and looks like it might lick the Bahamas. Early days, yet, but it could avoid the US eastern coast except for some tide and surf impacts. Meanwhile, some of the US in the realms of the east and south continue to endure a record-setting heatwave as they cruise toward autumn. San Antonio has had 70 days over 100 F degrees. I remember when I lived there back in 1980, we were impressed that we had eleven straight days over 100. That’s nothing these days.
Also paying attention to conversations and lawsuits addressing whether Donald Trump can or should be on ballots, discussions about the potential government shutdown, and the continuing war in Ukraine. Also interesting news and data about abortion rates was found in the NYTimes. There was too much other matters — uplifting and depressing — to go on about without caffeine.
From out of the blue — or out of the gray, I guess — The Neurons are treating me to the 1970 song, “Ride Captain Ride” by the Blues Image in my morning mental music stream (Trademark revocable). I can speculate about this song’s place in my day’s thinking. Maybe it’s because I’m thinking of my youth and this 1970 song was part of the scene in my fourteenth year, when many things are happening to a boy’s mind, body, and soul. Or, it could be the sense of focus and promise the song offers to me. Who knows what The Neurons latched onto? I certainly don’t.
Stay pos, be strong, and eat well. Here’s the music — which, um, is an interesting video, a product of the times back then. Hope you enjoy it. Coffee time, one more time. Cheers
I find myself part of a new breed, one that looks at the activity tracker on their wrist and then taps it to reach a specific piece of desired information or function. I think I’ll call folks like me ‘wrist-tappers’. Maybe just tappers.
In the first, I was in a dark place. Not threatening or anything, just limited light, like narrow sporadic spotlights. Third person personal POV, I couldn’t discern my age but I’m younger than now. I heard a brief comment, always in a male’s voice, and sensed the presence of someone much larger than me watching.
In front of me were a line of orange building blocks. They seemed like they were made of foam but I knew they were more substantial. I also ‘knew’ that I was part of a project. We’d been chosen to align these blocks in some way to harness their energy, and that the blocks were full of creative energy. Although I was working with others, I never saw anyone else. As I walked and studied the blocks, I concluded some things and moved them, sometimes physically, but as frequently by using my mind. As I worked, I heard the voice say, “They’re figuring it out. They’re coming together.” Dream end.
The next dream found me now arranging black blocks in almost the same situation, except the background was gray instead of dark. Again, I was moving the blocks with my body or mind, trying to bring them together, and I felt change taking place around me as I worked. Sometimes other blocks would appear and I would understand that someone else from the project had put the blocks there. As I connected my blocks with their blocks, I remembered the previous dream and realized, the first dream’s blocks were about generating creativity — that’s why they were orange — and these second set of blocks were to build from the orange blocks by using logic.
Wednesday in Ashlandia, where the air is clear today, and the people are happy, today. 58 F now, the weather system is expected to deliver a high of 82 this afternoon before the night shift comes on.
Ukraine’s stand against Russia’s land grab continues, which is good for the number of deaths but not anything else. War, what is it good for, you know. This one isn’t good for anything. I’m impressed by Ukraine’s stand and hope that Russia — sorry, Putin — will come to his senses and declare a cease fire. Not holding my breath, though.
I applaud Gov. Kemp’s stand against the false election lie peddlers, aka Trumpists and MAGAts. Nice to hear some principles of law are respected by a few Republicans, at least on this matter. I’m weary of the others and their constant cry about stolen elections. No evidence, turned down in multiple courts, multiple levels, multiple states. Yet their claims keep going. The trail against Trump and gang will be intriguing.
Was some good news when DNA evidence cleared a man of wrongful conviction after five decades. Imagine the weight of being accused and convicted while you know you’re innocence, and all that happens to you in the penal system after such a conviction. Imagine that weight being finally lifted when you’re 72 years old.
Reading about Gary Wright’s death from cancer at a respectable age of 80 — not bad for a rocker — has The Neurons playing “Dream Weaver” (1975) for me in my morning mental music stream (Trademark giftwrapped). It helps that I had several dreams of interest to me. With Buffett Harwell, and Wright’s death, existence lived up to the ‘always in threes’ billing of celebrities dying.
Stay pos and strong, and raise your head and look forward to what you can do. I’ll do the same after I have some strong black coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers
A mental mistake. Revising today, the draft surprised me; things I thought I’d changed yesterday weren’t changed. WTH, over? Didn’t I change that? And that? Was that all a mirage, a dream, work done in a different reality.
Realization came belatedly, no, I was in the wrong draft. While working on the latest draft yesterday, I’d opened a previous draft to look something up. Well, it was the last doc closed yesterday, so it went to the top of the document list. Without thinking today, I opened it up, went to where the doc said I left off, and commenced revision. Wasn’t until I glanced at the page number and realized I was twenty pages behind that I finally seriously applied critical thinking to the moment and understood what happened.
What a rube. What a mistake. No harm; just time. But damn, I thought I did some good revising today. Hope I’ve learned a lesson and don’t do that again.
Michael Seidel, writer 