Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Too hot for barbecue.
Too hot for peaches.
Too hot for coleslaw.
Too hot for beaches.
Too cool for poetry.
Too cool for words.
Too cool for rhymers.
Too cool for nerds.
Just right for justice.
Just right for peace.
Just write a slogan.
(Did I mention peace?)
Act like a big boy.
Pull up your pants.
Think about changing.
Give peace a chance.
I walked around for days like all was alright. Although I smiled and engaged with others, I was an empty puppet, dealing with anxiety. The writer was agitated. The novel’s finish was supposedly in sight. That was the theory. He — the writer — knew the scantest bit of what was supposed to happen, like saying, you know it’ll snow this month because it’s winter and that’s what supposed to happen. That’s how nebulous it all was. So I kept thinking about it. What’s going to happen? Different avenues were considered and tossed out almost at once for different reasons.
I told myself, “I need to think about this.” No, I answered; overthinking matters, overanalyzing them, is your biggest weakness. Trust yourself, the writer. Trust the muses trying to guide you. Trust the emerging story. Don’t think. Just sit, drink your coffee, and write.
That advice actually worked. Two hours and almost sixteen pages later, what emerged astonished me. Never saw it coming at all. Yet it built on so many throw-away elements I’d embedded in the story as small pieces of verisimilitude.
Trust. Hard to win, hard to keep, even when it’s only with yourself.
‘Tis a quiet Thursday, July 6, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the children are out of school, and the parents are on vacation. It’s 74 F now, ten AM, under a hazy blue sky. We’re supposed to creep up to 90 F today, a change from the last several days, when we saw 97 F. Normal summer for us.
Today’s lower temp pleases me. We’re taking some friends to the OSF Green Show, where a local popular band, The Rogue Suspects, are performing. Featuring ‘The Girls’, three wonderful female singers they’ve added on over the years, 6:45 PM is when it starts. Probably have ice cream at one of the local establishments when it’s over. Should be a very comfortable temperature at that time.
My birthday was yesterday, and was a grand time. No party, per se, but I try to party every day, even if it’s only in my mind. Lots of messages from family, friends, and old co-workers via email, text direct messages, birthday cards delivered by the postman, FB posts, and phone calls. Sorry I didn’t get a telegram, too. I was told that I don’t look a week over 70, which pleased me, as I’m a sensational 67. Now the countdown begins until the next birthday.
Day like that deserves a song like “For A Rocker” by Jackson Browne out of 1983. As mentioned here before, I was at NCO Academy in Florida when the song was released. I immediately took to it and drove others crazy by frequently singing it. I apologized with the post script, “Don’t blame me, it’s The Neurons. They’re totally out of control.”
Stay positive and comfortable. Keep your head above the water and your mind fixed on your destination. A fresh brew of the life energy called coffee has arrived. I will be partaking.
Here’s the music. Cheers
Things which are always reassuring to see when you’re walking along Ashlandia’s streets:
A FedEx truck running a stop sign with a blast of noise as you approach the corner. A pick up truck and SUV traveling in opposite directions, each driver with their cell plastered to their skull. Another driver wheeling it with one hand while shoving food into her gob as she comes up, braking hard and late as you stand in the crosswalk, waiting for her to notice. A large Acura MDX running a red light and aggressively coming around the corner, going around you as you walk through a cross walk.
Ah, yes, so very reassuring.
We got you Wednesday here. *wince*. July 5, 2023. Back to work, ye scurvy dogs. 2023 is more than half gone. On the bright side, you have less than half left. *wince* Time is running up on you. You, me, and the rest.
Gonna be 97 F today. *wince*. Good thing it’s Wednesday. Meeting with friends to indulge in some cold beer. We’ve divided between the light and the dark sides. The light side will be partaking of an IPA while the dark side is going for ale, because it’s summer, and some of them don’t like their beer too dark in the summer.
Ah, such strange dreams this morning in the dark hours. *wince*. Don’t know what they meant, if anything. We had root beer floats with friends on their deck last night, another of our traditions. We usually watch fireworks with them. I’d rather not have the fireworks. Animals and environment don’t need that kind.
Fireworks were illegal this year in Ashlandia, where the bus doesn’t go all the way uptown and the children are chauffeured. Too dry and hot. Still beset by drought. Yet, there will be some who will set off their fireworks cause, ‘Merica. Freedom. Tucker didn’t mind them. Papi, though, hid out for hours. He’s okay this morning but he wasn’t a happy floofy last night.
Today’s music is “Stranger Blues” with Steve Miller and Peter Frampton. Just cause I like the sound, and not because of something said last night, causing The Neurons to start playing it, where it still plays in the morning mental music stream.
Stay pos, be chill, and don’t let the boogerheads get you down. Coffee is served, sir. Here’s the music. Enjoy, please.
Cheers
Well, happy Fourth of July, Tuesday, 2023, to US citizens everywhere. We headed down to the Marsh-McGuire house down on Siskiyou, ’bout just under two miles from our place in Ashlandia, where the streets are clean and the sidewalks are crack. You’ll know the Marsh-McGuire house if you see it, it being the only brick house on Siskiyou south of the Plaza. It sits on the parade route and we’ve been going to this venue for about fourteen years, off and on, mostly being on. It’s a pot-luck open house. K made her almond tarts, several quiches were in residence, along with croissants, cinnamon cake, various fruit salads and fresh fruit, multiple muffins, deviled eggs and so on. Delicious fare, all that I tasted, per expectation from all the great food of the past. Showed up at 9:20 after walking half a mile with our chairs, because the roads are blocked off for the parade.
The parade began promptly at 10 with the city marching band. 10:02 saw the flyover, two F-15s from the state national guard. Favorite thing of the parade: guy in prison garb riding a bike, wearing a Donald J. mask.
Least appealing aspect of the parade: RFK Jr’s float and very vocal and surprisingly large contingent.
Short parade, though. We remember some years when it went over two hours and we were crying for mercy by the end. Today’s endeavor was completed in less than fifty minutes.
Several dance troupes were in there, which got Les Neurons going. After we left the parade, The Neurons introduced Bowie/Jagger and “Dancing In the Streets”. The song was originally a 1964 hit fo Martha and the Vandellas. The song was later covered by The Kinks and Van Halen. I enjoyed all three of those. But another cover, by Bowier/Jagger in 1985 to raise money for Live Aid came out of nowhere and took advantage of television to have fun. Check out the guitarists supporting this song in the recording of a live performance for the Prince’s Trust.
Stay chill and be pos. I’ve had coffee, thanks. Maybe go sip something a little colder and wetter, right? It’s a holiday, after all.
Sorry, technical issues held up the posting. WordPress Autosaving took it into an alternative dimension, as WP periodically does to my posts.
Here’s the tune. Cheers
She: “I need to wash those front windows. The cats got fingerprints all over them.”
He, who might take things too literally: “Fingerprints. Really?”
Michael Seidel, writer 