Monday’s Theme Music
It’s a little before 8 AM. It was already light as a cloudy day by 5 AM as the sunrise cruises closer to 5:30 AM. Floofs are fed Breakfast is et. 68 F outside, sunny, humidity of 54%, light breeze, warm but cool. Today’s high will be 83F. We did reach 93 in moi’s yard yesterday. It’s May 15, 2023. Under pretense of reminding me, my wife reminds herself, the guest room window will be replaced tomorrow, 3 PM. The guy, Chris, came 30 minutes early last time, so be ready 30 minutes early. Right, got it, I answer, once, twice, thrice, half-listening as I read.
The coffee has been poured. French roast. Smells woody, earthy, wonderful. Went onto the sun soaked back patio and sniffed it a bit as the breeze played and the cats washed.
I took a magnesium citrate this morning. Calf cramps, you know, walking, exercising, yard work, sweating. The Neurons immediately began playing “White Rabbit” by a group called Jefferson Airplane. Coming out in 1967, this psychedelic song worried Mom about what her eleven-year-old son was hearing.
The first sip of coffee has been sampled. As good as expected. Ready for more.
Stay pos. Carpe Monday. Time to imbibe more coffee. Maybe do the Wordle. Or shower and clean up. Or read? No, wait, today is food and friends deliveries.
Here’s the music. I’m off! Cheers
The Writing Moment
Going well. He crossed his fingers and sacrificed a cup of coffee and a pen to ward off jinxing himself. One book was still being revised, the fourth go-around. Another novel, Yum, was being written. Spoon fed by the muses, he was tearing through the story. He envisioned a short novel, and so far, it was going to plan.
Knock on wood.
Sunday’s Wandering Thought
He watched his cats regard one another. Each feline seemed wary and doubtful of the other although they’d lived together for over six years. He believed that both cats thought of himself as the better floof and thought the other was a little crazy. Of course, being the better floof to them also meant that they were due more attention and treats than that other, inferior floofer.
Sunday’s Theme Music
Today is Sunday, you know what that means. It’s May 11, 2023. Mother’s Day in America. It’s a love fest out there.
Beautiful day here, too. Yesterday’s temps peaked at 88 F around my house, and it was gorgeous. Spirit lifting and energizing. Today appears much like yesterday. Sky is sick with blue and sunshine. High of either 88, 90, or 97 F predicted. Warm, busy wind today. Invigorating, peeps. Cats are totally digging it, parading in and out of the house for a while until finding just the right spot for a warm spring morning nap. Don’t really know where Tucker is squatting but he’ll show up come kibble time.
Merry Mom Day to all it celebrate it. Hope it’s a grand day.
Mom has received the card, letter, and chocolates I sent her. She’s pleased. As two sisters and many grands and great-grands live within half an hour of her or so, MD is always done up. Mom is more limited now, uses a walker, gets tired easily, so plans will be different. Uncle Billy’s funeral was last night, too, so that’s put a damper on Mom’s spirits. I’ll get a full report later.
Nephew — little sister’s number two son — is marrying this year. We’re busy getting clothes and making plans to fly to the PA area for that. Since we’ll be on the east coast, we’ll go down south to visit other family, too.
Today’s theme music came about when someone talked about something going on. Several others and I said, “I can help,” and “Me, too,” and all that. The Neurons took that opportunity to re-acquaint me with Billy Swan’s 1974 song, “I Can Help”. Ubiquitous — on numerous radio stations of rock, pop, and country persuasions — he also showed up on television. It’s another one of those songs that landed and splashed and I rarely heard again. But you get to hear it today as Sunday’s theme music.
Stay pos, make the day worthy of being alive if you can — I know too well, limiting forces muscle us around — and enjoy coffee. Coffee: it brings out the best in me.
Here’s the music. Cheers
The Cheating Dream
What a dream, I’m telling you. Began with my wife and I on a spiritual pilgrimage. We stopped at a small place that seemed to be built inside a cave. They were studying odd phenomena. Included were a series of three holes in the cave’s walls. The holes were square. They didn’t know how they got there. People studied them to see if they were changing or static. My wife suggested I should study them because she thought me good at analyzing things. At the group’s insistence, I gave it a shot.
The holes were very dusty. When I looked into them, I could see that they slanted down and to the left. They seemed to have a flap door on the right side which could cover them. That was part of the controversy. Discussions were revolving whether those flap had always been there, and if the holes were now dustier than they used to be.
I’d glanced at each of the holes when I approached them, then went to the first one on the left. The group provided me sketches which the group had made, so I could look for differences. The first two were examined and no changes were seen. But I immediately saw changes on the third hole, on the right. I pointed it out in excitement, asking a member of the group if he saw the change. This hole was also lit from below. I was intensely interested in climbing into the hole and going down into it, but was also afraid of what was there. I kept leaning in, listening while watching for differences.
My wife had been behind me to my left while this was going on. Now she said, “I’m going to look around. Remember that we need to make a decision before 8:30, and then we’ll go.” Then she walked off.
I kept studying the hole. Suddenly I realized that it was 3 AM. Time had flown past. I was alone. I asked, “Where is my wife?” I walked around looking for her, complaining to myself but aloud, “We were supposed to make a decision hours ago, and leave. Where did she go?”
Opening a door, I discovered my wife in bed with a young white man with short blonde hair. He was very skinny, no one I know from real life.
When the door opened, they separated. Realizing it was me, the man was whimpering and trying to get out of bed and run.
He fell onto the floor. I stormed across the room and grabbed him by his head. He screamed and started crying. A small, round, white table was beside the bed. I prepared to slam his head against the table.
I stopped myself as I bent to do it. He was part of this but what would hurting or killing him do? I paused, thinking about that.
My wife grabbed my arm. “Michael, stop. Please don’t hurt him.”
I turned my head toward her and snapped, “Don’t touch me.”
She pulled her head away and stepped back. I let go of the man and turned toward her. “You did this,” I said. “You started this.”
Dream end.
It took me over an hour to go back to sleep.
Unbefloofed
Unbefloofed (floofinition) – To be without an animal or animals, especially farm animals or housepets.
In use: “His dog passed a week after the cat, both startling, sudden events, and he found himself unbefloofed for the first time since he’d become an adult, opening the door for a crow to come into his life.”
Michael Seidel, writer 