Saturday’s Theme Music
Ashlandia’s sprummer continues. Yesterday’s report can be recycled for today’s status — 64 F now, heading for the mid 80s, sunshine, blue sky, maybe thunderstorms will visit later.
Tucker, my wonderfloof, cracked me up in bed this morning. I was dozing, going through the dreams, when he joined me. After he prodded my hand, I shifted my position and petted him. I was on my side. He reached out and tapped my unengaged left arm. I moved it. He tapped, I moved, again, again, until I brought my arm down by him. Then he laid his head down on it. What a character.
Also on the cat front, 11:30 PM hits. My wife has retired and I haven’t seen the cats for a while. I open the front door to let in some cool air and the cats. Both cats and the air duly enter. Feels so good, I also open the back door to maximize the cool air’s access to our warm house — about 78 F inside. Then I go about doing some tidying, brush my teeth, so on.
I come out of the bath to find Tucker by his food pool, turned, looking at the slider. The screen is closed but the door is open. He just sitting there, looking. I go over, glance out. Nothing. But Tucker is freaking me out. I’m going all Suzanne inside, worrying about cougars, bears, people sneaking around the back yard.
I decide to go close the other door. As I do, I find Papi sitting in the living room, fifteen feet from the open door, watching it. Now I’m really troubled. Picking up the flashlight, I turn on the back lights, and turn the flashlight on. I step out, closing the door behind me, and listened. That’s when I saw it. Nothing. No critters or people. I went along the sides of the house. Zilch. Listened. Nada. WTH?
I go back inside. Papi is where he was. I close the door. Tail down and curled up between his legs, he skulks closer toward it, leaning forward with his nose, stopping when he’s five feet away. Then he backs up and sits. Still freaked, I close the front door.
Don’t know what was going on in the cats’ heads. Maybe they were just screwing with me. I think floofs like to do that to people.
Today’s music emerges from the cat incident and The Neurons thinking about mind games and mind control. They emerged with Steely Dan’s 1980 song, “Time Out of Mind”. Mark Knopfler does guitar work on this and weaves interesting notes around the main threads. I had a metallic brown Pontiac Firebird. Bought brand new just a few months before. Living in San Antonio, TX, assigned to Randolph AFB. I remember playing this album on the car’s tape deck as my cousins and I headed for Austin. Both of those cousins have passed away so I’m happy to play this memory.
Stay pos. Take over Saturday like you’re the dragon, master/mistress — whatever works for your pronoun — of the realm. The coffee drinking has commenced. Here’s the music. Cheers
Eufloofia
Eufloofia (floofinition) – A sense of happiness, joy, elation, or well-being associated from being with animals.
In use: “As she was reading, the dog came and settled beside her. Running fingers through his soft, curly fur, eufloofia immediately overtook her.”
The Writing Moment
I don’t know about other writers, but I’m writing intense action scenes, I become very agitated, moving around a great deal. As tension boils up, I experience an urge to leap up and stride around.
LOL, it increases the difficulty in writing action scenes.
Friday’s Wandering Thought
Barbookians. That’s what people who ban books should be called. Barbookians.
They’re one level below barbarians. Might even be below savages.
Friday’s Theme Music
It’s a sunshine slathered Friday in May. We never had the thunderstorms expected yesterday. Out working on the yard — it seems like I’m doing this forever, but I work a section at a time after my writing sessions end — I looked up at the sky and saw no clouds. Not one. Blue as far as vision took me.
Today, the 19th, might be the same. It’s 62F now. Doors are open for breezes. Cats floof* the front and back, washing in the entry ways. They’re contented, it seems. Weather prophets spread news, upper eighties, lower nineties. Sunshine. Maybe clouds, they add, covering.
From yard work came a Joe Walsh song from 1972, “Turn To Stone”. That was in reference to upending weeds. We let dandelions stay because the bees enjoy them but the others must go. One yard section by the driveway is pretty much empty space with decorative bushes. Weeds take over. I don’t use herbicides. That means dig them up. Parts of that area felt like it turned to stone, which invited The Neurons to bring the song into the mental music stream, where it has continued through into the morning. But it’s a song I enjoyed in my yud and it brings back some solidly fun memories.
In other news, as mentioned yesterday, the measure, which would have amended the city charter and changed what happens with the Food & Beverage Tax collected, remains alive but will probably be defeated. I voted for it to go down. Here’s where it gets interesting. Based on how it was written, presented, and debated, it was all about revenue collected via that mechanism being directed to the parks and recs folks. Hold on, many opponents said. The city needs a lot of other things, too. Now, as it’s going down, the mayor and other proponents are stepping forward to say that if it had passed, it would have freed up money in the budgetary process that would have allowed us to hire more, fix things, etc. Wait, wait, wait. All of my reading, all my video watching, and discussions with others, that was never mentioned. Then the major closes her reports by saying that opponents misled voters by lying to them. Excuse me, mayor, but you proponents did a piss poor job of explaining what would happen. It’s freakin’ nuts.
Anyway…
I’m also working on a simple DIY project to replace the slider’s screen door screening. Fairly straightforward process except I can’t get the door off to do it. I’ve reviewed videos, etc, but the door just doesn’t rise high enough to access the wheels and remove the door. Driving me bonkers.
Well, here’s the music. Stay pos, and embrace Friday like it might be your last and make it count for something which matters to you. Coffee’s up! Want some?
Cheers
*In this case, floof is used as a verb, much as man can be a noun or verb.
Just In A Dream
Another hill to climb.
Sweat plagued his eyes. He sniffed and swallowed, wishing for water. He’d been going since sunup. Heat and humility built around him. It seemed determined to crush him like a grape.
Giving up was considered and dismissed. He was here and going to do it. Doubt about whether he was following the instructions kept bouncing through, confusing him about what the little thing told him. Half-asleep, he wasn’t sure if it was a robot, tiny human, or something else, like an elf or fairy. They hadn’t introduced themselves. Maybe it wasn’t even real. Just his imagination.
Without preamble, “Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)” derailed his thinking. Didn’t matter. He’d reached the hill’s crest. Signposts were ahead. An intersection. Down this hill and up another. Stepping faster, he was there in less than ten minutes, perspiring with more vigor, and breathless. He didn’t think he’d need water for this. Not for a dream. Didn’t think it’d be sunny, or like a day in any way.
The signpost was in the center of a large gold-bricked circle. Arrow shaped signs. About a hundred of them. No, more than that. Maybe a thousand. Different colors, languages, and printing styles. Looked crude. Homemade.
His little nocturnal visitor sounded like an irritated teacher when they said, “I’m tired of you sitting around, whining, waiting, and wishing, so I’m doing you a solid.”
They pointed. “See that?”
Slow because he was half-asleep, he pressed to see what the little one meant even though the little one was still talking. “Get in there and turn left for the past, right for the future, or straight ahead to another existence. Whichever way you go, you’ll come to a signpost.
“You better hurry if you’re going to do it. The portal will close and fade, and your opportunity will be gone.”
“Wait, what?” He sat up. Yawned. Stretched. Rubbed his eyes. Massaged his genitals. Considered peeing. Frowned. “What?”
His small visitor was barely a fading memory. The opening remained where there was usually a wall. A portal? Thinking, I must still be dreaming and I’ll wake up at any moment, he entered the opening. Fearing the future, regretting his past – too many things to change there and who knows how it would turn out – he’d gone straight.
He stared up at the signs. Words emerged. Animals.
A frown creased his face. What was that about? He’d always liked cats and they liked him. He admired birds. Dogs were okay…
He stepped in the cat’s direction with slow, short steps. Shivers tickled him. Changes took place. His fingers were gone. Paws halfway through construction had replaced them. Looked like he’d be a black cat.
He backed up. More shivers traveling him, his fingers returned.
Did he want to be a cat? He looked back down the road he’d followed to come here with the thought, maybe he should have gone to the past to see what he could have changed. He might have been hasty.
The road was gone. Nothing was there. Gray nothing.
He walked toward it. The gray nothing stopped him from advancing. Like trying to wade through stiffening tar.
Well, what the hell. This was only a dream.
He turned back to the sign and read the offerings. No doubt, that’s what they were. Unicorn. Whale. Elephant. Dog. Kracken. Dolphin.
Dragon, he saw.
Dragon. It’d be so cool to be a dragon, even if just in a dream.
But bravery wasn’t in his personal inventory. He stood, staring, considering, flounder, eel, coral snake, eagle – eagle would be fun. Puma. Tiger. Heron. Emu. Alligator.
No. With all of his fears and hopes, the best thing he could become is something fantastic.
Happy with his decision, he turned and advanced, shivering and coughing as he grew and changed until at last he walked out of a high mountain cave into a purple dusk. Spreading his golden wings, he released a fiery roar and felt the world’s fear. Yes, being a dragon was going to be so cool.
Even if it was just in a dream.
Infloofdescent
Infloofdescent (floofinition) – Growing in the number of floofs.
In use: “It began innocently, let’s get a dog, but then their daughter wanted a cat, a turtle was requested by their son, and a pregnant cat showed up begging for food, and that was it, the infloofdescent was on.”
Michael Seidel, writer 