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.
My wife said, “I’m going to wear my blue sweater that I wore the other day, but I think you can see through it in the sunlight.”
I answered, “You can.”
“You could see through it?”
“Yes.”
“You could see through it but you chose not to say anything?”
“You’re very fashion aware. It’s a loose knit sweater. I thought you knew.”
Eyes rolling, throwing her hands up, she stormed off. I shrugged, guessing, I must be the asshole for not saying anything, and then reflecting on the entire process one more time.
We didn’t stay angry long; after being together for over fifty-two years as friends and everything else, we don’t stay angry. Act out or vent, move on. She came out, ready to go. She wasn’t wearing the blue sweater in question but a light blue sweater. I said, sincerely, “You look nice.”
It’s Tuesday morning in Ashlandia, where the sky is blue and the trees are green. September 5, 2023, we’re teetering between summer and autumn here. 49 F upon rising, it’s now 58 F and heading for the low eighties. Trees haven’t begun turning yet but the air’s smell and feel seem shifted. Peaches are harvested from friends and neighbors’ places, and damn were they awesome. No cherries this year; didn’t work out weather-wise.
Had to drop off my car at the mech’s this morn. I’d had new pads, etc., installed in the rear, and the car developed this strange groaning. Took it back to the mech; they found a rock stuck in the caliper. That should fix it, no charge.
It didn’t.
So, I took it back and requested the mechanic drive around with me so he could hear it. He concluded it might be the bearings in the hub assembly. So they’re putting ears on the chassis, which sounds neat. They’re listening devices which can be isolated so you can define where the sound is originating. They’ll hopefully find and fix the cause today.
Anyway, that process forced me out of my rhythm. Had to have early AM coffee. Now I’m catching up. The Neurons are firing but have brought up “Beth” by KISS (1976) where it whirls around the morning mental music stream (Trademark outstanding). I’ve searched for reasons for the song and interrogated Les Neurons, but none of them will confess why they chose that song. Only thing that came to mind was that the singer is focused and struggling with a creative endeavor, suffering isolation and separation to achieve their end. I identify with that when I’m writing and my world focus draws in to go work on the book.
I’ll make it through. Hope you do, too. Stay pos, be strong, work it out. More coffee is due. Here’s the music. Cheers
Floofvoid(floofinition) –1. The empty space left when an animal isn’t there.
In use: “Many people suffer from floofvoid when a loved fur friend is lost.”
2. Action or behavior to prevent an accident or limit interaction with an animal.
In use: “Floofvoiding mechanisms were frequently employed by Nancy as she walked around the house, because her pets would just throw themselves in her way for attention.”
So many products proclaim as part of their instructions, “For Best Results”. But experienced folks among us realize that’s a generality. Sometimes the ‘Best Results’ aren’t so kind for us. As you age and things change, so does your expectations for ‘Best Results’.
A chill holiday Monday morning in Ashlandia, where the lawns can be green and lush, or dry and brown, depending on your ability to afford water. Clouds have sway over the scene. No rain is expected but one wonders with fifty shades of gray drifting overhead. Yardwork has commenced out there somewhere — you can hear the power tools cutting, blowing, trimming. It never ends for some, and they don’t take breaks until snow seizes the space. Fall seems truly on the way, with 60 F again our morning temp and an afternoon high of 72 F anticipated. This is September 4, 2023. Happy birthday if it’s your day, likewise happy anniversary, and congratulations.
Slow news day, of course, as is the American holiday tradition. Steve Harwell’s death at 56 from liver issues has us talking. In light of Buffett’s death, we remember the many years when ‘always in threes’ seemed to rule. This was a general observation that celebrities and famous people die in clumps of three at a time. It’s been studied and disproven, but here we are, two gone.
If it’s not on your news feed, Harwell was a Smash Mouth founder and member up until a few years ago. (Smash Mouth is an American rock band.) Naturally Los Neurons have plucked Harwell songs from the gray vault of memory and slide them into the morning mental music stream (Trademark offered). I’m going with “Walking on the Sun” in 1997. When the song was unleashed on the world, it was one that gave pause to listen and think, “Wait, what’s he singing?” Written in the aftermath of the 1992 Rodney King riots, some band members dubbed it a social justice battle cry. I’ve always interpreted it as a song bitter with recognition that we keep doing insipid things while much greater problems taking place are shoved into the background. Big reason for this happening is how often the media treats news like entertainment, advocating for a local escaped convict in one city or town with the same time and passion as hurricanes, earthquakes, and wildfires. Need the white girl syndrome need be mentioned? Anyway, with the world on fire again or still, thought it was proper tribute to Harwell and the Earth’s situation to have this song on Labor Day in America.
Stay pos, be brave, be strong. Time to press on one more time, one more day. Here’s my coffee, and the music. Cheers
Man, was I comfortable in bed. Night air slipped in over me through a cracked window. I’d shifted positions and blankets until my sleeping g spot was nailed, and I didn’t want to go. Pleasant dreams had entertained me, and Tucker’s deep-throated purr was putting out white noise. So I just stayed in bed a while, drifting through various stages of sleep until my bladder spoiled it all.
It’s Sunday, September 3, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the politicians are average and the people are good-looking. Gray clouds block the sky. Weather folks say it’s partly sunny. I wouldn’t call this party sunny, but mostly cloudy. Could be different in another part of town. Probably is. 62 F out now, 72 F is thought to be the high. Yesterday’s high was supposed to reach the 70s but the weather was an overachiever around our place, ending up at 82 F.
After learning of Jimmy Buffett’s passing, one of his songs has full command of The Neurons. “Come Monday” is echoing through the hallowed halls of the morning mental music stream (Trademark forecasted). It’s not like his bouncier songs, but it does feature his hallmark mellow-dy. A worthy song for Sunday when you’re looking forward to going on. It could also have been Der Neurons’ choice because the first line mentions, “Headed out to San Francisco for the Labor Day weekend show,” This is the Labor Day weekend in the US.
As I got up late, I started on coffee early in my routine. Have already had a cup, thanks; The Neurons are happy campers. Stay pos, be strong, and keep going. It’s darkest before the dawn, right? Here’s the music. Cheers
