Friday’s Wandering Thought
He read the headline and then the story.
Yes, because things were going so well for the planet’s humanity. A zombie virus is the perfect addition.
Friday’s Theme Music
White billows of clouds push and pull across the blue sky. Sunshine bullies the southern and eastern views. “Gorgeous,” the cats say.
I agree with them. This Friday, March 10, 2023, it’s 39 F outside but sunny, with a high of 50 expected. Showers for the next five days, the weather minions tell me with a wink. Highs about 50 F, low of 36. Ashlandia’s weather is sliding closer to its norm. The winds have settled into an infrequent light breeze, but they gave us a rainy tussle yesterday, shoving people around, fighting against car doors being shut, trying to rip hats and clothes off, and mangling umbrellas.
Today’s sun presence began at dawn, a little before 6:32 AM, and will continue for almost twelve hours. All that changes on Sunday. We’re springing ahead. Sunrise won’t be until 7:30 then, but we’ll have more shine on the day’s tail end. Of course, it means less sleep because if I get up at my usual time, it’ll be an hour later.
I have the song, “Magic”, by Pilot (1973) in my head. Dream stuff. In the dream, I was going through an almost empty city looking for magic. While it was a modern city, I wore dusty old white robes, bit torn, with sandals, and had been walking for a long time. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking for but then, in the dream, it came to me, I’m looking for magic. With that, I started the air for magic, following my nose, letting it lead me, and then looking. I came across others and spoke to them about it, and sometimes cars would drive by, but no one was helping me. I stayed on my own. Then, voila, walked around a corner. There was a aluminum briefcase against the wall. With some surprise, I knew it was mine. I thought I’d lost it years before. Opening it, I found magic.
Thinking about the dream later, I kept wondering what did I see in the briefcase that I knew it was magic? But, like the movie Pulp Fiction, I never saw the briefcase’s contents. Gold didn’t come out of my briefcase, though, and I never thought or said it was beautiful. Then, though, The Neurons came through with Pilo out of my childhood.
Stay pos. This is Friday. Pretty exciting, huh? Well, all kinds of approaches can be employed for Friday. Me, it’s Friday, time to write again, woo-hoo. That just might be my coffee shouting. I’ve had a cup already.
Here’s the song. Cheers
Legerdefloof
Legerdefloof (floofinition) – An adroit display of skill or cleverness by an animal.
In use: “Employing legerdefloof with teeth and paws, the golden retriever unwrapped his leash from where it was tied to keep him wandering, and then went over, did the same with his companion’s leash, freeing the two to take off and explore the park.”
Thursday’s Theme Music
Windy is the weather word for today. Windy, as in lots of wind, and it’s gonna get intense. Not hurricane, cyclone, tornado, or typhoon level, no. But hold onto your hats. Or tie them on tight.
Today is Thursday, 3/9/2023. Temperature is 42. We lack snow, fog, and rain at the moment. We offer blue sky, white clouds, and sunshine on this Ashlandia morning. The sun was coming up at 6:33 AM, when Papi did his seal bark to demand exit number three. The window beating to come back in was at 7:05. Ashlandia’s sunset comes at 6:10. We’ll be up to 42 F by then.
Papi is back out now, sitting on the porch, glaring at the wind, very dismayed with the weather. He’ll be wanting back in soon, and then will rest so that he’s fresh for his nightly needs. He is off, victimized by the book club visitors last night. Papi is not one to socialize with people or animals. He’s a loner. When they arrived, he retreated to the master BR and sulked on the bed, listening for one of them attempting to sneak up on him. He’s knockin’ to get back in now. Excuse me.
Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to be gone so long. Had to pay the floof tax and tell him how smart and handsome he is until he said, “Enough,” and dashed off. Those of you with floofs will understand.
Papi is a neat and clean cat, though. Not a fur out of place. Any out of place furs are immediately shed. It’s quite a system.
I dreamed I was trying to remember who sang “Baby Blue”, a song which came out in 1971. As part of my dream effort, I kept watching a black and white static-filled TV screen while older me shouted at younger me, “Bad Finger. It’s Bad Finger.” Younger me would not listen, but kept muttering, “Bad Company?” Arrgh.
It’s a walking song in the morning mental music stream today. Out yesterday, walking today. Winting is back and the sun and cold wind medley was enhanced by things trying to figure out if they should bloom now. All very pleasant, however. Reminded me of youthful moments. The Neurons tossed a Grand Funk song, “I’m Your Captain (Closer to Home)” from 1970 into the mix. It’s a song I often recalled when walking or driving and getting close to home. I often traveled in my youth, and then again in the military, and then again in marketing.
That’s enough of that, I’m sure. Stay pos. Treat Thursday like a golden opportunity and do your thang. Peace out.
The Writing Moment
The muses think that he must be finishing the novel in progress. Or maybe it’s a seasonal thing. His imagination is fertile this week. Story and setting ideas keep springing up.
He’s cautious with the muses’ ideas and energy. They favor the blurt, when imagination is unleashed and writing like crazy, unedited and full of energy, is the norm. They’re not fond of the editing and revising, cutting and polishing phases.
He knows the muses, though, and understands their roles. He’s grateful, but to be the writer he wants to be, sometimes the muses must be politely deterred so he can continue the current phases and finish a novel which pleases him.
“Patience,” he tells the muses. “Your time is coming soon. Be patient.”
A Pair of Dreams
I begin in off-white thermal underwear. I dance through town, this place in which I RL live. Early spring is in effect. I leap and pirouette, twirl and bow.
An artist brush is in my hand. I flicked colors at things, dipping my brush in the colors already available, making everything bolder, brighter, sharper. Although it goes on for a while, that’s all to the dream.
It’s a younger version of me, a hybrid between my teenage self and my middle-aged individual. I smile thoughout the dream.
I land in another dream. I’m with another man. We’re in blue hospital scrubs. I know, I’m a med tech. We’re in a small city. Situated on several hills, a bay embraces the land. It’s a busy place, full of hurrying traffic, vehicular and on-foot.
A hue rises from a hospital on the hill. One of my peers shouts, “It’s a success.”
I am jealous. I wanted to be part of that. I feel cheated.
But I congratulate him and the rest and spread the news of the success. It was an arduous and dangerous operation but the patient was doing well. We were pleased. We’d helped develop catheters which saved the patient. This was their first use.
A surgeon came, gloved and masked. “They worked well,” he said. “They want some at the other facility.”
“I’ll take them,” I declare, picking up a brown box of them.
The surgeon says, “They need to be cut, shorter, and narrower.”
“I’ll do that,” I reply.
I begin walking. Balancing the box, I employ a scalpel and start precisely cutting the pale white catheters. My peer follows, saying, “Let me do something. You can’t carry the box and cut the catheters.”
But I am, continuing as we weave our way through crowds.
“The catheters are bleeding,” the other tech says.
I nod. “That’s normal. These are partly organic. That’s why they work.”
End dreams.
I Don’t Know
The cat is stalking me through the house
Staring at me and asking for something which
Might be a mouse but
I don’t know
And the wife is yelling loudly at me
For something that I was supposed to do yesterday
And all I reply back to her can be
I don’t know
And they’re showing me on the TV screen
Telling a story, the gist is me, and what it’s about
I’m waiting to see ‘cause
I don’t know
The fish in the aquarium was taken to the sea
And if you ask, I’ll tell you it was me
But if you ask why I did it, you probably know
I don’t know
I write this because it had to be
Muses arose and bushwhacked me
I asked them for explanations, see
and they replied,
I don’t know.
