Author: Michael Seidel

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.

The Escape Dream

My wife and I were driving through the night. I did all the driving. It was a dark, intermittently wet experience but steady progress. We made it to where we wanted to go. As sunrise rinsed out the night, we found a different, larger vehicle to carry us on, and took on supplies. I packed the supplies in different containers. We emptied the one car, and I put everything in the other car. We were traveling with cats and had a litter box. I cleaned it out and then, for some reason, put the bags of used litter on the floor behind a seat. A cat was curled up in that location, apparently asleep, but I then realized he was dead. It was Quinn, who in RL, died of cancer several years ago.

With the new vehicle packed up, we went across the compound to shower. Suddenly naked, I squatted down in the sunshine, waiting for my turn. My wife stood beside me as I waited. We talked while this happened, feeling good about where we were and where we were going. People randomly passed by, taking no notice. I picked a scab off my leg.

The dream ended.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Sunshine slanted across the flat valley at 7:17 AM in Pittsburgh before clouds bullied it into disappearing.

Hi, fellow sentients. Today is Wednesday, September 21, 2022. September is going apace. Seems like another day comes up about every twenty-four hours. Viewing hours for daylight will end today at 7:30 in the PM. 63 F is the moment’s temperature under serious clouds. Drumroll as we open the envelope and read the omniscient they’s projected high: 28 C.

The groundhog has emerged for breakfast in the backyard. I enjoy watching him traverse and search, imagining his personality and voice from his waddle, pauses, and gazes. Really looks like he might be a retired British major. He likes a peaceful, easy way, and prefers the solitude of his own voice.

Mom is doing better, thanks. Was moved last night from hospital a nursing home to begin rehab therapy. Voice, spirit, attitude have all improved. She’s cleared of COVID, fluid gone from lungs and heart, pacemaker and heart are both stronger, her appendix healed, and infections are vanquished. She remains on anti-biotics while she gains mass back, but she’s off the blood thinner. Thanks for your support, it is appreciated. Going up to see her in a while.

On my end, I removed my Ziopatch from my chest this morning and I’m mailing that back today. Good to have it off my chest.

The Neurons are wild with music this morning. Huey Lewis and the News, Metallica, Bush, Tony! Toni! Toné!, The Climax Blues Band, and others. I finally settled on “She’s Just My Style” from 1965. I couldn’t recall who had it as a hit and did the google thing to bring back Gary Lewis & the Playboys. I always like this song’s vocals, and that brief guitar solo. I was nine when it came out but its words were easily heard and understood. I always enjoyed the small vocal flourishes it incorporated. It’s another one of those songs from basement adventures where we pretended to be famous performers.

Got some Peet’s Major Dickason on deck. Stay positive and test negative. The alternative sucks. I speak from my own experience; yours will be different. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Years have passed since he’s spent much time at a place with cable television. Flipping through the channels, he’s astounded how many of the stations offer hours of the same thing, such as sitcoms like “Everybody Loves Raymond”, “Friends”, “Seinfeld”, and “The Office”, along with movies shown again and again. The Shawshank Redemption and Top Gun have been the offerings he’d seen time and again. “Mannix” is there, and Perry Mason. There are live game shows and the news and weather. But it’s mostly a wasteland lively with the reruns of yesteryear.

It has expanded. There are many more shows offering more specialized insights. None of them on retirement, cross-dressing, or cooking, seized his attention.

It reminds him exactly why he cut the cable over a decade ago.

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Biflooflent

Biflooflent (floofinition) – Animals associated in pairs.

In use: “With two dogs, three cats, and a bird, the large male cat and little parakeet were an odd but loyal biflooflent set, always together napping, bathing, peering out windows, and eating. The bird was even with the cat in the litter box.”

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Center stage was the sun’s at 7:05 AM in Pittsburgh, and she used it to full, rousing effect.

Today is called September 20, 2022. I awoke thinking about dreams and then shifted to news, feeling concerns about all the storms hitting. Japan. Alaska. Puerto Rico. How are things there? Is help on the way. Politics are a little suspended as I wait for pieces of information to be released, and wait for mid-terms. Wait. Read. Listen. Think. Wait.

I feel like I’m on a low boil here in PA as the stout sunshine finds my skin. 19 C again, high of 77 F expected before the sun’s curtain falls at 7:21 PM. Clouds lurk and plot, meeting and muttering with one another, but the sun owns the stage in my zone.

Since it’s Tuesday, The Neurons have planted “Tuesday’s Gone” by Lynyrd Skynyrd in the morning mental music stream. First heard it when it was released in 1973 and I was a high school junior at Shady Spring High School. The song strikes deep chords in me, sealing another longing fit for what was and what never came to be. ‘Tis always been that way.

So, you know, have some coffee and enjoy Tuesday before it’s gone. Stay pos, test neg. Cheers

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

He took his breakfast out onto the porch to enjoy the rain as he ate. Two deer were feeding in the grass a dozen feet away. The three considered one another for about ten seconds. Then all continued breakfast.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday’s dawn struggled to win over night. Reinforced by a packed sky of stern clouds, light was minimized. I looked at my watch. What time is it? Where is the sunshine?

It’s September 19, 2022. A downpour soon drowned out the day. Thunder’s drum line punctuated the mood. Traffic snarls complicated by wet roads inundated the radio news.

I went onto a covered porch and consumed several lungfuls of rain-enriched air, savoring scents of wet dirt, leaves, and trees, which sounds a little disgusting as I write it, but if you’ve had it, you know it. Our temperature? 19 C, so t’aint bad. Their suggested high of 78 F raises my eyebrows.

In other news, I hear that Queen Elizabeth II died. Little facetious. It’s a matter of history and it’s being given sprawling coverage. She was Queen my entire life to this point, an American’s anchor in Europe. I enjoyed many of the stories about her. I understand, a little, the pro and con arguments of having royalty in a country. It’s their nation, their decision, although I understand some disagree with that in Australia. As with many matters when you’re outside of a situation and seeking understanding, it’s complicated.

The Neurons have again selected a weird song for the morning mental music stream. Ozzy — need I give a last name — I’ll clarify that Harriet wasn’t present — is singing “Shot in the Dark” from 1986. For a long period, I believed Ozzy wrote it, only to discover as legal issues about the song arose that this was written and performed by others first. “Why this song?” I query The Neurons. “Are you trying to tell me something?” My cats are more forthcoming than The Neurons. I hear only snickers in reply.

Stay positive, and test negative. Having gone through a mild case of COVID, I don’t believe you want to enjoy it for yourself. Just made fresh coffee. Care to partake? Mind if I do?

Here’s the music. Cheers

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