Tuesday’s Theme Music
Gonna be a hundred F here today, they tell us. I’m doubtful. Rum Creek smoke fills the air, making it unhealthy to breath, but it also blocks the sun and cools the air. I don’t think it’ll go over 95, 96 F today. It’s now 20 C.
After much discussion among replay officials, they’ve concluded that this is Tuesday, August 30, 2022. When I typed that 3-0, The Neurons said, “That ain’t right, is it?” But the replay officials say it’s so, so let’s move on, and play ball. First down.
Happy sunshine sneaked over the eastern mountains and winked through the leaves at 6:34 AM and will take its light and heat and stalk off, probably in a deep red glow, given this smoke, at 7:48 PM. The sun’s light comes through different windows now as the Earth’s relationship with the sun shifts via orbital mechanics. The eastern windows see less sunshine as the sun treks into our southern sky. By the time winter has arrived, we won’t see sunshine through most of the eastern windows.
I’d like to pause to mention folks in Mississippi, coping with their flooding, along with Pakistan. Here’s a call out, too, for the people around the Rum Creek fire here in Oregon, and for those enduring power outages from storms in the U.S. Midwest and South. Send positive energies to these people and places if you can, however you manifest it.
Music – that’s why we’re here, innit? – in the morning mental music stream is “You Only Get What You Give” by the New Radicals, circa 1998. The Neurons, putting their whimsy in the display case, plunked the song into the M3S after I struggled to remember a dream. The dream keeps poking its head out but whenever I shout — mentally or figuratively, right? — “There it is”, the dream ducks out of sight. Maddening. Perhaps after I’ve had coffee…
Better go get some. Duty calls. Stay posi, test negy, and so on. Here’s the music. Sing along if you know it. Cheers
Mewsday’s Wandering Thought
His wife needed new shoelaces. Only one store in town sells replacement laces.
He realized that finding shouldn’t surprise him. When he was a child, it was commonplace to snap a shoelace, forcing imaginative knotting to keep your shoe tied. In these times, the shoes usually wore out before the laces. His wife’s laces were for new shoes; she wanted white laces instead of the stripped ones that came with her shoes. Yes, it is a little first world pain, isn’t it?
No, the store didn’t have the laces she needed.
The Writing Moment
A paragraph of muses arrives. (Maybe it should be a page of muses, or a book (a tome?) of muses.)
Writing begins. The story soon rises from the mind’s mists.
Sticky writing becomes prominent, exhausting and intense. Sticky writing, the condition where the ‘normal’ world – the real world – seems unreal and distant, even artificial and alien, because what’s being created in the writing sticks to your mind. Real world observations and interactions are colored, distorted, and isolated by the writing in progress. The writing effort pushes the real world out.
Becoming part of the RW again was going to challenge his mind. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of it. What choice was there? It was real life, not the made-up world of his book.
Haifloof #86
A languorous stretch
Then the shift and turn, twice, thrice
And sleep is resumed
Viafloof
Viafloof (floofinition) – An activity or function modified to include an animal when animals were not normally involved.
In use: “His routines included a viafloof when he left the office and went into other parts of the house, no matter where or the reason, checking on the cats and dogs’ status and location, reassuring him that his floofs were safe and well.”
Mewsday’s Theme Music
The Tucker floof awoke me with song at an early time. “Get up, get up, it’s time to eat. Get up, get up, no time to sleep. Get up, get up, feed me some food. Get up, get up, or I’ll keep up this tune.”
Which he did. So I did. That makes this Mewsday.
The sky crashed down on his last night. Well, starting just after two in the afternoon, winds shifted, bringing the Rum Creek fire‘s smoke right down the I-5 corridor, changing the color of our air quality indicators from green to red like a traffic signal at work. Although it looks and smells better today, we’re at 152, red, and not good. Actually, the peculiarities of the narrowing valley and slope that I live on brings the air quality down to a more endurable 105. A wind shift can take that away, making us like the rest of the city.
Sunrise was a mellow and uneventful period at 6:33 AM. Sunset cometh at 7:50 PM. Cool 54 F now but a high of 34 C is on deck.
Got a Tom Petty song in mind. Heard it on the radio the other day. The Neurons said, “We like this,” and kept it on as background music in the mental music stream since. The song is “Leave Virginia Alone”. I remember hearing the Rod Stewart version back in 1995. Didn’t move me deeply. I was unaware that Tom Petty wrote it, learning that later, when he covered it himself. It sounds more like a Tom Petty style song than a Rod vehicle to me.
Okay, where is the coffee, please? The cats have abandoned me. Tucker is silent and coffee is needed. Stay positive, test neggy, etc. Have a good Monday, whatever that means on your spectrum. Here’s the song. A little mellow for a coffee-less Monday to my ears but it makes The Neurons happy. Cheers
Sunday’s Wandering Thought
He was tired of fake news. They claimed that no one had done a moonwalk since 1972. He knew that was bull. He saw Michael Jackson moonwalk on televsion in 1983.
Floofex
Floofex (floofinition) – Existence or conscious reality created or maintained by animals. Although skilled at doing such, human presence tends to distill or distort animals’ realities, sometimes with adverse consequences resulting.
In use: “Having realized human impact on their Floofex, and appreciating the ways in which cats, dogs, and other creatures could co-habit with human in roles as pets, the Council ordered a quantum increase to the number of animals going to Earth in that role in an effort to reverse some current, terrible trends and establish a happier, more pleasant Floofex.”
Michael Seidel, writer 