Frieday’s Wandering Thought

He enjoyed people watching. Regulars were given backstories as their habits and details were observed and conversations they had with others were overhead.

One twentyish woman always wore a jean jacket lined with wool. An ordinary jacket except she wore it every day. This was during summer, during the day, during times when the temperature tiptoed up through ninety to one hundred degrees F. Yes, she was inside, where air conditioning sometimes made it feel like we huddled in shacks as we went ice fishing. But she never removed it, always wore it.

Imagination began fabricating reasons for her jacket. It could be fashion commitment. Perhaps a medical condition? Maybe the jacket provided her with extraordinary powers or protected her. There was also the possibility that the jacket gave her form. Removing the jacket would reveal that she had no body beneath it, exposing her as a neck with two hands and a lower body.

It was hard to say why she wore the jacket, but many possibilities existed.

The Coffee Moment

He enjoyed a long, intimate drink of coffee. The brew — temperature, flavor, highlights, smell — was perfect, encouraging him to drink longer, and then, to close his eyes and indulge in another long drink.

It was a gorgeous cup of coffee, and almost made up for the years of harsh, hot coffee he’d drunk in military facilities around the world at life dark thirty in the morning.

Frieday’s Theme Music

Take a deep breath. You can smell it in the air: Frieday has arrived.

It’s Frieday, August 12, 2022, but it is Frieday, Frieday, when you can sit back and enjoy some frybread, or crispy and sizzling fried bacon, or hot breaded fried chicken, fish, or shrimp.

That’s how many come to Frieday. Others arrive at Frieday feeling or looking fried. People tell them, “Man, do you look fried.” They answer, “Well, it is Frieday. I’m looking forward to the weekend. I am going to go nuts and do nothing.”

Doesn’t look like our town will fry today. Sunrise started the sizzle at 6:15 AM. Today’s sizzle won’t be much, a low burn high of 86 F. Now it’s a cool 18 C as the mountains bath us with morning air from their tops. Just sixteen hours and one minute from sunrise, the turning away will commence. On the bummer side of this Frieday, air quality has gone down with air particulates pushing the air into the red, scratching the blue sky with brown streaks.

Dreams were long and complicated. I emerged from them feeling good about myself. As I fed cats and ran the morning bifloofalon, I thought about my self-esteem. Those thoughts encouraged The Neurons to break out “Self Esteem” by The Offspring from 1994. A little Youtube scratching found this video of the group performing the song in 1999. I prefer versions where I can see the group playing the music and singing. Doesn’t usually sound as polished as the studio albums, but I like the reminders of the time given by the band’s appearance, the stage, setting, and audience. Feds the flames of nostalgia, yeah?

The boiled black brew is reading for its Frieday tasting. Stay positive, test negative, have a good Frieday and a most excellent weekend, your excellencies. Here’s the music. Cheers

Thirstday’s Wandering Thought

After he and his wife were married a few years, she passed on the casual judgement that he had a flat butt. He’d never considered his butt before, imagining without thinking about it that he probably had a pretty nice butt, but the comment raised his butt awareness. He began studying other’s butts and soon realized that a large spectrum of butt characteristics exist – flat, round, broad, muscular, chubby, pert, drooping, and so on. So many ways to classify and categorize butts by shape, contour, and type are out there that he eventually developed a large index butt shapes.

He had, somehow, become an asspert, all because of his own flat butt.

Thirstday’s Theme Music

The wheels of time rolled through another day into Thirstday, August 11, 2022. Thirstday, the time of week when you pause to think of the things for which you thirst. Maybe it’s unrequited love. Or something simpler and more personal, like a cancer cure. Perhaps you thirst for food security and shelter, social justice, or equality. It could be that you thirst for another time, when you knew yourself as a younger person with a wide-open horizon before you. Our thirsts are different, Thirstday reminds us.

Sunshine tore the night covers back at 6:14 AM. The sun’s valley reign will go on to 8:17 PM, taking our temperatures from 18 C where we now sit to 90 F by late afternoon. A wondrously blue sky highlights the day’s placid nature. Everything looks calm, peaceful, and serene. Only arguing jays break the morning stillness.

Wasn’t so a short while again. The house floofs love this weather. Papi turned in a record mad dash as the halls and rooms became LeMans. He took the Mulsanne Straight chicanes flat out, demonstrating mind-blowing speed and control as Tucker watched with bristling white whiskers.

The Neurons have turned to Bill Withers, sliding an old high-school favorite by him from 1972, “Use Me”, into the morning mental music stream. I understand The Neurons’ reasoning. It’s a dream thing which I’m still unknotting. It’s a good song to hear again, to help look back on things in a quiet pause between more urgent matters. Though we never knew one another, Bill and I lived in the same town, Beckley, WV, for a few years. Yeah, it was separated by about six years, so meeting him was remote. Did see him in concert once and have great admiration for him.

My Thirstday coffee is a-calling from the kitchen counter. Stay positive, test negative, etc., endure, survive, and go on to thrive. Here’s the music. Cheers

Bewildering Red, White, and Blue Dream

I was staying in a two-story place with many other relatives. A diverse group, among the others were my father, two nephews, a sister-in-law, and one nephew’s wife and children. We were staying in the building temporarily. It impressed by being old and mundane, cheaply furnished with things which might have been procured at the curb on trash day or from secondhand stores and estate sales. It would only be for a few days. We understood and accepted its limitations.

One thing that did stand out was the owners’ use of red, white, and blue bunting and decorations. Much of it was worn and torn, and some of it was stained and moldy.So much of it in some many places, it was a great distraction. Especially, we noted to one another, since it’s not any sort of holiday that would call for decorations like that. It seemed like they wore their patriotism on their sleeves and by doing so much of it, they demeaned it. But it was their place, so WTH?

My nephew’s wife decided on another course. Without telling us, she and her daughters took much of the bunting down on the second floor because it annoyed them. I didn’t approve and told her so. Her husband, my nephew, defended her in his loud voice, joking about the whole thing. Dad agreed with me, it shouldn’t have been done, but shrugged it off, refusing to involve himself.

Everyone except Dad and I took off. A fuller understanding of the dwelling emerged. It was like a shoebox stood on one end. All the walls were white, except one upstairs, which was pink. The upper floor had a loft so you could look over and see about half of the bottom floor and the front entrance. No furniture was in that space. That floor was covered by a thin, worn, and soiled harvest-gold carpet with an extremely short pile, almost like indoor/outdoor carpeting.

Someone came to the door and then stepped in. Looking over the loft’s railing, I saw that it was a local police officer dressed in a black uniform. He said he was investigating vandalism. Going down and speaking with him, I realized that the owners had reported removing the second-floor bunting as vandalism. I told the officer what’d happened. While doing that, I indicated one wall to our left. Although white and broad, red, white, and blue ribbons covered the wall. These ribbons were like a blue ribbon given out as an award. There must have been thousands.

The officer considered everything and then said it didn’t sound like something he should be dealing with and left. I went back up and told Dad about this. As I did, the others returned. I repeated the story about what’d happened.

The others again prepared for an outing, and Dad and I again remained behind. Someone knocked on the front door, and then a state trooper entered. Looking up at me, he told me he was there to investigate reported vandalism. I laughed at this. Going down to talk with him, I discovered the ribbons gone from the first-floor wall, revealing a well-used and large corkboard. I asked the officer about the report, laughing as he explained that he was looking for missing ribbons, and then told him about the red, white, and blue ribbons which had covered the wall. The rest returned while the officer was there. Dad came down and told the officer that we’d pay for the missing bunting and ribbons. The officer replied, “No, the people wanted prosecution.”

The trooper decided it wasn’t his problem. He’d make the report and it would be forwarded to DA for further action.

Dream end.

Whensday’s Theme Music

Whensday, August 10, 2022, slipped in when our backs were turn. Looks like he’ll stay a day. Maybe two.

You feel that it’s Whensday, a day when questions rise like a two-year-old learning to talk is following you around. Your neurons bombard you with questions. “When is the pandemic going to end? When are things going to get better? When will I be able to relax? When is my package arriving? When is dinner?”

Yeah, I feel very Whensday today.

Sun arrived like a teenager sneaking into the house at 6:13 AM. Won’t go away until 8:19 this evening. I cannot help but notice the reduced time allotted for sunshine in my valley, the product of the orbital spins and revolutions. Temperature is cool but pleasing 18 C. Only anticipating the heat to push the mercury up to 86 F today. Our air quality leaped into the red zone yesterday. The air red zone isn’t the same as in American football. Air red zone means it’s starting to be unhealthy for breathing creatures. It’s dropped back down to the moderate zone this AM. All depends on the winds. Yes, the answer is blowing in the wind.

“Young Americans” by David Bowie (1975) is circulating through the morning mental music stream. (The stream, BTW, is like a rambunctious labyrinth with several connected levels. It’s a boulder strewn rockin’ place.) It arrived after reading through news stories and then taking a contemplative stance to question, “What will the future be like?” What will the young Americans be like? Will real and sustained change arrive. An eternal optimist, I reply, yeah, but it’s gonna be messy. Won’t be straightforward, will be more like a shuffle back and forth, left and right, up and down, just like most of history has been.

Anyway, here is the song. Hope you enjoy it. Speaking of enjoying, I believe young coffee is patiently waiting in the other room. When will I drink it? I think now is the time. Stay positive, test negative, etc. Cheers

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