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 Kissing & Dancing Dream

I wasn’t the person I am now, and I wasn’t married to the woman with me now. I still knew it was me but didn’t like the same, something known as perspective changed, as they frequently do in my dreams.

My wife and I were in a room with many others. Double beds lined the walls with the headboards against the walls. Every bed had a couple in it, including my wife and I, fully dressed with shoes on, under bed covers. Around the room were men and women, the men in either dark blue or white shirts, with loose black suits and hats, and the women in beige blouses, something with beige skirts, but sometimes with black skirts. Sometimes, the women wore a white bonnet.

The men and women not in beds were clapping their hands and dancing, thumping their thick-soled shoes against the wooden floor, chanting, “Kiss and dance, kiss and dance, kiss and dance.” Laughter kept interrupting as they focused on specific couples.

In bed with my ‘wife’, I moved close to her, getting face to face. Like most in the room, we were about forty years old, given one or two years either way. She looked white, wan, and tired. I asked, “What do you say? Should we kiss and dance?”

She answered, “No, I’m too tired.”

Disappointed, I snapped, “That’s what you always say.” Frustrated, I climbed out of bed and walked around the room as the “kiss and dance” chant continued. Other couples were kissing and several got out of bed and danced in the room’s center.

Another man climbed into bed with my wife. Outraged, I saw that she let him kiss her. At that point, a man called an end to the festivities and told us, “Everyone needs to go home now.”

My wife and the man left the bed. She came to me and said, “We should go.” Everyone else had already filed out.

Rage stoked, I replied, “No.” I took her by her shoulders, pushed her back against a wall, and said, “I have three things to say to you.” Her eyes were wide; she did not speak. “One, you never want to kiss me. Two, I saw another man get in bed with you, and I saw you kissing that other man. I am tired of all of this. We are done. I’m going home. You need to find somewhere else to do.”

I left.

Dream end.

I felt tremendously liberated and strong after awakening from this dream.

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Sumday’s Theme Music

This is it, Sumday, the beginning and the end. The circle remains unbroken, and here we are at the culmunation of hopes and prayers, work and play, getting ready and relaxing, all in one. For some. Your day might be different.

August 7, 2022 is upon us. For me, a wedding anniversary; we married at Wright-Patt AFB in Ohio on this date in 1975. Yep, still going, for better and worse, etc.

It’s about 22 C right now, a climb from 65 F. 100 F is anticipated for today. Sunrise punched in at 6:10 AM. As the world turns, the sun will depart our sky at 8:23 PM. The clouds have taken the morning off but a mass assembly is expected in the late afternoon.

Air quality remains excellent. I slipped out last night just after sunset to do a visual of the sky. All looked good except the northwest sector, which glowed with dirty purple and red malevolence. Nothing has come of it, so far. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc. Fires still burn in the area. Containment is growing but the rising heat makes everyone worry. Might not surprise you to learn that the wildfires thrive on hot weather.

I traipsed out again later to enjoy the cooling, silent night. The clock was leveling midnight and the moon was cruising low in the western sky, perhaps pondering a landing path into the mountain’s trees. White with silver icing, it was shifting toward three-quarter fullness, an inspiring sight against the blackened blue expanse. Light pollution was low. Stars, galaxies, and planets were all sailing the nocturnal firmaments. I watched for a while, thinking about photos sent back from the Webb telescope, contemplating history and science, the future and now. The Neurons brought out no songs. I wondered if they were napping or out of the office for the night. They hadn’t said anything to me about leaving. I’m always the last to know when The Neurons leave.

Thoughts continued into the novel-in-progress. That brought The Neurons back. They kicked a song called “Between Something and Nothing” by The Ocean Blue from 1989 into the mental music stream. The song is lifted from that late 1980s and early 1990s era of softly glittering electronic music and high questioning voices. What a time, but then, weren’t they all?

Stay positive, test negative, and so on to do as needed to protect and sustain yourself and others. The coffee truck is ringing its bell and coming up the street. Got to grab some money and dash out to get a cuppa. Have a peaceful one. Here’s the music. Cheers

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The Writing Moment

The moment was here: time to write. There was so much to do with storylines, plot points, and character development, his thoughts were like a clowder of kittens chasing one another and wrestling while also playing with a litter of puppies. Organization was required. Discipline. Focus. Direction. Yes, yes, yes. And, yes.

But first, more coffee.

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Sat-er-day’s Wandering Thought

He wondered if it was ‘just him’. He didn’t really become annoyed, but it was a minor irritation when another person insisted that he make a call on the household’s behalf and then hovered nearby, eavesdropping, inserting themselves into the conversation by throwing out comments even though they have no idea what’s being said on the other end, throwing the conversation’s rhythm off. If they wanted to talk, why’d they give him the phone and asked him to call?

Yes, it was probably just him who found this rude and intrusive. It often was ‘just him’.

1

Sat-er-day’s Theme Music

Today is Sat-er-day, the day you get when someone asks, “What day is it,” and you begin to reply, “Sat-” and your brain yells, “Wait,” so you give a verbal pause, “er”, while the brain quickly reviews the answer — is it Saturday? — and then tells you, “Go ahead.”

It’s August 6, 2022, a lovely morning here in southern Oregon. The moon was silver and clear last night vice the pumpkin hues worn throughout the week’s first days, hues granted by fire particulates. Fires still rage but none closer than twenty to thirty miles. A shifting wind has dropped our AQI into small, healthy numbers. You feel for the others, of course. One person’s win is another’s loss. Wish it wasn’t so. The biggest threat is the closest conflagration, the McKinney fire, sixty thousand acres, ninety homes destroyed, thirty percent contained, just over the border. It’s rugged land.

It’s 20 C at the moment but will climb to 94 F before the day is done. Sunrise was an old-fashioned offering of pale silver light gracefully acquiring strength before turning white gold and warm. Started about 6:09 AM. Sunlight will rule until the setting commences at 8:24 this evening. Clouds? None to speak of.

I have “Stumblin’ In” by Suzi Quatro and Chris Norman playing in Sat-er-day’s morning mental music stream. Came about when The Neurons caught my wife stumbling. As the more rational brain rushed help to her and asked if she’s okay (and she was, it was a little trip over a hair on the floor or something), The Neurons began playing the 1979 song.

Alright, coffee is due, and then other activities will be engaged. Stay positive, test negative, and take care of thy self and thy loved ones and friends, and even those who aren’t loved ones or friends but need help, yeah? Let’s be careful out there as Sarge used to say on Hill Street Blues. Here’s the music.

Cheers

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Infloofgration

Infloofgration (floofinition) – The act, instance, or process or adding an animal to an environment.

In use: “Proper infloofgration to a household when a new floof comes into someone’s life is critical. The established animals and newcomer both need time and space to adjust to the situation’s new parameters.”

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