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.
Yes, happy humpday, April 14, 2021. I have nothing against Wednesdays, myself. I enjoy Wednesdays. It’s a nice midpoint. I guess I’m a ‘week is half-done’ sort of person.
The sun snuck up on us at 6:32 AM and will shy back behind the planet at 7:51 PM. The weather is strolling away from winter, gaining more spring confidence everyday. Green thickens in the trees around us and adorns the rolling hills. Although it’s now 49 degrees F, we expect the thermometers to see 73 before beginning its evening descent.
I found myself singing a 1982 song. I dreamed of a Porsche 911 SC, which was produced between 1978 and 1983 (yeah, I looked it up to confirm what I recalled). Thinking of the car and the years the model was produced led me through the memory vaults. I recalled that I lived in Texas in 1978, having been assigned there in the military after I returned from the Philippines, then got out, moved to West Virginia, went back into the military a year later, was assigned again to Texas in 1979, and then ended up on Okinawa by 1981. The song that came to mind then was “Rock the Casbah” by The Clash.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, get the vax, and enjoy the music! Cheers
The dream began with me buying a Porsche. A 911 SC model, which would make it between 1978 and 1983, it was dark blue – ‘Sunoco blue’, in my mind, after the color used by Penkse/Donahue in the late 1960s and early 1970s (on, for example, the Ferrari 512 they raced at LeMans/Daytona or the Porsche 917 used in Can Am racing in the first year) with a tan leather interior. Very classy and clean to me, even though it had right rear quarter panel damage. Seeing it, I made an offer, which was accept. I paid $10,000 for it, transferring the money via Paypal. After driving it home, I told my wife. She was pleased with the purchase. I told her I was going to have the body repaired. I wasn’t certain whether I’d keep it or sell it after that, vacillating between the options.
Penske Sunoco Ferrari 512, LeMans, 1971
After parking the Porsche at home, which was a sort of compound of buildings, I walked around, preparing for guests. They were already arriving. Someone needed a key. I had a spare that they could use to unlock a door. As I gave them that key to use, I noticed several emergency keys were by the doors, often hanging above the door. I told others that I didn’t think that was very smart. While, yes, it was convenient to have the keys there in case you forget the key, outsiders might come, see the keys, and use them to get in when they’re not supposed to.
I entered the main house where most guests were congregating. Dad was there, taking measurements for a project. He and I had a discussion about what he was doing, and more importantly, why he was doing it at that time, since the guests were arriving for a party. He replied that it would only take a little bit, and besides, the contractors were there.
Yes, the contractors were there, in the foyer by the front door on the other side of the crowded living room. I told them that Dad was taking measurements. The contractors, two men, were testy and impatient. Dad began calling out numbers. Hearing them, I repeated them to the contractors, telling them that those were the numbers they needed. Dad kept doing this, but the party noise was increasing, making it difficult to hear, and the contractors were slow to start writing the numbers down, forcing me to remember and repeat the numbers. As Dad kept moving around, calling out numbers, guests began acting as intermediaries between him and me, listening to the numbers when he called them out, then coming to me to tell me the number and where it was from, which I would then give to the contractors. This all struck me as pretty hilarious.
The dream ended while we were in the middle of doing this.
With writing, I’m often stymied as I await the muses’ participation. These past two weeks, I’ve turned it around on them. Writing steadily, finding the path each morning, I keep the final destination in mind. Quiet and watchful, the muses gather around me. “Where you going with this?” they keep asking.
Chuckling, I tell them, “You’ll have to wait and see.”
It’s nice making them wait to see what happens next. I feel like the novel in progress in almost at an end (draft five). I edit and revise as I write, grinding down the story, molding and shaping it. Not to jinx anything, but I have a good rhythm formed for now, generally writing a bit, then going off, reading, doing housework or other things, then returning to write more, then editing. For now, I’m focused on finishing this draft. In the meanwhile, a solid grasp of what I’m going to do in the next editing stage has crystalized.
It’s been thirteen months since I began writing this one. Writing it required process changes driven by social distancing and coffee shop shutdowns. I used to leave the house, walk to get into the writing mode, then enter a coffee house, sit with my laptop, and do the deed. I’ve had to adjust. That was a surprising challenge. I’m pleased (but anxious) that I could adjust.
Pleased and anxious remains the watch words for writing this. I worry and fret, then tell myself not to worry and fret, just write, but yet, worry and fret, hunting through words, finding my way. It’s surprising to see that I’m at five hundred and ten Word pages, 145K words. I’ve already done some cutting but more is due once the ending is reached.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Don’t quite know what to make of this dream. This dream was all close first-person POV. A friend was with me but I never saw them, just heard them laugh or swear. I don’t know who it was. I’d purchased a new car, a unique, exotic collectible of sorts. (I never did clearly see the car in the dream). I’d acquired it at a large outdoor option. After purchasing it, I was inside, driving it, following a similar car. The car ahead came to a stop sign. Like me, it was turning left, according to its flashing signal. Nothing was coming, but it didn’t proceed. Impatience growing, I beeped to get them to move. The driver flashed me the finger, but then drove. I pulled up to the sign. As I stopped, a second hot rod pulled up alongside me on my right, then ran the stop sign and turned left in front of me, highly pissing me.
I turned left, drove a short way, and pulled in to park in a designated slot. I saw the first driver and their parked car but didn’t comment or take action. Throngs of people were moving in both directions. After parking my car, I picked it up and started carrying it under my arm. As I did, I saw a young woman coming toward me. She had a strap around her shoulders which was attached to her car, which was hanging on her back. I said, “That’s what I need to get. I can carry my car with me and leave my hands free. I won’t even need to park. I’ll just take my car with me wherever I go.”
Public Floof(floofinition) — Influential and controversial musical act who gained international attention in the last decade of the twentieth century. Formed in New Floof in the mid 1980s, the band combined hard-hitting strong beats with political messages about Floof Americans and the continual injustices, prejudice, and discrimination that they faced, along with the frustrations experienced brought on by these factors. Achieving their greatest floofstream commerical success between 1987 and 1993, the group has undergone multiple line-up changes but remain active and a powerful floofcial musical force.
In use: “Hit singles by Public Floof through the years include “Don’t Believe the Floof”, “Bring the Floof”, “State of the Floof (STFU)”and “Floof the Power”, which became the group’s best known song.”
Profloofgate (floofinition) – Person who spends extravagantly for animals or spends large sums of money on animals.
In use: “Dissatisfied with other aspects of their lives, people turn to satisfying their fur friends first and foremost, becoming a profloofgate when it comes to their animals’ food, toys, comfort, and healthcare. Some claim that they’re forced to be a profloofgate because they have multiple animals with special needs, and prices just going up, up, up.”
We’ve landed on Earth, Tuesday, Coffee 13, 2021. Coffeerise was at 6:34 AM and coffeeset is expected at 7:50 PM.
Sorry, have coffee on my brain. Was walking around the kitchen singing the old round to myself, “C-o-f-f-e-e is what I need. It’s a drink some people wake up with. That it makes you nervous is a myth. Slaves to a coffee cup, they can’t give coffee up.” I learned that thing in grade school. Sing it often as I make my coffee.
Speaking of singing, between the coffee song, I was singing “Dancing Queen” by ABBA, 1976. Except, I subbed coffee for dancing. “You are the coffee queen, fresh and strong, that’s why you’re in this song. Coffee queen, felt the heat from the coffee machine, oh, yeah.”
Tres popular, topping the charts in multiple nations, that song was relentlessly played everywhere in 1976. Disco club DJs loved it — or the dancing crowds did. This morning, it’s in me like a strong cuppa. So I share it with you, a magnanimous gesture on my part, to get it out of my head. You’re welcome.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, get the vax, and have a cuppa. Doesn’t need to be coffee, but it’s what I need.
Floofprint (floofinition) – The mark or impression left by an animal.
In use: “The dog was a moderate size, brown and white, with some short hair in areas, curly fur elsewhere, floppy ears, but a sweet face and shrewd eyes, like she knew things others could only guess about. She lived with him just fourteen years. They were an important time, starting right after college, after securing his first ‘real’ job and apartment in a new city. Just fourteen years with him, but the floofprint stayed with him, firm as if it had forged in steel. He always looked for another just as good. Others were just as good but none replaced her.”
Going-out day was coming up. Just twelve days until they would toddle out to re-discover the world.
He thought, what should I do about my beard? He played with it during the thirteen months, twice shaving it off to begin again. No matter. It wasn’t the beard that dissatisfied him but the foundation underneath it. The sagging on display. As for his hair…oh.
She brought out her clothes. Examination of style and fit was conducted. Her shoes followed. She thought about what to do with her hair. A lot could happen to hair in thirteen months.
They made tentative plans. Cautious. Visits to new old places were broached. Small dreams of where they could go and what to do were nurtured. They would still wear masks. Of course. Wash hands. Avoid contact. Socialize outside.
She marked her calendar. Hairdresser. Dentist, hard times in cautious ink on the calendar, the first mark on its fresh pages. He planned a day in his mind. Beer with friends. He’d not seen them in thirteen months, except one of them. Two who were there before would not be there.
A lot of life happened in thirteen months. It was a heavy weight.
