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.

A War Games Dream

I dreamed I was playing war games. Not the kind where troops are loaded into aircraft and dropped somewhere while aircraft fly sorties and ships maneuver, such as the ones I did as an adult in the military. No, this was the board games type where famous battles are played out to see how you fare compare to the real deal, on boards pre-home computers. I used to play these all the time. I’d started with Battleship, progressed to Risk, Axis & Allies, and then got into more complex games. I’d even gone so far as to invent my own.

In this dream, I was a teenager. Like a movie, I was watching me. Walking around outside, I found small hills shaped like mountains and forests that rose to my thighs. Pieces about two feet tall were all around. Each was shaped as a tank to represent armor units, infantry, jets, destroyers, aircraft carriers, submarines, etc.

I realized I was on a huge board game. I wasn’t sure if I was a player, so I walked around, regarding the different pieces. They were very cool to me. The first pieces encountered were of WW II in Europe and north Africa, I discovered pieces from the American Civil War in one section, then found the Napoleonic Wars.

Someone told me it was my turn. I asked questions about what was going on, like, which side am I on, and what I was supposed to be doing. As the other explained it, I realized it was my father as he was when I was young. I was just grappling with pieces to make my first move when the dream ended.

Awakening, I chuckled about the war the subconscious neurons like to play as they engage in their own games.

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Post Vaccine

Just adding to the body of knowledge out there about what people experience with their COVID-19 vaccinations.

For background, I’m officially retired from active employment, white, male, and a few months short of sixty-five years old. I’m a little overweight at 185 pounds. I walk regularly and lightly exercise but lead a mostly sedentary life of writing, reading, and surfing the net. Yard work and house work gives me additional ‘exercise’. I drink beer, wine, and coffee, but haven’t had any alcohol since last Thanksgiving. Just worked out that way. I only drink one cup of coffee a day now, a nod to my prostate.

I don’t eat much meat but a lot of fruits and vegetables, in large part because my wife is a vegetarian. I’ve dealt with high blood pressure/hypertension throughout my life, but played softball, racquetball, and ran a few miles a day several times a week until I blew out a knee in my late thirties. With a daily dose of Amlodipine, my blood pressure hovers around 130/60, with a heart rate of 62. My usual resting rate is 55 to 58. I also suffer from an enlarged prostate gland. I’m on Flomax for that.

I received the J&J one-shot coronavirus vaccine on Saturday morning, just before eleven. I had no immediate reaction. Per guidance, I rubbed the injection area and moved my arm throughout the day. I ran in place in the house, accumulating my twelve miles, but generally took it easy, writing, reading, eating, and attending to my floof masters.

The next day, Sunday, I woke up feeling fantastic. It was like I’d been given a B-12 injection. Was it possible that they’d given me some kind of placebo? I wrote a chapter in the morning (about three thousand words), and did some editing. After lunch, I drove down to the library to pick up a book up for my wife. The sunshine invited me to take a walk, so I put on three miles. Returning home just before three, I prepared to do yard work. I thought I’d do a strenuous walk after that.

My wife reminded me that my thinking was wrong. “I hope you didn’t exert yourself too much when you were walking,” she said.

“I didn’t. It’s mostly flat down there. Just a couple mild hills.”

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

Oh, yeah.

“They say that even though you feel good, your body is working hard beneath the surface.”

True.

I resigned myself to reading and surfing the net (and taking an incidental nap along the way). Running in place, I did achieve my goal of twelve miles but mourned that I hadn’t been able to take advantage of that fresh air and sunshine to break a serious sweat going up the steep hills around us.

Today, I feel good. Not as good as yesterday, more like just above my average. I have some stiffness and soreness on my left arm above the injection site. There’s no redness or swelling. My wife, who has an autoimmune disease, has experience similar symptoms, and reports that she feels fine.

That’s one of the maddening traits of this virus, though. Some feel like they get hit by a truck. Others feel nothing. Some suffer mild symptoms. As they say, your experience may vary.

Take care.

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Monday’s Theme Music

“Pour some coffee for me.” You need to imagine this being sung by Def Leppard to the tune of “Pour Some Sugar On Me”.

Bright sunshine has filled this Monday morning, April 12, 2021. Outside temperature is stirring past 42 degrees F. Promise for greater sunshine and warmth are in the air. Sunshine stole o’er this southern Oregon valley at 6:35 AM Pacific time. We wave good-bye to it at 7:49 PM, same time zone.

I’m thinking “Thorn In My Pride” by The Black Crowes (1992) for today’s music. At daybreak, while feeding the cats (thus curtailing their growing demands), the song’s opening lyrics came over me. I like the song’s bluesy sense, with its flashes of acoustics, organ, piano, and electric lead guitar. Add some Gospel elements. It’s a throwback sound to the late sixties/early seventies for me, like a lot of the group’s music.

Wake me when the day breaks
Show me how the sun shines

h/t to AZLyrics.com

I think the floofs were waking me at daybreak so I could see the sun shine. (Or so they claim. I really think it was just about food.) “No need,” I told them. “I’ll catch up with it later, while you’re napping.” They were eating, though, and my retort travelled wholly over their little bowed heads. Then I returned to bed for just a little longer.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, get the vax, and have some coffee. Or tea. I hear tea works well, too. “Pour some tea for me.” Sounds like it works. Cheers

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Podiafloof

Podiafloof (floofinition) – Animal who enjoys feet.

In use: “Many kittens and puppies begin as podiafloofs, chasing, attacking, and biting feet (and toes!), but Gracie (who refused the label of house panther, insisting instead that she be called a Nubian queen) remained a podiafloof all of her life (seventeen years), finding a foot and throwing all her weight down upon it, and then, going to sleep…” — from Confessions of a Nubian Queen by I.M. Afloof.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Hey, today is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Sunday. It is also April 11, 2021. The sun came creeping into the windows in Ashland about 6:37 AM this morning and is expected to creep away at 7:48 PM.

With regards to the temperature, the sky cleared last night, which meant it grew cold. Temperatures clipped the lower thirties. Robust sunshine has already pushed us up to 45 F. We expect to bounce off the high sixties before the temperatures sink again. The cats are loving it. Each has gone out and found sunshine, sitting there like worshippers with their face to the sun. You can almost hear them purring, “Ahhhhh.”

Got my COVID-19 vaccination yesterday. Did the ‘one-shot’ J&J option, because that’s what was available. No ill-effects were felt yesterday. Feel fantastic today.

Song-wise, we’re looking at “Gonna Fly Now” by DeEtta West and Nelson Pigford from 1977. My wife drove this choice. “This site says that the number one song on your twenty-first birthday will tell you how your 2021 will go.” “Gonna Fly Now”, from the film, Rocky (1976). Here are the lyrics:

Trying hard now
It’s so hard now
Trying hard now

Getting strong now
Won’t be long now
Getting strong now

Gonna fly now
Flying high now
Gonna fly, fly, fly

h/t to Genius.com

I recall visiting Mom and my little sisters (just entering their teens) while on leave from the military in 1977. (I’d been in the Philippines on duty on an unaccompanied tour but returned home when my little brother was killed in a car crash.) The littlest sister (now a mother of two teenage boys herself) told me that this was her favorite song. Anyway, it’s become hooked in my head today. I must put it on the net to set it free from my mind (or free my mind from it…).

The wife’s song was “Shadow Dancing” by Andy Gibbs. She’s a year younger than me.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get a vax. Hope you fly. Cheers

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A Vaccine Tale

The wife and I went out and received our COVID-19 vaccinations this morning. Being in our early sixties and relatively good health, i.e., nothing underlying that’s major, we hadn’t been eligible until guidance as changed a few days ago.

Well, as soon as it was changed, I was online, searching for vaccination opportunities. After three days of searching in which not even a glimmer of hope emerged, we scored with the J&J vaccine at our local RiteAid.

My appointment was for 10:06 AM this morning. My wife was scheduled for three minutes later. Per the store’s guidance, I arrived at 10:00 after leaving at 9:50.

I looked around for guidance. You know, signs. Placards. Anything. Nada. I queried the cashier (he was the only employee around). He gave a vague response about waiting in the store.

Figuring the pharmacy folks will be heavily engaged, I headed toward the prescription drop-off window because an employee was behind the counter there. They were helping another, so I hung around, waiting, masked and six feet away. I gathered the customer being helped was vaccine recipient numero uno for today’s doses. After he drifted off, I drifted up to the window. The employee drifted away. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she called.

She returned after about three minutes. We went through the check-in process, showing identifications, answering questions. She explained, “You’re number two.” My wife was number three. “I’ll be doing five at a time, because there are five doses in a vial. Just hang around the store and we’ll call you up.”

Okay. We were a little disappointed. We hoped we’d be in and out. That’s how my friend, Bob, said it went for him at RiteAid, going on (via email) about how they had it all together, right down to the minute.

Wasn’t happening for us. I was scheduled for 10:06. It was now 10:15. But, hey, we’d made progress. We wandered around the store, killing time. RiteAid’s prices shocked us. $1.09 for a little can of Fancy Feast. Holy catcrap! Over at Bi-Mart, they sell for $.65. Albertson’s sells them for $.79, if you buy twenty cans. Yeah, I struggle remembering state capitols, grammar, and the Supreme Court justices, but I can recite can food prices.

Around 10:25, my wife and I wandered back to the pharmacy area to check out the scene. A dozen people were now gathered. Some were in the prescription line. Others seemed to be there for vaccinations.

10:30, the pharmacy cashier whispered a name. I was standing about fifteen feet away. “What name was that?” I called to her. Everyone paused to hear. The cashier whispered it again. I was about to repeat it when a man sprang up. “That’s me,” numero uno proclaimed, rushing up.

I was called up next. I complimented her on her nails. Dark green metallic, they reminded me of beetle’s wings, but they were long and flawless. Not even a chip in them, you know? She worked the register without issue with them. I was highly impressed.

Others were processed after me. We resumed waiting. At last, “William Wisdom” — patient number one — was called to a back room. He emerged four minutes later to cheers. My wife and I were summoned.

We went in. The room was about five feet by five, smaller than a standard office cubicle, crowded with two chairs and two small tables. Being processed first, I took one chair while the pharmacist occupied the other. I was processed, verifying my birthday and name, no allergies, feeling pretty good today. My temperature was read off my forehead. I offered my left arm. Telling me what might happen in the next twenty-four hours, the pharmacist jabbed me. It felt like nothing. A bandage was applied over the mark. I gave the chair up to my wife and she was processed. “We recommend people hang around for fifteen minutes after getting the vaccine,” the pharmacist said. Okay.

We went back into the store. 10:52. We’d left our house sixty-two minutes before. We roamed, heading outside away from people and into sunny fresh air, fantasizing about where to go once our two weeks had passed.

11:05, we headed back home. Two of the cats were in the house. Both were sleeping. Neither woke up to greet us.

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Dufloofcity

Dufloofcity (floofinition) – Animal behavior that seems to show they’re going to do one thing but then do another.

In use: “Many people were aware of their pet’s dufloofcity, warning before they left the house, “Stay off the sofa,” or “Don’t jump on the counter,” to which the animal replies with wide-eyed assurance that they will, and then wait to hear their people leave and go do exactly what they were told not to do.”

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Hello. Welcome to our show.

Today is Saturday, the tenth of April, 2021. Weatherwise, clouds have rolled in with ominous harbingers of rain. Their presence has kept us cool. Sunshine spilled into our southern Oregon valley at 6:39 AM, bringing a token of warmth. We’re up to 55 F now, and think, maybe ten degrees more will be achieved, before the sun retreats at 7:47 PM.

The post is a later than usual as we were out getting the COVID-19 vaccination. That’s done.

To the music! Today’s offering is cat-influenced, or as animals say, infloofuenced. (They — my cats — always insist that the word, ‘influence’, was originally, ‘infloofuence’. I point out that there’s no history supporting their claim. They smirk back. “We’re older than words, boy.”) Youngblood (aka Papi, Meep, and the Ginger Blade) loves going out throughout the dark hours. He loves coming back in during those times, as well, and then going back out again. He’s developed his knocking patter, coming to the bedroom slider for entrance and exit. Although socks are sometimes tossed his way to stop him, he’s a persistence boogerfloof. So I let him in and out, in and out.

Well, that in and out thinking dredged up a 1975 song by The Who out of the memory mines. “Squeeze Box” was an international hit for the group. The lyrics are all about an accordion, which is also known as a squeeze box.

Mama’s got a squeeze box
She wears on her chest
And when Daddy comes home
He never gets no rest

‘Cause she’s playing all night
And the music’s alright
Mama’s got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

Well the kids don’t eat
And the dog can’t sleep
There’s no escape from the music
In the whole damn street

‘Cause she’s playing all night
And the music’s alright
Mama’s got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

She goes in and out and in and out
And in and out and in and out
She’s playin’ all night and the music’s all right
Mama’s got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

h/t to Genius.com.

Wear a mask, get the vax, stay positive, test negative, and carry on. That is all.

5

A Riddle In A Dream

I had a dream in which I ended up wondering, while in the dream, if I’d dreamed what I was thinking. I’ve gone similar routes to this before, but this one ended up as a laugher to me.

I was racing at LeMans in a D type Jaguar. The race had just begun. My co-driver (name not given, never seen), had qualified us, putting us at the front of the grid (but not pole). I was starting the race for the team. I managed a great start, and was battling for the lead.

From my point of view in the open cockpit, another driver and I raced our cars down a long straight, engines screaming, car shaking and vibrating around me. Taking the car to the absolute limit, holding it there, I edged my car’s nose ahead past a competitor on my right.

Now for a surreal bit. There was a small, bright green, bean bag hanging to the left along the straight. Whoever reached the bag and pulled it down was the leader of the first lap. I raced toward it, pulling ahead of the other car. Veering left, I threw my hand up and caught the bean bag.

Wasn’t over, though. We were hurtling toward the final corner. My competition wasn’t making it easy for me. They were holding back to brake at the last second; they also had the inside line, the true racing line. Coming up on the corner, I counseled myself, “Wait, wait,” watching the competitor. When he finally braked I told myself, “Now, brake, downshift, turn.”

I guided the car into the turn. Teetering on the edge of cohesion, the car progressed through the long righthander. Then I was through, in the lead, leading the first lap of LeMans. Jubilation roared through me as crowds cheered me on.

Then, as the segment ended, I pulled into victory lane.

I’d won the race.

Still in the dream, I was stunned. I’d won LeMans. As it was a D type Jag, that was in the fifties. Sitting before my computer, I searched on “Seidel Wins LeMans”.

Then, I thought, hold on. I couldn’t have won LeMans in the fifties; I wasn’t born until 1956.

And in the dream, I wondered, did I dream that? It seemed so real.

As I was about to tell this to my wife, she brought a tall white man and his daughter into the room. I was like, “Excuse me, WTF, who are they, why are they are?” My wife brushed aside my questions.

The child went to play. The man joined me. Reading a newspaper on the desk beside me, he scoffed. “Mansfield is in trouble.” He scoffed again. “I’ve seen this happen before.” He blithered on about some other companies who’d been in trouble. “They’re going to need help. Search for Mansfield and help.”

I did as he directed. I was only typing with one hand, however, and kept screwing up the search. Then, dream shift, I’m in a writing class with other students. The instructor is telling us about four elements. I’m taking notes.

A man comes in and calls my name. He wants to know if I’m okay. “Yes, fine,” I reply, puzzled. The teacher tells the man that I seem fine, why is he interrupting the class to check on me.

“Because he sent a message that said ‘help’ on a computer,” the man replied. “We received his message.”

Realization rising about what happened, laughter spilled out of me. I explained that I’d been trying to do a search on Mansfield needing help but kept screwing up.

Two other men, stocky, with crew cuts, in suits, solemnly brought stacks of books to me. “What are these?” I asked.

“Help books,” one man replied. “You sent so many messages for help, we thought you could use these books for help.”

End dream.

0

The Magazine Dream

Spanky, a navigator who I worked with in Germany, was in my dream. He wanted a Playboy magazine but didn’t have time to get it. I decided that I would get it for him.

I ordered it and it arrived. Before I could give it to him, he had to go on a mission. My wife didn’t want a magazine like that in the house, so I had to hide it. I ran around the house considering hiding places, finally deciding that I’d hide it behind the HVAC return filter. She’d NEVER look there. But as I was hiding it, Spanky came in. I gave him the mag. Delighted, he took it with him and left on another mission.

Meanwhile, I’d received a red notice in the mail. The note said in big black marker, “Your package delivery was delayed by bad weather. We apologize for the delay.” The note confused me because I wasn’t expecting any delivery except the magazine. It had already arrived.

I then went to my wife and told her I’d bought the magazine for Spanky. That angered her, but I shrugged it off. Spanky wanted it, and I thought he deserved it. It only cost me five dollars, including delivery. I thought that was a good deal.

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