Floofolate Drop (floofinition) – A particularly sweet or pretty animal.
In use: “The tiny eastern screech owl found in someone’s wreath on their front door was a little floofolate drop.”
Floofolate Drop
Love Is
Love is
a line in the dirt
wind blown
drying up
buried as time scratches over its mark
forgotten underfoot
uncovered and made again
Car In A Dream
He awoke with a fast start. Pulse still hammering, heart palpitating in his chest, he kept still, eyes wide open, focused on the dark night around him, waiting for his eyesight to catch up.
Common sounds asserted themselves: others snoring throughout the house, including the dog on the floor and his wife beside him in the bed. Wind was kicking around something loose on the house, reminding him that he’d need to hunt the object down before it broke free. Something to do when daylight arrived, after the other winter chores were completed, something to complete while the sun shone and he paced himself until spring.
Sleep was not coming back soon. Lightly he unfurled the heavy blankets and quilts, untangled himself from his wife’s grasp, and slipped free. An icy floor met his soles. Shivers jumped through his body. Eyes finding form in the darkness, he eased out of the bedroom, past the old dog, and out into the kitchen.
A tabby was settled on the kitchen counter, watching him with still eyes. Drifting to the window, he peered out past the curtains and glass while he scratched the cat. It purred happy in response. He’d dreamed of cars again. The car in this dream had been from about 1980, although he thought he was living in 2021 when he dreamed it. Just speculation about that, as those dates felt elusive. He knew the car, though, green and low, was not like anything seen in this century. Cars were still to be invented. He shook his head at that. Cars were still to be invented, but seemed so real… If the car was from 1980, that was still one hundred twenty years away. Scratching his face, he prepared to return to bed.
He awoke with a fast start. Gaping at his familiar bedroom, he settled onto his side with a long sigh. He’d dreamed again that he was living on a farm in eighteen sixty. Breaking free of his wife and the cats huddling against him, he slipped out of bed and moved through the house. Night lights embedded in the walls helped guide him as he made his way to the garage and flipped on its lights. His BMW M1 reflected the scene in its gleaming green surfaces, including himself, staring at the car. For a moment, he saw himself as another person, the old farmer? And then another — the man from 2021?
Shutting the garage lights off, he returned to the house. Cats had followed him and now demanded food, attention, or both. Touching his wrist, he woke his Backhand. “Show me today’s dreams,” he said, amending, “from the last two hours.” The dreams paraded by until the green car arrived. “Freeze.” He drank it in. “Enlarge the driver’s face. Clarify and sharpen.” He squinted as it grew in size, trying to decide if it was him, the man from 1860, or the guy from 2021.
Were they — he — all the same?
He closed the dream. Either something — worlds — were coming together, or something — the divide between worlds? — was coming apart. Maybe something else, like his sanity, was coming apart. Padding down the hall, ambivalence slowed him. He wasn’t certain he wanted to return to bed, wasn’t certain if he wanted to return to sleep. For to sleep meant to dream, and he was becoming worried about where his dreams might next take him.
The BMW M1 Dream
I dreamed I was driving a BMW M1 in a dream last night. The road was slushy and snowy and the car was dark green. I was having a ball sliding the powerful, capable car around curves and slamming down straights, managing the direction as the car attempted to fishtail and spin.
Awakening and thinking about the dream kept a smile on my face. Although I know of the BMW M1, I’ve never actually seen one. It’s a rare model. Research shows it was produced from 1978 to 1981, with four hundred fifty-three cars built. A mid-engine mounted sports car, it was powerful and capable, with output coming from a straight six engine. Top speed was 164 MPH and 0-60 MPH was about 6.4 seconds. These aren’t brilliant numbers these days, but back then, that performance put it in a special category.
Of course, the query in my head is why that car in that dream? I often think of my dream cars as representing me. It’s pleasing now to think that I’m a rare but outdated exotic sports car who used to be capable of performance that impressed others. Carrying the analogy further, now I’m just an old rarity, long out of production, and infrequently seen.
I like the green in the snow though, you know? You can see why, right?
Friday’s Theme Music
Good morning and welcome to Friday, February 12, 2021. Sunrise was at 7:11 AM and sunset is expected at 5:40 PM here in Ashland in southern Oregon, a few miles north of California. The temperature is a rainy 47 F. That rain makes it feel degrees colder.
I jumped into the Wayback Machine for today’s music, landing back in 1968. The song is “Hush”. Deep Purple covers it for us. Cat activity prompted the song. Papi was batting the blinds. This is his floofmaphore. In this case, he was saying, “It’s six AM, give me some canned cat food!” I was responding, “Hush, I’m trying to sleep.”
Hush stayed in the head as word, expanding into a concept under sleep’s veil until, whoa, pop, Rod Evans and Deep Purple were performing “Hush” in my head. Yes, the cat was fed, by the way. He is a ginger streak of persistence.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. I read that ten percent of the US population has now been populated. President Biden’s administration has acquired more doses and is pushing for us to all be vaccinated within a few months. Alaska leads the nation in vaccines at fifteen plus percent. West Virginia, New Mexico, and Connecticut, all in the twelve percent range, are giving chase. Oregon, where I reside, is in the big ten percent pack. These are all just first shot numbers. All states drop to single digits when the question is asked, how many have had the second shot? Israel leads the world, where 27% have been fully vaccinated.
Here’s the music. Have a better one, yeah?
Floofio
Floofio (floofinition) – Floofmerican singer, songwriter, and actor. Born in Floofton, Califloofia, Floofio began his music career in 1987. Major success arrived for him in 1994. His career declined after 2001. He remains active as a performer.
In use: “Floofio’s major hit, “Floofsta’s Paradise”, became the best-selling single in 1995 and a chart-topping hit in several other countries.”
Deer Grove Fields Dream
I’d arrived at a convention. Hugely crowded. I realized two events were being held simultaneously; one was some sort of military retirement celebration. The other was a writing conference. I was there for the latter.
I arrived alone but soon saw other writers who I knew. We milled and spoke together, trying to grasp where we’re supposed to go. I joked to others about the confluence, as I found the situation mildly humorous. We drifted apart, trying to find where to go. I wanted a place to sit down, wait for the crowd to thin out, and then find where I was to go. I was working on the impression that the military event had ended, and then the writing thing would begin.
I encountered a military person whom I knew slightly. I asked what was going on. He told me that the Chief had retired. Making small talk, I asked, “Oh, where was he stationed last?” “Deer Grove Fields,” the other replied, and departed. I’d never heard of that place and wondered if I’d heard right.
I saw another writing friend. She was wearing a blue skirt and a blue top. She mentioned that she’d met the Chief, describing him as a fascinating person. He’d been stationed at Deer Grove Fields. As we nodded and talked, I realized that she was clearing tables. Apparently she was working there.
Tables were all filled but it was a communal system with strangers sharing tables. Finding a place, I sat. Another writing friend, Jill, a small, older woman with short hair, was at the table. I knew that she’d just won an award for a story she’d written. After congratulating her, I asked what she was working on as I set up my laptop. She told me, “Nothing,” and then said, “Deer Grove Fields.” I realized that’s what the others had said but didn’t understand why she said it now. I assumed she was trying to remember something and when it came to her, she’d said it aloud. Then she said, “That’s where the Chief was assigned.”
The dream ended.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Good morning. Welcome to Thursday, February 11, 2019. It’s already 40 degrees F outside, cloudy as a warm front drives in, with highs in the upper fifties. Today’s sunrise came at 7:13 AM. Sunset is expected at 5:38 PM.
What I’m watching: Second Impeachment Trial of Donald J. Trump, Day 3. Days 1 and 2 were riveting.
Today’s music came from listening to music (novel, I know). Released by the Doobie Brothers in 1972, the writer of “Listen to the Music”, Tom Johnston, said the motivation for the song was world peace. That makes it a good theme song for any day of the year.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, get vaccinated, try to exercise, drink moderately, eat well, laugh often, pray occasionally, and live all the time. Here’s the music.
