Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Abfloofdicate (floofinition) – To yield or surrender to an animal’s wishes, desires, or intentions.
In use: “Whenever her dog presented Bob with his tilted head, floppy ears, silly grin gaze, Bob abfloofdicated, saying, “Just tell me what you want,” because he knew that resistance was a joke.”
Tuesday’s here. Take advantage while you can because soon Tuesday will be gone. These fleet days add up.
It’s June 13, 2023. No clouds out there. 69 F in Ashlandia, so a warm morning with cooling tones licking in from the mountains and trees. Looking to a high in the mid 80s F before the sun’s exit just before 9 PM. Yesterday saw over 91 on the digital thermometer outside.
The floof boys so love this. In to visit, eat, drink, and zip back out. Back door is open so they’re going in out through the morning’s early hours before finding a napnest. Papi likes the vinka or the yard in the grass in shadows while Tucker prefers the front porch bushes. Both do the sun and shadow dance throughout the day.
I have “Calm Down” by Rema (2022) in the morning mental music stream. It’s a relaxed song, nice beat, interesting lyrics and inflections but what really had me going when I first heard it was, is he singing ‘condom’? So I had to look the song up. Didn’t know it’s name then or it was — they don’t like telling you who is singing what song on many radio stations. It’s apparently a game they’re playing with you. As the song gains popularity, they start telling you who and what. Well, when they said the song was “Calm Down”, the big light blinked on. Laughter followed because calm down made more sense than condom. Although thinking the song was being sung about condoms had Les Neurons imagining all manner of interesting lyrics.
Hope the tune rocks your Tuesday. Stay pos and don’t trip. If you do trip, don’t fall. If you fall, get up. Yes, simplistic; who knows what will happen between the beginning and end, things beyond your control? Oh, well. Calm down. Carry on and have some coffee.
Cheers
Flooftinnabulation (floofinition) – A tinkling or crashing sound associated with animals.
In use: “Hearing a noise from the bedroom, Keri assumed it was a flooftinnabulation — because Jade was in a mood — of course, as always, because she’s a cat and a queen and bored — caused by the little tabby going along, knocking everything off the dresser again.”
Good morning boys and girls and others. Thank you for inviting me. Happy to be here.
It’s Monday, you know. The day when the dead rise to drink coffee and hasten to work.
June 12, 2023. Ashlandia continues to thrive in a glorious stretch of weather. Cooled a little into the mid 80s yesterday, chilled in the low 50s F overnight, now is 68 F and marching toward a high in the upper 80s F. There’s still snow on Mt Ashland if you need a fix.
Papi, the ginger wonder, inspired The Neurons’ music choice today. In the morning mental music stream is playing some Neil Young & Crazy Horse with an electrified ditty from 1977 called “Like A Hurricane”. Papi was galloping about this morning, so I started with him. We were chasing each other around the rooms, hiding, springing out in ambush and sprinting away again. While I was winded, he was still going, prompting me to tell him he was a little orange hurricane. That gave The Neurons the opportunity they sought and here we are.
Stay pos, and be a little chill. I’m motoring on coffee, springing into the day. Here we go. Cheers
Idiot Floofvant (floofinition) – Person who is highly knowledgeable about one animal or species but knows little about other animals or species.
In use: “Having lived with thirteen cats over the last five decades (and friends with a dozen more), Michael acknowledged he’s an idiot floofvant who knows cats and that’s it.”
Papers, please. We need to check you papers. Don’t you know? It’s Sunday, June 11, 2023. We need to check your papers and see if you’re on the right date and have the correct authorizations for being on this date. You know how it is. You start on one day, then, without any fault on your part, you’re on another. Confusion sets in, forcing you to ask others, “What day is it? What’s the date?” I have a calendar on my way to keep me straight. My computer also shows the day and date. As does my Fitbit. And phone. So I can crosscheck what they claim. I mean, machines, am I right?
Sprimmer is still on tap in Ashlandia. Moody clouds of different sorts and backgrounds. Some block the sun, then the sun re-asserts itself and throws down a hearty blaze. 61 F now, we anticipate highs in the mid 80s. We’re rolling on toward that longest day in the northern hemi, the once called summer solstice. Longest in theory, in general, on average. Our longest day in Ashlandia generally takes places a few days after the ‘official’ date. I suppose it’s because we’re a little rural, and it takes time for news to reach us. Yes, even with computers.
Papi was lounging out by our front porch yesterday in the early evening. I heard people talking through the open window so I looked out. Women walking by had stopped to speak with Papi and admire him. Papi eyed them like an imminent threat. He’s not one for flirting with strangers. I’m about the only one he’s consistently warm with. My wife tries and Papi tries to let her, but the results are uneven.
Had it been the late Quinn, he would have dashed right out there, offering himself up. He was the friendliest and sweetest floof I’ve ever had. The late Boo would have bolted away as soon as he heard them coming. They would have seen him. Scheckter would’ve talked to them but not allow an approach. Most of the rest would have just shrugged them off. As Tucker did later, when he’d joined Papi on the front porch and the women came back down the street. He was completely indifferent to them.
The Neurons have installed “Wondrous Stories” by Yes from 1977 in my morning mental music stream. Started last night when I was watching telly. Had been reading, writing before that, with yardwork and housework mixed in. At that point I was thinking about stories and the book I’d just finished reading. Eventually, I just realizing that “Wondrous Stories” was playing in my head. A mellow tune, has sort of a renaissance sound, not unusual for Yes.
Stay pos. Enjoy your weather wherever you are. By the way, it’s Father’s Day in the U.S. I sent Dad a card and will call him later. He’s in San Antonio, Texas, so I need to adjust for his time and schedule when I make the call. They’re always out at this time. So, first, coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers
My wife, SIL, and I needed to take a trip. I procured a car for us, paying cash for it. It just happens that it looked just like the 1968 Camaro RS I owned in RL in 1975, complete with stripes and black vinyl top, a fun, reliable, and sporty car. In the dream, I didn’t know that it was like my Camaro of my youth because we were youths.
I don’t know why we were traveling by car, other than going from point A to B. Tucker, a current RL cat, was traveling with us. My SIL and I took turns driving, although I did most of it. At one point while I was driving, I suddenly couldn’t control the speed. I was telling them that in the car as I tried braking, kicking the accelerator, and then trying to take the car, an automatic, out of gear, attempting to put it into neutral. When I couldn’t move the center console shifter, I concluded, “I think we’ve lost the transmission.”
I managed to get the car stopped. We got out to talk and stretch our legs. My wife was inattentive and left the car door open. Tucker immediately leaped out. I caught him and then scolded her for leaving the door open and letting Tucker out. She dismissed me and what had happened, which irked me. We decided to go on. I thought for a moment that she was going to drive, which I didn’t want for some reason. I then drove again.
We arrived at a hotel and in a dream blink, we were checked in and up in our room. I think it was in Chicago. It was a large, lavish suite, which included a butler of sorts who was also pressing us to eat or drink, telling us each time, “It’s free.” I didn’t think it was free, but included in the room. At one point, we discussed going out to dinner. The butler started making suggestions about where to go. My SIL was reading about our room during the conversation and asked, “Do you know what floor we’re on?” As my wife replied, “No,” SIL said, “We’re on the 668th floor.”
I went over to the huge windows and looked out. Seeing how high we were, I gasped. “Wow. Why are we so high?”
Dream end.
Today is June 10, 2023, a Saturday in this reality. Blame Pope Gregory XIII and the Gregorian calendar for that one. Although, since he’s just behind a mod for leap years and based his calendar on the Julian calendar, you can extend blame to Julius Ceasar. Of course, the seven-day week can be traced to the Babylonians even further back but diēs Sāturnī comes back to the Romans, although the Germans take some blame for popularizing and standardizing the name. Really, let’s just throw it on all the ancients and go from there.
We’re into summing, the season that follows sprimmer just before summer. Whereas sprummer is primarily springish with summery accents, sprimmer is summery with springish accents. It’s a subtle thing, a difference in blowing winds, overall temperatures, and expectations. 67 F and sunny now, with long, hazy white clouds drifting like a navy armada across the sky, Ashlandia is expecting a high somewhere in the low 80s today, with no rain or thunderstorms being mentioned in anyone’s forecast.
Oh, but the housefloofs, Papi and Tucker, are delighted with sprimmer. Both leave via the pet door at night, coming and going a bit until Tucker plants himself in front of said door and sleeps. That curtails Papi’s activity until he goads me awake with repeated beating on the slider’s screen door. Oh, that Tucker. That passive-aggressive Tucker.
When they’re out in the day, they’re asleep. I enjoy checking on them in their secret locations. Tucker haunts the front porch almost exclusively. He moves around according to temperatures and sunshine. He’ll often be found half in sun, half in shadow. Papi moves around. One favorite spot is on the house’s side under the dining room’s bay window, among the vinca, but morning finds him under the hawthorn in the back, below the center living room window. Other times of day, he’ll relocate to the front porch or the bushes under the office window.
Today’s music is “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult, 1976. I quite enjoy the song, with its layering of guitars and vocals and the intriguing lyrics and the story being told. But The Neurons planted it into today’s morning mental music stream because in a dream last night, I told another person, “Don’t fear the reaper.” Unlike several other dreams, that’s almost all which is recalled from that dream, but it was an astonishing moment.
Stay pos and enjoy your diēs Sāturnī . I think I’ll start with a beverage. Coffee, perhaps. Yes, coffee. Okay, ready. One, two, three, go. Here’s the music. Cheers
Ecfloofsiastical (floofinition) – Of or relating to animals.
In use: “Although laws protecting animals have been established for several decades, the net has been a catalyst for more ecfloofsiastical laws, with growing insistence that these laws also be staunchly enforced.”
Summer’s prelude to summer in Ashlandia has settled into a new weather routine. Blue sky. Plentiful sunshine. Cool, 50s to 60s F, in the morning. Rising to high 70s, low 80s by mid-afternoon. Roll in some clouds. Cue the thunder. Spark some lightning. Now, turn on the rain. Repeat for a few hours.
This is Thursday, June 8, 2023. Yesterday afternoon and evening on the storms squatting on Ashlandia. The climax was a twenty minute deluge of big drops, dense, falling fast and hard. What’s striking about all this lightning (couldn’t resist), thunder, and rain is that it’s so rare for Ashlandia, especially of this intensity, duration, and repetition. But it’s been a growing trend in the last several years. It could be part of a larger cycle and we all just don’t live long enough to experience it, so it strikes us as odd. But it’s also a continuation of an odd weather year.
The cats aren’t pleased. The weather even brought Tucker in, who is usually indifferent to these things. Papi, though, decided the best place to be was with us in a lit room, awakening, waiting, ready to run, and willing to be comforted. Tucker decided that he’d be wherever Papi was.
We’re seeing a lot of deer on our street this week. Two bucks strolling up the street the other evening. Three or four deer — or maybe the same few again and again — wandering around our house and across the street at the neighbors. Well, no recent cougar sightings in our vicinity, so maybe that has something to do with it.
I stood in the front doorway last night, protected by the porch, to watch the rain. Not just watch, but breathe in the fresh petrichor, and enjoy the sounds. Lightning frequently flashed to enliven the experience. As I stood there, The Neurons fired up a 1981 song by The Rolling Stones, “Waiting On A Friend”. Song is still in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons made a good choice. The storm broke me out of my normal routines. The smells and sounds also made me nostalgic for similar times experienced around the world from different phases of life where I was waiting for a friend to arrive as part of our plans to go off somewhere.
Stay positive, and enjoy Thursday as only you can. I have coffee, so I’m pleased for the moment, sipping hot brew, windows breathing in cool air on my back, sunshine slinking around the house, cats wandering in and out to give news updates. Here’s the tune. Love the video’s end, when the band gets up to play in that tiny, tiny space. Cheers
