Flurrsday’s Theme Music

Sunrise’s 0650 arrival showed us, flurries. They’re on the smallish side but they’re earnest. With the thermometer flailing at 33 degrees F, the flurries pile up. But it all melts when they take a pause. Most be demoralizing to work so hard, dropping millions of flakes and yet see no appreciable accumulation.

It’s Monday. Feb. 27, 2023, the NTL day of February, in case you’ve not been told that February has twenty-eight days this year. Children are walking, school buses are running, parents are dropping off students and zipping off for errands, work, exercise classes. My wife went off to the last.

Sunset is due at 5:58 PM. The weather whizzes tell us 40 F is Ashlandia’s high temperature expectation.

The cats are amfloofvalent about the snow. Tucker looks out without comment. Papi demands freedom. Released to the back yard, he zips around through the flurries to the front porch and demands permission to come back in. He knows Oregon weather at this time of year, so he expects it to change, but it’s not happening as fast as he’d like. I suggest he sit down, maybe have a cup of coffee and observe the weather through the window. He replies, “Meeep.” It’s his trademark sound. That was his name. He’s sometimes referenced as the floof formerly known as Meep.

Meep and Tucker did eat in the same room this morning. That’s a remarkable achievement. Maybe flooftente is thawing. They’ve only lived together for six years. It takes time.

Tucker is doing better with his hind section but still can’t jump. Appetite is much improved, though. We took a risk last week. Bought a twenty-five pound bag of kibble from Costco. Tucker is very discriminating about what he’ll eat, like a child eyeing whatever is offered. Papi is more liberal with what he puts in his mouth. He’s like, “Food! Yes!” Chomp chomp. Neither of them like anything with sweet potato in it. The purchased food is chicken and rice.

Well, Tucker leaped into the new food with gusto. Emptied his kibble bowl and then pulled over the bag to paw out more. See? Improved appetite.

In dispiriting news from around the U.S., Republicans keep pushing to pull books from schools and libraries. Fear, you know. What will their blessed offspring learn? God, what will they see? Might see nekkid people. May even discover that everyone poops. In the name of the holy bible, we can’t have that. They much prefer blinders on their little ones.

They’re playing, “Let’s pretend.” Let’s pretend that people don’t identify differently from the genders we think they are. There are only two, you know. That’s what Jesus said, and the disciples agreed with them to a man. Let’s pretend that slavery was a good thing and that racism doesn’t exist. Thus it is that books may not reference sex, racism, slavery, and other things that make certain people ill. See, it’s only certain people pushing these agendas, a terrified vocal minority.

Okay, end snark.

Was pleased with the SAG results last night, as far as Everything Everywhere All at Once winning four honors. I enjoyed the movie and thought it deserving. Didn’t see many of the other movies, so I don’t know if my opinion is relevant.

BTW, just finished a novel, Legends and Lattes by Travis Baltree. Cited as high fantasy, and featuring a Orc swordswoman as the protagonist, it’s almost like a cozy, but it’s an entertaining and clever send-up of coffee houses as well. My wife found it and passed it on to me after she enjoyed it. I recommend it if you’re looking for a light read.

After a raucous dream night, I have “Bang!” playing on the morning mental music stream loud system. AJR released it a few years ago. It’s an interesting ditty, not about Jack and Diane, but about adulting, being responsible, like moving to your own place, filing taxes, and trying to remember a password.

Stay pos. The oaties have been eaten — they were of a sweet variety today, with brown sugar and blackberries. I have coffee at hand. Sips have been consumed. I am a go. Here’s the music. Pretend you know this song.

Cheers

February 27, 2023 0

Floofabration

Floofabration (floofinition) – An animal’s activity to mark something by festivities or other deviation from routine.

In use: “After capturing a mouse and releasing it in the house, the cat began a floofabration, singing at the top of its lungs, “All praise the mighty hunter and the presents which he brings you, come see, come see, come see,” even though it was oh heavy snoring in the morning.”

February 26, 2023 0

Saturday’s Theme Music

Saturday in Ashlandia. February 25, 2023. Plenty of sunshine heading our way. People walk dogs by the house. A few tightly encased joggers take the hill. A robin patrols the backyard. Scrub jaws hop the front lawn. Cats lap up sunshine in living room pools.

It’s 37 F now, up from sunrise’s 29 F. The sun’s entrance was 6:53 AM. Exit from Ashlandia is expected at 5:52 this evening, after we’ve gone into the fifties. About 97 percent of our local snow is melted. Icy pockets remain in hollows, dips, and shadowy places where the sun don’t shine.

The Neurons are playing “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by the Verve in the morning mental music stream. My wife and I heard it in the car while running errands yesterday. The song came out in 1997, after I’d been retired from the military for over a year, after I’d bought a new car, and was basically living a new life. The song was right for the time, which found my circumstances improving. When we listened yesterday, K asked about part of the song. “It songs like he’s singing ‘moan’ to me.” No, it’s mold, as in this is how I’m molded.

Papi wants out to scout the terrain and inspect his environment. Stay pos. I’m off for coffee and breakfast. I’m thinking about making savory oatmeal. Here’s the Verve. Cheers

February 25, 2023 2

February 24, 2023 0

Friday’s Theme Music

We’ve shifted back into standard Ashlandia winter mode. Dropping into the twenties at night, forties to fifties, all Fahrenheit, during the day.

It’s Friday. It’s Feb. 24, 2023. Sunshine broke in at 6:54 this morning, lighting up two fresh inches of snow. Was 29 F then. Now we’re up to 34 and the snow is melting. I saw the snow falling and accumulating as Papi made his usual declarations about being an outdoor animal and needing to leave the house, then changing his mind and demanding to come back in because he’s domesticated. The weather wizards inform us that we’ll see 46 F before the sun whisks away over the horizon at 5:55 PM.

Up north in Portland, friends share videos of heavier dumps, like ten inches. Meanwhile, a buddy down in Santa Cruz shows photos of several inches in his area. February is made for snow this year.

I had words in the head sometime in the last twenty-four heures that went, “Bring it on, here we are, win or lose.” I was contemplating the snow and drought and snowpack, and the associated variables that accumulate into our annual regional water concerns. Hearing my thoughts, The Neurons said, “Hey, we know that song,” and inundated my morning mental music stream with Float On by Modest Mouse from 2004. Jeremiah Green, the Modest drummer, passed away on the last day of 2022, cancer, 45 years old. I think of him because I enjoyed his drumming in this song. Reminders of our mortality are everywhere.

Stay positive. Carpes Friday. I’ll do the same after chugging some strong black roasted bean water. Here’s the tune. Cheers

February 24, 2023 0

Nofloofphobia

Nofloofphobia (floofinition) – When someone suffers fear or anxiety about not having the company of an animal.

In use: “The worse part of vacations was not being with his fur pals. Nofloofphobia inevitably struck as he worried about them being okay and missed their sweet interactions with him and one another.”

February 23, 2023 0

The Silver-gray Cat Dream

First, I was leaving a white building on a bright and sunny day. An older woman, who I know to be a writing instructor, was talking behind me, but addressing me. “I have an older student who is trying to be a writer. He doesn’t have it. He’s not going to succeed.”

I was panicking. I thought she was referring to me. I replied, “Do you tell him?”

“I’ve told him very directly. He doesn’t want to get the message.”

Those words ringing in my ears, I shouted good-bye to her and fled down the street. Two lanes wide or more, it was blocked off, so we could walk straight down the street.

I picked up a silver-gray shorthair cat and her kitten along the way. The cat seemed ill. I decided I would find a house and get her help.

I walked into an apartment building and knocked on a door. When there was no answer, I discovered the door was unlocked and entered. The apartment had an unusual layout, with a set of steps rising to a loft along one wall of a great room, and rooms directly off the great room on the opposite side. The kitchen was up in the loft. A television was on, its volume very high, showing an old television show but in color.

I set the cat down. She was very listless. “What is it? I asked her.

“I need a box,” she replied in a weak voice.

“I’ll get you one.”

By ‘box’, I assumed she meant something like a litter box. With that in mind, I hunted for anything that would work and then put her in the bathtub. That worked for the cat. I cleaned the tub and then went to the kitchen and found us some food.

The front door opened. An elderly woman entered. She demanded to know who I was but went on without letting me answer, “This is my house. You shouldn’t be in here.”

I agreed and tried to explain my emergency. She wouldn’t listen, insisting that I leave and turn myself into the constable. I agreed that I would, which was a lie; I wasn’t turning myself in.

The cats and I left and went down the street. We found a brown house and went in. I saw a red sweater and put it on. The end.