Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
“Let’s go,” I urged myself this morning. “Time is ticking away. Time to go write. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
“Well, first I’ll dress. Of course. And shave. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
“I should clean the kitchen first. And exercise before I do that. Okay, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
“But I think I’ll have more coffee first. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
It’s a first for me. Today’s coffee shop crew is all male. I’ve seen all-female crews several times. As I wrote, this is a first. Wondered if it was planned, a response to females noting that there’s often all-female crews, or just happenstance of the schedule. I suspect the last one.
Mood: coffeesophical (when you’re just sipping coffee and thinking)
Monday, which is today, Jan. 15, 2024, which is also today, is weather ala carte. Got some fresh sunshine with sides of 38 F, fog, and blue sky. Mixing it up, you know?
I have a John Prine song in the head today, an impromptu addition to my thoughts supplied by The Neurons out of the blue. Well, kind of out of the blue. I was thinking about how easily we become insulated against others’ worries and needs, actually, how we become thoughtless about others’ existence. Things are taken for granted; minor matters gain weight because we have so little bothering us. Out of that came John Prine and a song called, “That’s the Way the World Goes Round” orbiting my morning mental music stream (Trademark done). Originally released in 1978, Prine sang it with Colbert back in 2016, and Cobert broadcast it when he learned that Prine was stricken with COVID-19 and on a ventilator. Well complications from that took Prine in 2020.
Pursue a positive attitude, buck up and be strong, and remain leaning forward with hope for a better existence for people. I’m talkin’ less violence, greed, and hate, you know? Coffee time is fully underway. Here’s the music. Cheers
I probably mentioned it before, but my first sip of coffee is actually two or three deep inhalations of the aroma. I’ve done this more or less since I began drinking coffee as a young adult, but the idea was solidified as a ritual when I read that coffee’s smell enhances focus, memory, and attention span. Figuring I needed whatever advantage I could dredge up, I embraced my ritual.
I imagine that some day, I’ll be older, and sharing that with strangers in coffee shops. But not today.
Mood: Hapup (happy and upbeat)
Saturday, January 13, 2024, has arrived with higher temperatures and heavy, wind-driven rain whipping Ashlandia (where the coffee is excellent and the parks are above average). It’s 42 F now, not far from the expected peak of 49 F. Rain has been falling all night, and the misty low, fat clouds look like they have a lot more to give.
The cats both wanted out this morning after their breakfast. Tucker settled in a dry but cold location on the front porch while Papi sought whatever drives him to wander. I managed to coax both back in after thirty minutes. When they came in, both dashed for me and I discovered Papi was soaked. I toweled him off (despite his protests and efforts to flee) and then Papi headed for the kibble station while Tucker went to the litter box.
Left home early, didn’t take the dog (don’t have one) or the cats (I have two). Coffee shop numero uno was at full cap so I went to numero dos. A prime writing location was available so I sat and began. Unfortunately, I discovered that a leak was exploring the ceiling above and splashing down. I alerted the staff and shifted sites. No good writing location was available but I found a table and set up camp. A young guy at my most preferred site. Understanding that I was on a laptop and could use an outlet, he approached and offered it to me. Such kindness. I offered to buy him something as reward but he declined.
One amusing thing was observed. I saw one barista drift through, washing off the unused tables and tidying. About four minutes after she went through, a second one went through, doing the same thing to the same tables.
Very satisfying and uplifting dreams were experienced last night. Hope everyone has such dreams in their life. Thinking about it had The Neurons plug “What Is Life” by George Harrison (1971) intorock the morning mental music stream (Trademark drifting). I get what The Neurons are doing there, because I’d been musing about life since a conversation with a friend about death the other day. Her husband worries about death and fears it. I related back that I didn’t worry about it because we don’t know if there is an ‘other side’ or the full nature of ourselves and our existence. I mean, between religion, science, and philosophy, we’ve developed some great ideas and insights about what it is. But knowledge is ever-evolving, and as we explore the quantum side of being more, we might surprise ourselves with what we learn. “I think, therefore I am,” might even apply to us after we die along paths that we can’t yet divine.
Stay pos, lean forward, remain strong, and test negative. Coffee and its bennies are already perking through my systems. Here is thy theme music. Cheers
Tuesday was an average day until the man beside me made a move. White as snow, a frazzled gray-beard with hippy-long hair in a pony tail like he’s Willy Nelson, shorter than me by a foot, he broke the day’s calm normalcy by finishing his coffee with a loud slurp, setting the cup down and then walking out through the coffee shop wall. I saw this out of my side vision and swung around, staring as my mind argued about what my eyes were telling me.
Hoping for verification, I shot a look back into the room. Three women at a nearby table were staring at the space beside me. The eldest, pointing and talking, was saying, “That man went through the wall,” as the second, younger, middle-aged, with long blonde hair dry and damaged from aging, was saying, “What?” in that rising confused way which expressed profound doubt about what she was hearing. Her position would have her facing away so she probably didn’t see. But the third, who could have been the blonde’s sister but skinnier, older, and dark-haired, was empatically stating, “Yes, yes, that’s what I saw.”
“You saw that,” I demanded of the two, and they were nodding and asking, “Did you see it, too?” and an elderly man approached, stating in a loud, quavering voice, “I saw that, too, that guy went right out through the wall, I saw it, I saw it.”
Guffawing, my brain said, “Happy New Year,” as the walls began melting and screams rose. 2024 was going to be interesting, if I survive. Either that or this coffee was something really special.
Mood: coffeefied
It’s a showery and sunny blue and white marble sky day on December 30, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the coffee houses are busy and the offerings are above average. 46 F now, we’re edging toward a 54 F high on this early winter day. Many of us have mild colds with hay fever overtones. Most wonder if it’s something worse as COVID reports are up in town.
I read much news each day. I think one of the wildest and saddest stories read this morning was of a Texas teen who shot two other teenagers in his home. Shooting them in the head after showing them a revolver, one was killed and the other was severely injured. A third teen, safe in the bathroom, called the police, reporting he’d heard two gunshots.
Most traumatic to me was that first, the seventeen-year-old stated he’d wanted to commit homicide for a long time, and had thought of shooting himself, and allegedly had cajoled his mother into buying him the weapon, although the family attorney denied the mother bought her son the gun. Let’s pause to think of what she’ll be going through now and for the rest of her life, regardless of her role.
Secondly, though, after he’d killed, he walked around the house crying, asking himself, “What have I done?” In some ways, he reminds of Kyle Rittenhouser, a killer who had little understanding of what killing another fully means. In that sense, I mean, do they understand that the other person will never get up again? Do they comprehend the legal and moral implications? Do they understand what they’ll do to their own psyche once they’ve killed? I think that a lot of this is lost in a culture where killing is often glamorized.
Today’s music was brought to my morning mental music stream (Trademark flushed) by Tucker. Tucker is my mixed long/short-haired black and white big foot feline. Wildly whiskered with a thick tail, he was constantly following me around yesterday and today. He frequently does this but it was a more intense session. I asked him the usual about his health, if he was hungry, and what he wanted and needed. And I petted, scratched, and brushed him, allowing him lap top while I was reading and net surfing, but nothing seemed to satisfy the boy. He’d eaten well and had his usual bowel movement (trust me on that), so those things didn’t seem issues. And he’d used his scratch pad quite vigorously, and then galloped around the house, so he had plenty o’ energy. After noting he was following me everywhere, The Neurons began “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac from 1987.
Stay positive, test negative, lean forward, and be strong. Now coffee up! It’s Saturday. Here’s the music. Cheers
I’m a retired military veteran and over sixty-five years old. That combo means my health insurance is through a hybrid product that requires me to sign up for Medicare A & B when I turned 65. Mediacare provides primary coverage to me and my wife; TriCare for Life (TFL, officially known on the web as TriCare4Life) gives us secondary coverage. It’s not a bad deal. It isn’t free; my wife and I both pay for Part B.
What made my coffee taste more bitter than usual was a bill from my provider received this month. They said I owed them over a hundred dollars for lab work and that TFL hadn’t paid anything. Egged on by my other, that sent me into a tizzy of indignation. A website I found said, yep, TFL doesn’t pay for preventive lab work. This made no friggin’ sense and only urged me to greater outrage.
I logged into the various systems this week to find answers. Not finding satisfaction there, I was forced to *gag* call them and speak to people. I have nothing against people or talking but I dislike phones and bureaucracies. Girding myself with a mug of stout dark goodness, I called T4L. After providing evidence of who I am and waiting a few minutes, I was connected to Derek.
I explained it all to him and proved who I am to him. Derek began ferreting through the systems for more about my grievance. I logged into my provider portal and dug out more details. Shame on me, but only then did I realize that this bill was for services from May of 2022. That just seemed wild that I’m dealing with that over eighteen months later.
Derek looked into it and discovered that T4L didn’t pay it because Asante, who did the work, didn’t send an EOB for the Medicare part that was paid. “Have more coffee and call the provider,” Derek advised.
Thanking him for his assistance and wishing him a good day and Merry New Year, I did so. After providing evidence about who I am and a short wait, Karen heard my tale. “Interesting,” she said. “We show that T4L denied the claim.”
What?
She went on to tell me it’d been rejected three times and that’s why they were now billing me. “Let me contact the insurance section and confirm they sent the needed EOB,” she went on. “I’m going to email them now.” She typed away while I listened to keyboard clickety-clack. “There,” she said. “Now we’ll see what happens. Your bill is due next week but ignore that. If you get another bill or notice asking for payment, give us a call to check on the status, okay?”
Sure. I thanked Karen, wished her good day and Happy New Year, hung up and wrote up my notes. Now I wait, but I feel optimistic about the outcome. The whole thing only took one hour.
I couldn’t have done it without coffee, though.
Mood: peckish
December 29, 2023. Today is Friday, and it’s a wet windy time in Ashlandia, where the New Year Eve celebration preparation is below average. 59 F degrees right now, 61 F has appeared on the offerings board as our high. It’s like winter has declared a moratorium on snow in our valley, and the mountains around us. While it’s nice for now, we need the snowbank to be replenished.
The cats are happy, though. I let them out and they settled on the covered porch, leisurely surveying their kingdom as the rain fell, yawning, washing, then drowsing. Tucker stayed out but Papi banged for re-entry to get some sugar from me and have a third breakfast.
No serious plans for NYE in our house. We looked for dancing and dining opportunities but nothing called the inner rocker. Seriously, the pickings were lean as a wheat crop in the Sahara. So, shrug, it’s a quiet evening planned for us. Neither of us seem overly upset over it.
The Neurons fed a Triumph song, “World of Fantasy” from 1983, into my morning mental music stream (Trademark fantasized). A convo with the significant O opened the portal for the song. We were talking politics and how some seem to live in such a fantasy world. I was later humming but didn’t quite recognize what it was. Later, in bed, the song came more deeply but I still couldn’t hook up with the title or band. Come morning, while downing coffee, The Neurons tipped that it was Triumph and “World of Fantasy”. As I remembered it, I thought how Triumph, a Canadian group, sometimes reminded me of Rush, another Canadadian group.
Stay positive, be strong, test negative, and lean forward a better future. Coffee has been sucked up and is yielding positive results. Here’s the music for you. Cheers
Mood: flexible
Thursday, December 28, 2023. Winter remains encamped outside our door, but it’s a skeleton force. Sunshine floods the valley’s narrow eastern edge. Clouds flattened out in thick swatches of blues, grays, and white. We mostly endure some low temperature nights, fog, and rain. Still no snow on the valley floor and little snow on our light brown mountains. The southern firs and pines are spring green. Right now, we’re cresting 49 F on our way to a 54 F high.
2023 is trickling to an end after a reign that’s lasted almost a year. Many are wondering, will 2023 allow a peaceful and traditional year-to-year transfer? Talking heads and keyboard scholars are all talking about what’ll happen if 2023 doesn’t let go of the reins and decides that it’ll remain 2023 and deny 2024 its place. Can there still be an election next year if it’s still 2023, for example? How will the economy be tracked and what will this do to historic records, awards shows, the NFL championship, and other important matters, including copyright dates?
Likewise, we — that’s me and the lint in my pocket — worry about the 2024 POTUS election. What if President Biden loses and decides not to relinquish the office? His decisions might be guided by what’s happening in the courts now with former POTUS Trump. If the judicial branch decides the former POTUS can’t be tried for offenses done while in office even if it has nothing to do with his duties, even if they are illegal, then a new precedent is born for Joe Biden to use to remain in office and contest the results. This will result in Republican claims contrary to their previous claims, because that’s business as usual: one set of standards for others, another for themselves.
Speaking of double standards, what’s going on with that Republican couple in Florida, Christian and Bridget Ziegler? You know them, pushers of moral values, all in for one man-one woman traditional marriages, solid proponents for banning books that contradict their sensibilities, and a strong set against lesbians and homosexuals, except for their own sex life when they enjoy a little female on female action, which they taped. But that’s private, right? Except he’s been accused of rape, and that’s criminal, right?
Since my mind is in Florida, did you see that their high school SAT scores fell again? They’re now ranked 46th in the nation. Sadly, ACT and SAT scores continue on a downward spiral across the nation. I wonder if that’s related to red state (and county) legislatures limiting what children can be taught and read? Just spitballing, ya know?
In the morning mental music stream (Trademark corny), The Neurons have the Indigo Girls singing “Galileo” from 1992. See, I was making the bed and thinking about getting things right, or somewhere in the area code of right. This wasn’t about the bed and was only obliquely about me. No, the mental catalyst was the ongoing relationship problems I watch playing out in a family. The daughters are my age and the matriarch I think is twenty to twenty-five years older. That’d put her in late 80s, early 90s. Yet, they’re experiencing the same relationship merry-go-round they were on twenty years ago. The natural question arrived on my brain’s doorstep, will they ever get it right? The connection to “Galileo” comes from the song’s line, “How long till my soul gets it right?”
Stay positive and be strong, test negative, but lean forward. Easy, right? Coffee helps lube the way for my attempts. Here we go with the video. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 