It’s a little before 8 AM. It was already light as a cloudy day by 5 AM as the sunrise cruises closer to 5:30 AM. Floofs are fed Breakfast is et. 68 F outside, sunny, humidity of 54%, light breeze, warm but cool. Today’s high will be 83F. We did reach 93 in moi’s yard yesterday. It’s May 15, 2023. Under pretense of reminding me, my wife reminds herself, the guest room window will be replaced tomorrow, 3 PM. The guy, Chris, came 30 minutes early last time, so be ready 30 minutes early. Right, got it, I answer, once, twice, thrice, half-listening as I read.
The coffee has been poured. French roast. Smells woody, earthy, wonderful. Went onto the sun soaked back patio and sniffed it a bit as the breeze played and the cats washed.
I took a magnesium citrate this morning. Calf cramps, you know, walking, exercising, yard work, sweating. The Neurons immediately began playing “White Rabbit” by a group called Jefferson Airplane. Coming out in 1967, this psychedelic song worried Mom about what her eleven-year-old son was hearing.
The first sip of coffee has been sampled. As good as expected. Ready for more.
Stay pos. Carpe Monday. Time to imbibe more coffee. Maybe do the Wordle. Or shower and clean up. Or read? No, wait, today is food and friends deliveries.
My wife exercises three mornings a week. Been doing this since we moved to Ashlandia in 2005. Friendships have developed through the years. A coffee clatch after class — which I call the zoo — was added a decade ago.
Today, she came in and handed me half a package of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate espresso beans.
“Where’d you get these?” I asked.
“Deborah. She said she can’t stop eating them so she’s giving them away. Everyone took what they wanted and told me to take those home to you.”
“That’s kind of her.” I sampled three.
OMG good. I understand Deborah’s decision. The damn things are addictive.
We’re such individuals. Not just from one another but from what we were when we were younger.
I used to be aghast that someone didn’t like chocolate. Or ‘don’t care for sweets’. Dad is one of those.
I could understand why people didn’t like coffee, beer, or alcohol generally, between flavors and effects. Now I see, as I age, how my taste buds and preferences have morphed through my decades. I still enjoy chocolate, beer, coffee, etc., but things taste sweeter or saltier to me.
Life. Takes so long to learn and understand, and then things change.
“I love the smell of snow in the spring. It reminds me of winter.”
Yes, snow continues in Ashlandia’s April on Wednesday, Apil 19, 2023. Just another inch. Sort of fun, interesting, and unsettling for the cats, who firmly believe winter was supposedly over and sunshine was expected to be ruling. They go and seek it each day in their own way. Papi the young ginger fellow dashes out, finds the sun disappointing and dashes back in. Not trusting just one result, he duplicates his efforts at least three or four times to validate his findings.
Tucker, the black and white low-haired dude with the thick layers and big paws, strolls out, takes the sun he finds, tests the air with his nose and then grooms in the sun until a nap takes over.
Here in Ashlandia, where the coffee is made of ground roasted beans and boiling water, sunshine arrived without an entourage at 6:23 AM and will abandon our valley before eight PM strikes. If it doesn’t get out in time, the sun turns into a car shaped like a pumpkin and stays in Ashlandia giving floof rides. Weather scribes tell us — drum roll — it’s 30 F now, will reach about 50 F, and we can expect rain. Not much change from the last few days.
Today’s theme music is by Bob Marley and comes via The Neurons to the morning mental music stream from a streaming TV experience called Ted Lasso. “Three Little Birds” was released in 1980. I felt like a relaxing and hopeful song was essential for what could be a hump day for so many people.
Stay pos. Take a coffee break now and then. Think I’ll take one now. Here’s the music. Cheers
Hearing the pursuit, we ran hard. “In here,” Pretzel shouted on my left. I twisted, planted my foot and made the cut, following him into a small path.
We crowded in panting like the sprinters we’d been. “What is this?” Maylie asked.
“I think it’s a time machine,” C-Jean said.
Don’t know about the rest but I did a mental, oh shit. “Don’t touch anything. We got to get out of here.”
“Oops,” Pharslei said.
The machine vibrated for two seconds. Ping, it said, like we were a done nuked meal.
“Where are we?” Maylie asked.
“Not where,” Pretzel said. “When. Time machine, itz. When are we?”
Sunday, April 23, 2016, it said. “Shit,” someone said.
The numbers blinked. April 20, 1623. Still Sunday. “I’m going to go see,” Pretzel announced.
“No,” I said, “Hold up.” That was the last I saw of him, though, going out that door.
Last I saw of any of them. Machine now said, April 16, 2023.
I left the booth. It vanished behind me. Tepid sunshine washed my face. Mostly I saw cloud layering like stacked grays. Still seemed like Ashlandia’s green deep valley, at least.
The Neurons have filled the morning mental music stream with “Where Have All the Good Times Gone”. Went with the Kinks’ original song from ’65. Fit with my state of mind. Shopping this morning, it seemed like such a dirge. Everyone shopper I eyed semed to be thinking, “I wish I was anywhere else.” Shopping has never been a leisure pursuit for me but it kicked my thinking down a memory path which lodged up against the question, where have all the good times gone? Follow up was, what constituted a good time?
Stay pos. I know, sometimes it’s touch. Feels like the world is on your shoulders, and it’s putting on more weight every second. Coffee helps me. Coffee; it’s what’s for breakfast.
The ceiling fans are still. Baristas behind the counter are quiet. Low-key. Not like them.
The coffee house is a third full. Music plays. People chat and work phones and laptops, sipping beverages, nibbling treats. But a feeling rolls through. Something is off. Different. Like the building is waiting to inhale.
Maybe it’s not them or the building. Perhaps it’s only him.
He did the coffee shop bathroom combo, pushing the buttons in with his index finger. Each number blinked red. He finished with the pound sign. The door lock flashed green. He pushed the door open.
He always moved cautiously going into the restroom. People forget to look the door. Or pressed the lock button twice, unwittingly unlocking it. He didn’t want to move in on people. No need for a naked sight today. God knows not many pretty people were at the coffee shop today. He chortled. Including him, if he was honest.
He stopped, holding the door open.
Two people were inside.
On the floor.
Young. Boy and girl.
Blood pooled around them.
His mind recorded it, loading memory.
He closed the door and rushed to the counter, cutting to the line’s front, saw the manager and shouted her name.
Bonnie turned. He jerked his head and waved once. Come on. Shifted toward the bathroom hall.
She looked puzzled but began to follow.
“Bring your phone,” he said.
Then thought. Two bodies. An unlocked door.
He didn’t remember seeing a weapon.
There had probably been a murderer in the coffee house.
“I love the way the Earth turns. It makes my day.” Read on Facebook. Should be a bumper sticker.
Makes my night, too. I awoke at six, before dawn. Looking out the window found a gray day staring back. Oh, no, says I after releasing a cat to the outside for recon, and tossed myself back under the bed covers with the other cat, who was quite happy with this change of plans. An hour and half later, after sunrise at 7:13, I returned from sleep to find a buttery sunshine spread across the room. Cool beans.
It’s Tuesday, March 21, 2023. Sunset will be at 7:24 PM. While it was 30 when I got up at six, it’s now 42 F, and the weather oracles say it’ll be 59 F before the day’s end. Some light gray powders the blue sky, not yet substantial enough to be dubbed clouds, but we’ll see what develops.
I decided to make my coffee and breakfast at the same time. Coffee came first, as I was having oatmeal and following the alphabet — c before o except in ocean. I almost put my oats into my hot coffee. Wouldn’t’ve been bad. I’ve done that while in the military, appalling many others. They accused me of being weird, but none of them ever tried oatmeal made with coffee, so I chastened them as closed-minded. Didn’t want it today, however, because I planned for coffee-sipping while cruising the net.
Today’s music is a punk favorite by the Ramones, “Blitzkrieg Bop” from 1976. Rousing and enthusiastic, it’s great for when you’ve already had some coffee and are ready to get on with things. It just happens, that describes me this morning.
Coffee drunk. Stay pos, and seize Tuesday as your own. Hope I don’t inspire any maniacal behavior with that. I worry about some nut plotting to off another reading my encouragement to do something and nodding to herself and saying, “Okay, let me go kill that bitch, Mary, and put that hair of hers out of misery.” Doesn’t someone have a high opinion of themself?” Yeah, that would be me.
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.
Two dark pieces nestle on it. I stare at them, then shift the stare to her.
I had been smelling them since I came into the house after my coffee house writing session. Chocolate.
K is on a diet. Today is day 30. She is allowed to add one thing today. She added vegan honey to her breakfast amaranth. Now she waits three days to see if there’s a reaction. If a reaction — pain, a flare, stiffness — is experienced, that item is banned from her diet. Forever. Then she resets for a few days and adds another item. If no reaction is felt, she adds another item and waits three days. So it goes.
This means that she can’t eat what’s on the plate.
She’s hosting book club next month. The moderator opted for something lighter for March. Lessons in Chemistry. Bonnie Garmus. Kay is making vegan brownies studded with chocolate chips. These are vegan chips from Trader Joe’s. Vegan butter was used. This is a test batch. A Ghirardelli mix was used.
“Taste these,” she tells me. “Tell me what you think.”
She can’t have them. Diet. Two of the Ashlandians in the book club are vegan.
I force myself to eat a chewy, gooey vegan brownie.
“Wonderful chocolate taste. Not too sweet. Greasy,” I announce. That makes sense to her. There was something about the vegan butter melting and then measuring it again. She didn’t do that. “And they’re not done enough.”
“Five more minutes?”
“Maybe just three.”
She nods. She’ll make another test batch this week.
They go great with black coffee on a winting Ashlandia afternoon. An entire tray waits for me in the kitchen.
I’ll need to pace myself or it might be death by chocolate.
Michael Seidel, writer 