“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.
The standard coffee house greeting is, “Hi, what can I git ya?” It’s said so often but after a bit, it slides under the cover of other sounds as his mind fixates on his writing.
It’s a shiny new cold day in the thumb of Ashland, Oregon, where my house sits. 29 F with a high of 39 F projected. Sunshine slithered over the mountains and through the branches at 7:30-ish this morning, but its rays didn’t strike any of our windowpanes until over an hour later. That’s the nature of the angles and impediments to the sunshine at this period of year.
Today is Sunday, January 29, 2023. Just two shopping days left until February pounces on us. They told us we’d have rain yesterday; never saw or heard any. Then they mentioned snow. Should start at 10 PM. No, make that after midnight, Sunday morning, really. Saw none of that the few times I glanced out the window. I thought, maybe they got their Sundays confused. Easy to do almost any time of year, but especially winter, when little is growing. The days appear the same because markings aren’t there to mark any changes. We just keep warm and wait for the shift to begin at our house.
Reading books and news and pondering generalities, The Neurons decided to entertain me with “Lunatic Fringe” by Red Rider from 1981. It’s circulating around the morning mental music stream, bobbing in and out of conscious thought. The song is about the rise of antisemitism which the songwriter, Tom Cochrane, noticed in the late 1970s. Here we are, almost fifty years later, and we were are again, dealing with antisemitism on the rise. It’s a defiant song.
Lunatic fringe
In the twilight's last gleaming
But this is open season
But you won't get too far
'Cause you've got to blame someone
For your own confusion
We're on guard this time (on guard this time)
Against your final solution
The blessed smell entertaining my nose tells me my coffee is brewed. So off I go. Stay positive, as best as you can. We know it’s a sliding scale, spectrum of relativity. Here is the song. Enjoy.
Papi here. Michael is my can opener. I’m helping him out. He’s running late, partly because he slept in because I woke him up six times during the night to go out and come back in or garner his attention because I was bored and had nothing to do. He was cool about it other than daring to lecture me about interrupting his sleep. These humans have such nerve, lecturing a cat about sleep. Cats know how to sleep. Humans can learn from us.
It’s Wednesday, I heard him say. As if I care. I know humans’ days of the week. They are so funny about days and dates. Take it from me, it’s not what you call a day that makes it smell and feel different. I’ve told him so before, but humans are slow learners, almost as slow as fish.
The sun came up after my first breakfast. Weather outside was cold enough before the sun came that I fluffed up my fur to keep warm. No one was out at that hour, which is why I wanted back in. I tried opening the door myself, but they locked it, and they won’t let me have a key. I tried getting the other cat to unlock the door, but he’s as slow as a human. Fortunately, it became sunnier and warmer. I like the sun.
I understand that I’m required to select a song as today’s theme music. There are many wonderful songs which I know would be great for that. I learned “Moonlight Singing” and “Attack, Attack” when I was just a kitten, of course. Youthful favorites include “Knock It Off”, “Catch It, Kill It, Eat It”, and “Damn Red Dot”. Now that I’m older, I’m more drawn to purr music like, “Find Some Sunshine”, “Let’s Cuddle Together”, and “Don’t Touch Me, I’m Sleeping”. Of course, the Floofies had a big hit with “The Sound of Kibble”. I always like it. I can’t go wrong with Stray Floofs and their huge hit, “Hungry Again, Feed Me”, either. Oh, and “Meow Now” by Kittahn would be an excellent song for today.
The can opener is reading over my shoulder. He told me that since I’m typing for him, I need to have human music. Like that stuff they listen to is music. Dog songs sound better than that human crap.
He said that his neurons (whatever they are) suggested “Honky Cat” by Elton John, even though he’s done it before. He’s drinking that hot, smelly, black water that he likes to sip. I’ve smelled it and can tell you that it’s not worth it, but that’s me. He said that he used “Honky Cat” three years ago but that it would be okay. I don’t care. I’m ready for a nap.
Michael Seidel, writer 