- On some days, I want to get away by myself to scream at the world. Yesterday was such a day. Stepped into the shower and screamed in silence. Was somewhat cathartic.
- I was driving along unlined streets in a residential neighborhood yesterday. Cars were parked along the side but there’s more than enough room for two cars to pass. Yet, so many drivers could not manage that. Driver age, sex, vehicle size…none of it seemed to explain it. People just couldn’t manage it. I thought it was because of the lack of lines. What tended to happen was that folks in one direction would stop so that folks proceeding in the other direction could drive straight down the middle. Young, old, male, female, all exhibited problems with it. “Just move over,” I’d tell them through the windshield. “Just use your side of the street. Honestly, it’s not that hard.” I should be more considerate of others but…on some days…it’s harder.
- Contemplating a favorite shirt’s fate. Like everything else, there is a season, turn, turn, etc. Bought this shirt back in 1999. Have photographic evidence of that, for there I am, wearing it in a dated photo. Nothing special, button down collar, long-sleeved, cotton, faded blue stripes on egg shell white. It’s been with me in two states, four houses, five companies, and ten cats (sigh.) (The cats were three to five at a time…) Probably paid about twenty-five dollars for the shirt. Can’t recall that, although I do recall that I bought it on sale at Macy’s. Good jeans shirt. Have gotten some compliments while wearing it, but mostly I like its style and comfort. It’s been gently descending the hill for years, evidenced mostly through armpit stains. I’ve washed those out with a lemon juice and baking soda process a couple times. Now, though…the collar is frayed. It looks like it’s time for the shirt to finally move on. I guess, properly, I’m moving on from the shirt.
- I feel like a prisoner sometimes. (Such an exaggeration, right?) I hate throwing things away, but it’s inculcated into my nature and our society. Besides the shirt, there’s now an electric kettle. Probably purchased ten years ago, the spring which helps the lid release and open no longer functions. Can it be fixed? Maybe…if I can find the right spring.
- I contemplate the conundrum. Savings are acquired by mass production. Costs are kept down by underpaying people and going to the margin on design and materials. Paying more can gain you more…maybe. You really can’t be sure. But after a few years, when the device or clothing fails, what do you do with it? Where does it goes? The recycling gig seems to be filling up and failing. That’s always been the fallback: recycle or repurpose. I have containers full of used shirts now relegated to being rags out in the garage.
- Dad was going to get a new stent this past week. His wife called. He’s eighty-eight. A COPD sufferer, he’d gone into the hospital on Monday to have his meds adjusted for his COPD. Suffering from edema resulting in a swollen left leg and foot, he was kept for observations and a stress test, and given diuretics. The stress test never happened; he was wheezing too much on that day, Wed. He was released on Thursday with plans to have the stress test done in the future. Meanwhile, he and his wife got the COVID-19 vaccination on Friday, which was paramount for them.
- I spent an hour on the phone chatting with Dad. He was in a talkative mood and opened up about his youth, something unusual for him. Mom and Dad divorced when I was about ten. He was in the military and oft stationed overseas, so I lived with him for about seven years total, including my final three years of high school. It was just him and me for two of those years. He worked, and I went to school, cleaned, and cooked. We didn’t see much of one another.
- Dad revealed that he met Mom in Sioux City, Iowa, when he was stationed there. (She’s from Turin, Iowa, and he’s from Pittsburgh, PA.) This was back in 1952. He was a radioman and she was a seventeen-year-old telephone switchboard operator. Too young to for her to marry in Iowa, they went to Luverne, Minnesota. There he discovered that while she was older enough (fifteen was the age for females there), he wasn’t old enough at twenty; he had to be twenty-one. Naturally, Dad managed to procure a letter with his father’s signature verifying that he was twenty-one. But no, wait. They told him that he had to have his mother’s signature. “Well, Mom is dead,” Dad replied. Then he called his father and said, “Can you tell these people that Mom passed?” That was done but he got grief for it from his parents for years.
- Joe Biden has been POTUS for a month and has yet to go golfing. By this point in his term, one month, Con Don had golfed six times. Donald Trump’s aides don’t want to admit the President is golfing – CNN Politics
- Enough whining and complaining for now. Got my coffee. Caspa, Uno Dos, and Billy await. They’re just meeting Spag and the recos for the first time. Time to go write like crazy, at least one more time.
Friday’s Theme Music
Today is Friday. It’s freezing (29 degrees F) and foggy (well, a little) but not frosty. So another 3-F day, utilizing different Fs.
Sunrise was at 7:20 AM while sunset is expected at 5:31 PM. Per annual worry, we’re monitoring the snowpack. Our snow pack provides us water throughout the year. As he snowpack melts, the runoff refills our reservoirs and cisterns. As in other recent years, we’re falling short again. Right now we’re peering into the future of another dry summer, re-kindling concerns about wildfires. Fingers crossed that it doesn’t happen.
Went through a lengthy song list this morning. Seeing that fog and cloud cover, I streamed “Let the Sunshine” and “Sunshine of Your Love”, “Daytripper” (because I was thinking of daylight) and “Walking On Sunshine”; “Friday’s Child” (the Wendy Matthews song — too mellow) and “Black Friday”; and “Friday” by Phish (oh, that’s too depressing).
As none of that brought me joy, I shifted directions and recalled yesterday’s walk. Up there in the hills, I could see for miles, which brought home the 1967 song by The Who, “I Can See for Miles”. Its energy was more satisfying for the moment. Plus the fog was lifting and thinning, giving me hope for a sunnier day. It’s possible; yesterday began as a much foggier day and ended up clear and sunny. It was that deceptive cold, the kind where you look through the house glass protection out at the world and think, “It looks like a pretty nice day out there.” Then you get out there and body parts began abandoning you, running back to get into the house’s warmth.
Watching this video of “I Can See for Miles”, I was struck by my cousin’s sliding resemblance to Pete Townsend. Never noticed it before. Cousin is in hospice, thrust in there by cancer. He’s fought it for several years, but it looks like cancer is taking him, just as it took his mother a decade ago and his sister last year. Cancer is a cold asshole.
Well, stay positive, right? Sure. Test negative, wear a mask, and get the vaccine. Here’s the music. Enjoy.
Saturday’s Theme Music
An old song is stuck in my head this Saturday morning, the last Saturday in January, 2021. In other news, the sun rose at 7:26 AM and will set at 5:23 PM here in Ashland. All those things happen every day, but at different times.
They call songs stuck in your head ear worms. I call them a diversion. I typically get trapped in one specific section. I call it a groove loop, a reference back to the time when we listened to records on vinyl, which had grooves.
The stuck song is “Spanish Harlem”. The stuck version is by Aretha Franklin and came out in 1971. I was about fifteen. The eternal question of why this song is stuck in my head can’t be answered today. It arrived as I decided to eat a banana as my breakfast’s second course. First course was oatmeal with cranberries and peanut butter, sprinkled with gluten-free maple granola.
The COVID-19 situation continues to alarm many, including me. We experienced a solid week of double-digit new cases, and the rolling three day average was dropping. Across the country, cases were dropping. Only two states were reporting increases on Thursday. Yet, dire warnings about the variations were increasing. Recommendations to wear two masks, or wear only N95 masks were issued. Then, last night, boom, our county reported triple digits again. It’s wave after wave. Like the ocean, some waves are larger than others, and you need to be mindful of sneaker waves.
Time for coffee. Stay positive, test negative, WAM (wear a mask), and get vaccinated, when it comes your way. Here’s the music.
Friday Laments
More first world blues…I’m just cryin’ in my coffee.
- One problem with the local C-19 vaccination plan: teachers are a high priority. Great! Many agree with this. But, boo, the shots are being administered during school hours. It’s not a dash and do, either.
- Our biggest issue in Oregon is as it is elsewhere, just not enough C-19 vaccine to do the job. People are generally accepting and patient, because that’s how it goes for now.
- I went for years without a doctor. Then I had trouble in Peckerville and ended up with a urologist. The trials exposed my hypertension, so I ended up with a GP. Each prescribed medications for conditions – BHP and BP – that I’ll probably take for the rest of my life. Less than three years later, both of these medical professionals are gone. They’d moved into the area, it didn’t work out, and they moved away. I liked both and they did a good job, but I’ll need to find someone new when my prescriptions expire this year.
- The healthcare insurance front grows more expensive for me. As a veteran and military retiree after twenty years, I had good healthcare insurance via Tri-Care. There were no premiums. That went on for years. Now, starting this year, I must pay $25 per month premiums. Not bad. But, since I’m turning 65, I’m required to get Medicare Parts A and B in order to keep my Tri-Care. A is free; B is about $150 per month. Guess this is all due to that wonderful ‘support the troops’ rhetoric that I often hear. As it so often happened, big promises were made with great patriotic fanfare and furor. Then, when the bill came, everything changed.
- I’ve ordered meals online from restaurants three times in the last three months. Each was to give us breaks from what’s in our larder and breaks from cooking. It’s a treat. But each time, they’ve offered a coupon, and then, each time, there’s no place to enter the coupon code when the order is processed. Small matter, but irritating: like a lot of modern life, it seems like a false promise.
- What I’m watching: “Baptiste” on PBS via Prime — terrific series; “His Dark Materials” on HBOMax, very strong, good production values and acting, faithful to the trilogy; “Doom Patrol” on HBOMax but it’s falling in our appreciation as the characters become sillier and seem to take forever to come to grip with matters; “All Creatures Great and Small”, a remake of the first series of that name, based on the books, and it’s almost as entertaining and charming as the first go-around. We’re not watching “The Undoing” which just seemed too insipid in too many ways after three episodes; we prefer more dynamic and intelligent characters. Just recommended to us is Portait of A Lady on Fire and Mary Shelley, so they’ve been added to the list. Still working through the last of “Vera” and “The Wire” during late night down time.
- Hulu manages to continue to irk me. Their system often seems to think we’ve watched an episode that we haven’t and wants to jump us ahead. It’s happened enough times that I don’t just click and go, but make mental notes: what’s the season, episode number, and title that I’m watching now? What was the last one watched? What’s the summary? Did we see this? No. I saw others experienced this. The fix is the digital equivalent of a hard reboot or a hammer to an appliance: sign out and sign back in. That works most of the time, it’s claimed. Guess I’ll try it. Haven’t done so yet because logging in with a remote is a pain, you know? I’m such a whiner.
- Meanwhile, Prime Video, the service previously known as Amazon Prime Video, has the opposite issue, insisting that I haven’t watched an episode when I’ve already watched it.
- Got my coffee. Time once again to write like crazy. Meeting Text for the first time today. She’s the late Zipper’s daughter. Looking forward to what she has to say.
Sunday’s Theme Music
7:31 AM and 5:15 PM mark the times the sun rises and sets in Ashland, Oregon, today, Sunday, January 22nd. It’s 30 degrees F out, and feels like it. There are some days when the temperature doesn’t feel as cold (or as warm) as it’s supposed to be. That whole index and wind chill thing, I suppose. Today, though, felt 30 when we were out.
Yes, we were ninja shopping again, hunting fresh produce for soups, smoothies, and salads. My wife always times these things because experts say we should be in and out at the speed of sound because that confuses COVID-19. When people zoom by, COVID-19 reacts, “What was that? Someone there? Hello?” Then it forgets what it was doing and walks off muttering to itself, “I know I heard something. I know something was there.” Yes, COVID-19 is becoming old news.
I found myself humming “Days Like This” by Van Morrison. The song came out in 1995 but sounds like it’s from the 1960s. That makes sense because Van based it on the 1961 song, “Mama Said”, which was a hit for the Shirelles. I don’t know if I knew that before and had forgotten but Wikipedia claims it’s the truth, so it must be.
It was a day like this. My wife likes to be at the store at the beginning of time or the vulnerable hours, whichever comes first. I dislike shopping at the vulnerable hours, objecting to that expression, which is shorthand for “hour set aside for vulnerable and elderly people to go shopping”. To avoid the term, I tell myself we’re going at victory hour — you know, vee for vulnerable, vee for victory. I don’t want to call it the vee hours because there was a television show (and maybe a movie) called “Vee” about alien visitors. I don’t want to think of myself as a vee, in case I turn out to be a visiting alien the next time that I see a doctor. (Doctor: “It appears that you’re an alien.” Me, looking around, “Whooo, meee?”) Don’t mock me; my body is constantly revealing new information. Like, as my hair has thinned, I’ve noticed what appears to be a treasure map on my scalp. It could also be where a dead body is buried, so I’m not going to check it out, just to be safe.
On a side note, I had a special moment today. I went into the bathroom to do some business and not one of my three cats showed up to supervise, even though they’re all in the house and awake (because I saw them watching me on the way to the bathroom). Although I was first surprised, then hurt (“Don’t they care any more?”), I was then delighted to be in on the can alone. I so enjoyed it, I lost track of what I was doing and ended up wondering if I should paint the baseboards, of it they’ll just come clean with Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. Upon exited the restroom, I discovered one of my cats waiting for me. Looking at me, he said, “I would have come in, but it stinks in there.” He wasn’t smiling. (He sort of looked like Abe Vigoda as Fish on “Barney Miller”.) Then I encountered the other two cats waiting in the hall. They said, “He’s right, it stinks in there. You should have that checked out.” Like they know what they’re talking about. They’re cats. They can’t even open a can or use a spoon.
For the record, we were in the store for nineteen minutes and spent $115.10. That works out to $6.06 a minute. 2021 is gonna be an expensive year. I’m glad that we weren’t in there an hour.
Is there a song called, “Years Like This?”
Be positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. Here’s the music. Listen to it while I go get some coffee. I need it.
Commercial Break
My wife informed me she’s ordered snail mucus.
The snail mucus is good for her skin. It comes from South Korea (aka, the Republic of Korea). The procurers assure us the snails are not harmed when the mucus is milked.
We’re talking about opening a snail farm in southern Oregon. Gotta figure out how to milk those snails. Don’t think our fingers are small enough. Must be really tiny fingers to milk those snails. Maybe it’s done by a machine. Hope they’re not using children. They have tiny fingers. Just sayin’.
I gather that South Korea is on a roll with skin and hair products.
Meanwhile a relative sent us CBD TheraReleaf lotions and creams in the mail. They’re extra-strength, of the Arnica+ variety. I applied some lotion to my sore left hand last night. That was the one I broke. Still swells and stiffens after strenuous flexing and exercise. The arm, hand, and wrist all felt mighty improved after the lotion was applied. That could be my mind thinking it should be better, right? Yes, but I think it’s the lotion. I’m going to keep using it.
I like its smell. It reminds me of licorice.
I’d like some licorice. It’s been months since I’ve had any. Why don’t we keep licorice on hand? Answer: because I gobble it up like a cat hoovering in catnip.
My wife mentioned ordering Kitty Chups for our felines. I searched online for more information. The first result was from Amazon, and was for women’s apparel. Whaaat? I clicked on it to see what came up. Cups came up. Cups, not Chups. Kitties were featured on the cups. No women’s apparel was on the page. No wonder half the world seems confused about what’s going on.
Amazon said, “You can search instead for kitty chups.” I clicked on that. Products similar to the Chups came up but the page asked, “Did you mean kitty cups?”
Oh, my, just watched a trailer for a new show, then the first seven minutes of the first episode. That would be Resident Alien on SyFy starring Alan Tudyk. Looks promising. Hope some streaming service picks it up fast. You listening, Netflix?
Bet Amazon gets it.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Today’s choice is a 1969 love song by The Beatles. “Don’t Let Me Down” was written by John Lennon for Yoko Ono. It wasn’t a great hit for them on its release but has since acquired greater admiration and respect. It came to mind last night as the last song played on a documentary watched on Hulu, The Beatles: Eight Days a Week – The Touring Years.
The song’s refrain fits these times. “Don’t let me down,” is sung as a strident request throughout the song. Seems right for now, as we depend upon one another to survive a pandemic. Do the right thing; don’t let me down. Likewise, here in the U.S., as elected Federal officials meet to confirm the 2020 presidential election results, we ask them to do the right thing. Abiede by the Constitution; don’t let me down.
Last, it’s a request to the new year, 2021. Hey, we’ve been through a lot in 2020. Rough year, you know? We’d like something more positive, please. Don’t let me down.
Stay positive, test negative. Wear a mask and get vaccinated. Don’t let us down.
A Healing Dream
It was another busy dream night for me. Of all that I remember (or think that I do — who knows?), this one was the most intriguing.
I had an elderly cat. Tired, I could see that he was hurt, aching, and in pain. Thinking that I had to do something, or wanted to something but had no other recourse, I put him on my lap, talking to him, petting him, and willing healing energy into him. Someone witnessing it laughed and mocked me. I shrugged that off, thinking the contact made the cat feel better and cost me nothing.
When the cat left my lap, it seemed like he moved more easily, like his pain was gone. That delighted me. When I stood, I discovered pain that I had was also gone, surprising me. Noticing I stood had some pain/discomfort, I decided to do another test. I took the cat onto my lap and held him longer, stroking him, and willing him to feel better and be better. As I did, I was certain I was feeling better.
I awoke feeling enormously refreshed today, feel of hope and energy. I hope others can enjoy these sort of dreams, but they always cause me wonder about the nature of dreams and existence.
Monday’s Theme Music
I was out helping my wife with the Food and Friends Project. She’s the official volunteer. Once a week, the takes her place in the rotation to deliver meals to shut-in seniors. The list has become reduced to one page, just eight clients for her route, since the pandemic has set in. We know a few passed away to non-COVID-19-related issues. We wonder about the rest. I’m just the driver, helping her so it goes quicker for her, and it gets me out of the house, doing something else.
While out, I saw so many people walking alone. Of course, I generally walk alone; I plan to walk today. It’s sunny, temperatures in the high thirties, but dry (and that damn wind has stopped for a day). Perfect to do two to three miles of hills.
Among those walking alone were people who seemed like me. Out on errands or walking for the satisfaction of it. Some, though, you question their circumstances. Anyway, it prompted me to begin thinking about all of that, about who we are, who (and what) we were, and who/what we become. So much is beyond our control as circumstances and/or tragedy strikes and/or our bodies and minds betray us. Who we become often becomes dependent on who we have around us.
All these thoughts snaked around to a 2005 Audioslave song, “Be Yourself”. The song is about trying to find salvation (is it inside you or elsewhere) and also what you hide and what you reveal, and what you are inside.
Someone tries to hide himself, down inside himself he prays
Someone swears his true love until the end of time, another runs away
Separate or united, healthy or insane
h/t to Genius.com
2020 is closing up shop. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. 2021 is about to begin. Bring it on.
Michael Seidel, writer 