Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Bountflooeous (floofinition) – Giving freely to animals or disposed to give to animals.
In Use: “Brenden established himself as a bountflooeous individual before he was five years old, feeding any dog, cat, squirrel, or bird who came along.”
In Use: “Martin was bountflooeous, driving around his town every day to provide food and water to stray cats and dogs, earning their trust, getting them medical help, and finding them homes. Locals nicknamed him The Animal Guy.”
Mood: weatherflective
It’s Monday, June 17, 2024. Ashlandia is drying out from yesterday’s late afternoon rain and more precipitation decorating the night. Branches are tangoing with the wind and a blue sky as dazzling as a diamond suggests, we have a nice day lined up for you, folks. It’s 50 degrees F out with humidity floating in the eighties and a chance for the thermometer to breach the upper sixties. Spring rules again, although all is fully bloomed, waiting for our entrance. I’m a little sneezy and itchy-eyed with allergies.
The neighborhood is so quiet, you can hear a cat meow. A flying crow chastises us as he beats wings to somewhere else. Cars roll up with stoic indifference, delivering a gentle rumble from engine and tires.
No updates on Dad. They were to call when opportunity for us to chat came. So, sigh, I wait.
Meanwhile, back in Pennsylvania, Mom is stirring up issues by claiming her beau made up an invitation that included Mom to go to a party with his family. She went to the party but did not enjoy herself because, she said, they were surprised to see her. She doesn’t think she was invited; my sister suggested, “Mom, you told them you weren’t coming. Of course they’re surprised when you showed up.”
But no, the invitation didn’t include her; it was manufactured. We don’t understand why he’d do that; discussing it logically with her is a task for someone with stronger shoulders. She doesn’t hear us, and doesn’t want to hear us. I remember taking conversations with her about this same matter fifteen years ago. It’s coloring our memories of her, making her bitter, angry, and hostile in our memories. That’s the problem with aging and living longer: we begin with a vision of who we want to be, and push efforts that way, and then our mind and body twist, erasing our vision.
Dinner with friends last night was entertaining. A jigsaw puzzle was begun. Featuring odd-shaped pieces, it’s not as fun as those with uniform shapes, even though it was an interesting scene from a museum with patrons.
This morning, we deliver for Food & Friends, and then I’m going to slip on my customary writing routine, and frequent the coffee shop. Ankle is wrapped. Swelling remains a matter to address but I don’t know how much is ankle injury and how much is my recurring edema. Ice, elevate, rest, but it’s tedious and mood-altering.
Songs came together today from thoughts of summer. Specifically, the heat wave riding others in the U.S. Out of that train, The Neurons pulled in “Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand” from 1996 by Primitive Radio Gods. Starting with that B.B. King sample, it plays and repeats in the morning mental music stream (Trademark chillin’). See, it has a line in there, “Does summer come for everyone?” I think the ground for this song and its lazy, reflective tone by a song on another blog the other day, “Tom’s Diner” by Suzanna Vega. They have similiar feels to me.
Coffee is making the trip between the lips. Be positive, stay strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Let’s go get ’em, tiger. Here’s the music. Cheers
June 16th, as Heather Cox Richardson reminds us, is the anniversary of the Watergate break-in of 1972. She provides a succinct recap of that time in history. President Nixon was eventually impeached for obstruction of justice, abuse of power, and contempt of Congress, and and then resigned before he could be tried, blaming the press on the way out. Then she brings it home to May 30, 2024, when Former President Donald Trump was found guilty on 34 criminal counts by a jury of his peers, confirming that no one is above the law.
Ms Richardson is a strong writer and that recap comes at a needed time. While the Supreme Court wrestles with the question of Presidential immunity and Trump’s supporters insist that his prosecution was politically motivated, this history lesson reminds us that we’ve wrestled this dragon before.
Narcofloofsey (floofinition) – Condition that is chararcterized by an urge to sleep or nap when in an animal’s presence, especially when they’re sleeping on a sofa, bed, or chair.
In Use: “Having a rough day, Gina saw her puppy asleep on the sofa. As she sat beside the dog, she felt narcofloofsey take her and curled up beside the furry floof for a nap.”
In Use: “Mark settled down on the sofa to read but his cats joined him and in an instant, narcofloofsey had won the moment, and all three were asleep.”
This was a dream where green dominated. I mean, it seemed like it was being viewed through night vision goggles and turning it all green.
So I was supposed to be taking some position of power. But on my way to accept it, I discovered a nefarious plot to replace me as soon as I accepted it. Following some dream plotting that I don’t understand, the position was vacant. I’d been selected to fill it. But once I filled it, I could be removed and another put into place. Apparently that involved a prophecy. I understood it all when I was in the dream but the plot evades me now that I’m awake.
Essentially, I discovered the plot early. What shocked me was that one of my sisters was involved in it. I vowed not to take the office because once I did and she removed me, she was installing a tyrant. That, I felt, wouldn’t be good for the world. So, added by others, I set off on a series of escape and evasion adventures. Many times, sis’s forces would have me partially surrounded. I’d feigned going in one direction and gallop in another, or I’d dress someone to look like me and then sneak out while the decoy distracted sis’s forces. This happened about a dozen times with variations in location and settings.
During this, sis would often be in a heavy fur coat, sometimes white but it would be black once in a while. She was being driven around in an old black Rolls Royce.
Meanwhile, I was mostly on foot. The settings were usually woods or fields with fences, and felt like a maze, but I discovered or created shortcuts, sometimes tunneling, and sometimes scaling walls to escape. People, mostly strangers, were usually helping me.
Besides all of that, my sister would sometimes call out to me to surrender. She would insist that I was misunderstanding. I’d shout back to her about how disappointed I was by what she was doing, and frequently mocked her inability to capture me. I also pointed out that even if she captured me, I would never accept the office, so she may as well give up.
In the end, I found myself on the crest of a green ridge, part of a mountain range, standing, looking down and back. Below was my sister’s Rolls and her forces, looking lost about where I was.
Mood: Springtied
Spring has hardened its grip on its final days in Ashlandia, pulling us back out of sprummer. Cloudy, chilly, blustery, partly sunny, it’s a ‘y’ day. Temperature is hanging onto 60 F now, up from the low in the 40s. In fact, the heat came on this morning because the house’s inside temperature dropped to around 66. The horror of it all. Today’s high is expected to squeeze close to 67 F.
No matter, the cats have found outside places to chill. Tucker is under the bush off the patio right beside the front door. Papi is on the other side of the yard, under the bushes by the wooden fence. With these positions, they have the entire yard covered. These two positions have been coveted and held by cats since we first moved here in 2006.
Our Father’s Day plans don’t include fathers. I’m still waiting for an update on Dad. I spoke to his wife yesterday. He was in good spirits in the hospital and the fluid around his heart was being removed. She said she’d have him call me when the chance came. My wife’s father passed away back in 1991, just after he retired, right after he turned 65.
But we have this monthly thing with friends. Social people, about my parents’ ages, they’ve become housebound with health issues so once a month, we go to dinner at their house. Food is provided by a local restaurant. We take turns paying. Sometimes we watch sumpthin’ on TV; once in a while we work on a jigsaw puzzle. More often, we just chat and visit. We missed the engagement in May as I was in Pittsburgh (well, Penn Hills) visiting Mom and family.
I have the Rolling Stones singing “The Last Time” from 1965 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark fused). The Neurons didn’t reveal a reason for the song but I’d guess it has something to do with Dad being in the hospital.
Be strong, stay positive, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is making its way through my system, and here is the music video. Cheers
Overheard from a woman surfing a laptop: “I’m not going to read about your problems until you can write a coherent paragraph.”
Winmace (floofinition) – Expression of distaste or disgust displayed by animals when encountering wind.
In Use: “Dodger was never a wind fan, and the big lab would always winmace and bound back into the house whenever breezes began shaking the tree branches.”
In Use: “Winmacing, little Mae moved backward into the house when the wind hit her face.”
*Began publishing this as Sunday’s theme music. Because I thought it was Sunday. My internal calendar is untethered with my routines disrupted. My apologies.
Mood: Springflective
Spring has taken over Ashlandia on this day in June’s middle. A flotilla of menacing clouds have surmounted the mountains surrounding the valley, blocking the sun’s effects, and holding our temperature hostage in the low fifties. Saturday, June 15, 2024, will likely only face high temperatures in the upper sixties today, ending our unusually warm streak — for this time of year, of course.
Fire season has begun and there are already several on the maps to be watched to see how they grow, what direction they take, how long until they’re under control, and what happens with the smoke.
Dad went into the hospital yesterday. He’s in his early nineties so a visit there once in a while isn’t a great surprise. I mean, he grew up during the cigarette’s heyday and was a smoker, first of Lucky Strikes, and then shifting to pipes and cigars. He quit smoking thirty to forty years ago but the damage was done. He also spent 20 years in the military and was exposed to carcinogenic stuff during his tours, and survived a tour of Vietnam, too.
His current issues began with an enlarged prostrate which blocked his bladder. One kidney has apparently failed, quite some time ago, according to his wife, though Dad never mentioned this. Nor has he ever mentioned that they wanted to start him on dialysis. But the issue du jour is fluid around his heart. He’s been stented before and has had edema issues but this is a new one. So they’re going to drain away that fluid. The stay is basically observation, they said *cough cough*.
Dad, though, was recalcitrant to go into the hospital. His wife said that after the doctor saw Dad’s test results, Doc called Dad and asked him to go to ER, which Dad did. But when they wanted to admit him for obs, he refused to give his permission. Went on for hours. Dad demanded a second opinion. So a second team came in and evaluated him, and agreed, he should be admitted to the hospital. Dad finally gave his permission at 12:30 AM Friday morning after arriving Thursday afternoon. His wife said she left the hospital bone tired but encountered a huge thunderstorm. Not wanting to drive the highways and Interstates of San Antonio, Texas, in the rain, she found a chair and spent the night sleeping in it.
Gotta call them to get the lowdown on here and now.
If you ever read my blog, you can imagine how The Neurons reacted to news about Dad and his health. All manner of songs, poetry, and essays skated through the mental scene while I reflected about who I think Dad is and how he influenced me. As I’m still trying to figure him at with me at 68 years old, I ended up with “Alive” by Pearl Jam from 1991 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark grandfathered). Of course, figuring out Dad is a moving target. I’m changing in slow ways most days, and so is he. We don’t see one another often — he lives in Texas and I live in Oregon — and we don’t talk often. We try, and we mean to, but we’re the same in that way, sort of strange loners who socialize well but aren’t terribly sentimental. We can hazard the company of others but we’re very satisfied being on our own.
Stay strong, be well, keep positive. Endure, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Got my coffee so we can rock on. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 