Floofrade(floofinition) – An animal who is a close associate, confidante, or companion.
In Use: “Many people shut in with illness or social isolation often bond with an animal who becomes their floofrade, alleviation their loneliness and buoying their spirits.”
In Use: “People rage about which make better floofrades, cats or dogs, a silly argument, as many people — and animals — easily have both canine and feline floofrades, along with birds, hamsters, turtles, and wildlife like squirrels, crows, deer, and chipmunks.”
Recent Use: “Social media is heavy with stories about how a found floof becomes someone’s floofrade and saves them.”
Good morning to all you fellow solsters, riding Earth as we race around the sun. It’s a fine and blustery sprinter day in Ashlandia, where coffee shops and bookstores are above average. Sunshine is bursting at the seams today, Saturday, February 2, 2024, although I don’t know what seams. Just an expression I picked up from Mom eons ago. I challenged her, what seams, when she used the expression on something without seams. “It’s just an expression for something really big,” she replied. “Use your imagination.”
The cats love the sunshine but dislike the cold and wind. See, despite the sun and an outside temperature of 47 F, that wind changes the feel index, and the cats know it. This is strongly true in the shadows, and both Tucker and Papi ended up declaring, the paw with this. Though, of course, Tucker tried once and knew while Papi had to go out and come back four times to verify it was better outside.
Objective one in selling the house is underway. The house was washed yesterday. Second task is the scrapping and minor repairs. Third is the actual painting. Then we move to objective two, landscaping.
The cats’ reaction to the power washing was interesting. Tucker went to his bed spot, thoroughly washed, and went to sleep. Papi, however, watched and then distanced himself from the house. Impressively, as soon as my wife returned from her exercise class, coincidently when the painting crew left, Papi raced past her into the house when she opened the door. Straight to the food bowl the poor floof went, scarfing down kibble to make up for being food deprived for over two hours.
Today’s song is “Hand Me Down World”, a song released by a Canadian rock band, The Guess Who, back in 1970. Though more known for their hit, “American Woman”, the band had a number of other hits and I enjoyed them. The Neurons plugged this into my morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) today fifty-four years later because I made the mistake of thinking about something that was hand-me-down in the kitchen, a pie server.
I feel the same now about the song and its intentions as I did fifty-four years ago. Basically viewing it as a protest against the way things are, the song argues for change for the better. Remember that this was the cold war era, when the US and USSR and their respective allies stood ready to fire off nukes at one another in the name of deterrence. Remember, too, the pollution filling the skies, turning cities like Pittsburgh into midnight on sunny days. The Civil Rights Movement was storming across the nation, the Vietnam Conflict was still underway, and protests against business as usual in politics was a regular feature of the nightly news. Look up the history of the 1960s and you’ll read about protests in the streets and on campuses. Remember segregation and integration, the Detroit riots, the Chicago 7, police brutality, and the 1968 Democratic National Convention? Then, to cap things off in 1970 were the Kent State National Guard shootings. The 1960s were also when President John F. Kennedy and Senator Bobby Kennedy were assassinated, along with MLK, Jr., and Tricky Dick Nixon was lodged in the White House. This was the era of tune out and turn on as the hippie culture rose.
There was a lot of other things happening in that troubled era of change. All that’s the iceberg’s top. So, yeah, thirteen years old, I was ready for change, and embraced songs like this calling for it. Although we’ve made a lot of progress since then, the GOP is ready to go back to that bullshit. We’re still dominated as a nation by racism, sexism, discrimination, and the patriarchy. We’re still fighting for equality and justice for all, regardless of how they look, their gender or sexual orientation, or the color of their skin. We’re supposed to be a melting pot of different strengths, weaknesses, and differences, which was what made us strong. Progress has been made but a lot more is needed.
Yet so many people’s minds are closed against progress. Many are keeping their minds closed to be spiteful. Others didn’t keep up with change and resent that their way of life has been left behind. Others are apparently so full of hate for those who are not them that they’re ready to destroy the nation in the name of their politics or gods.
Stay positive, stay strong, lean forward, and vote like your rights depend on it. I’m coffeenated but ready for more. Here’s the music. Cheers
Do you know that they still sell packages of cookies that don’t reseal? I’m not talkin’ of one or two cookies; these are packages of twenty-four cookies. It’s like they expect us to eat all the cookies at once so they’d don’t bother with a resealable package. It’d be uncivilized for us to eat a few and then set aside an open package of cookies. The cookies’ freshness must be preserved.
Those manufacturers not providing resealable packages are really cruel. Mean. Barbaric. I’m looking at you, Trader Joe’s.
Hey to all you lifers on Earth dropping in. Hope your day is the one you visualized and worked to make so.
Today is Feb. 2, 2024. It’s cloudy and rainy in Ashlandia, where the weather likes to provide many ala carte options every day during winter and spring. Except snow. Snow is off the menu again. Supply issues.
It’s up to 43 F now from our starting point of 34 F. High is 46 F.
The Neurons have planted “Ode to Billy Joe” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). I don’t know why Bobby Gentry’s 1967 song was started today. Painters arrived at 9 AM to powerwash the house as part of the painting prep. I did some light chores as they washed the house. I know the song well, as it was a crossover hit between C&W and pop/rock, so all the AM music stations on our transistor radios were playing it. Mom was a Bobby Gentry fan, so she was playing her records at home. Then there was television. A mellow, melancholy song, it’s easy to sing along with it, and Ms. Gentry has a syrupy voice that goes down easy.
Painters have finished the powerwashing. Did it in less than two hours. Stay strong, remain positive, lean forward, and vote, please. Coffee has been consumed. Here’s the music. Cheers
Sunshine blazed down from a cloudless blue sky. I was arriving at a busy site ensconced in a valley’s flat green floor, either a fair or festival, I realized. Laughing and happy folks were everywhere. Waving to me, my wife and her sister called me over to their group, introducing me to others and then explaining in turns, “This is the Father Festival. You’ve never been to one? It’s put on every year. Free food, games, and prizes. There’s music and dancing later. Have a drink.”
Taking this in, I looked around and saw fathers of childhood friends and male teachers circulating, instructing, ordering. No, I’d never heard of this, but I participated.
Then, dream shift. The festival was nearing its end. A mountain hid the sun. Though the sky seemed clear, it was much suddenly much colder as shadows cloaked us and the light faded.
I’d been traveling and decided I wanted to change clothes. A group of us found a motel and got rooms. Entering one, I asked the others to leave the room so I could wash up and change. Talking and laughing forced me to raise my voice. “Will you all get out so I can change?” Laughing, mocking me, they finally acquiesced.
I found my long-sleeved blue shirt. That’s the one I wanted to wear. Just as I stepped toward the bathroom, the building shook. In another second, people yelled in shrill voices, “Earthquake.” Sirens rose.
A man broke into the room. “There’s a tsunami warning. We need to leave and get up the mountain.”
Dressing in my blue shirt as I left the room, I joined my wife, her sister, and a small group of people. “Come on, we need to go,” I said. “This way. We’re going up the mountain.”
We fell in with a queue of people also trying to get up the mountain. Peering ahead, I saw fire up on the mountain’s upper side. Pulling my group aside, I said, “It’s on fire up there. Come on. Follow me. This way. Don’t tell the others yet. There’s going to be a panic, and then getting away will be a problem.”
I led the rest along a narrow mountainside path that was going up. I heard them yelling behind us as they discovered the fire. People were re-directed to follow me.
Stinging black smoke descended down on us. Bending low, covering my mouth and nose with a mask, I told everyone else to do the same. We hurried on along the path.
Then I came up short as I rounded a curve. The quake had opened a wide and deep crevice, and our path was gone, along with a chunk of mountainside. There was nowhere to go but back, but back wasn’t safe because the fire was engulfing where we’d been.
The man at the table beside mine is a coffee shop regular. Don’t know his name but I know his habits.
A woman approaches him. I’ve seen her once in a while. They chat for a bit. He mentions that she’s back from her travels and elaborates, remarking that she returned to Reno to see friends and family, like, her daughters and parents still live there. “Oh, yes,” he responds, “you left everyone back there, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I love living here in Ashland. I think it’s great.”
Then he asks, “Remind me your name again?”
“Donna, and you’re?”
“Jack.”
I‘m a little amused by the sequence. Then again, I’ve gone through those sequences myself. A face and history is recalled, but the name is swimming through the mind’s lower depths, beyond your reach.
My fellow Terra-zens. Today is February’s 1 in the common era of 2024. It’s a Thursday and local Ashlandia weather is trying to decide if it’s sprinter, spring, or winter. Things are blooming and growing like spring has taken over but the air has a wintry bite and colder temperatures are destined to arrive in the week’s tale end. Temperature is now 54 F after an overnight low of 46 F, on our way to a 56 F high. Rain is also expected but the wind has desisted from its menacing ways. It’s calm, with sunshine highlighting high, darkening clouds against azure sky.
So many ways of looking at the end of January, beginning of February. Like, OMG, 2024 is already a month gone. Or, less than two week until Valentine’s Day, and Christmas is less than eleven months away. If you’re going to school, you might be counting the months until you’re freed from the classroom, whether it’s remote, virtual, or physical. If you’re into the summer, you’re marking your calendar and grinning; just a few more months until summer.
This morning’s morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) is “Only You Know and I Know”. Dave Mason wrote the performed the song in 1970. Delaney and Bonnie and Friends released a cover in 1970. I was a kid then, 13-14 years old. When I heard the D&B’s version, I was taken back. First, I recognized the backbone of the melody, began realizing the song, and then realized, “This isn’t Dave Mason. It’s someone else.” I don’t know why that jarred me so much then, hearing it on my clock radio in my basement bedroom that I remember it so vividly today. Not like I’d not heard covers by different people before. One of those baffling aspects of meself. Fascinating how memory seems to work. From what I read, I might think I remember this but am actually customizing memories to fit my need.
I’m offering Dave Mason’s version first just cuz I enjoy it, and then included a D&B w/ Friends version, one of the friends being Duane Allman in this instance. Hope you like the song and enjoy both versions. Let me know how it goes.
BTW, reason The Neurons plugged this song into my MMMS is a line which goes, “You know you can’t go on getting your way, ’cause if you do, it’s going to get you someday.” And yes, I was thinking of Mr. DJ Trump on the heels of the case of Carroll v. Trump, and the finding that he now must pay 83 million dollars. I am hopeful other things will catchup with him and get him before November of 2024.
They’re starting our house-painting tomorrow by powerwashing it. I wanted to do it myself but my better half wisely talked me out of it, pointing out that it would cut into my writing efforts. That awoke the musi, who shouted, “Yikes! We can’t have that!” Having the house painted is the first step in selling it so we can move away. We’re still searching for where we’ll go. We know we’re heading to the northeastern region of the US but haven’t pinpointed it more. We figure, we’ll pack up, go back to the greater Pittsburgh, PA, area, rent a place, and then begin a serious search. That’s the plan but you know and I know that plans change.
Stay strong, be positive, and keep leaning forward. Coffee has been brewed and sipped, and caffeine is slinking its way among The Neurons. Hey, ho, here we go. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 