Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in my primary coffee shop yesterday, writing away in a corner and deeply involved with what I was doing. Even with that true, I’d followed who arrived and left, where they were and what they were doing. It was a habit or talent I’d developed while young. It’d become bolstered first by military counter-terrorist training and situational awareness, and then fostered more as I leaned in to writing fiction and honed my observational skills.

Left was a man who seemed about five years older than me, putting him in his early seventies. He was a regular at both of my coffee haunts. Striking me as a lonely person, I’d witnessed him start conversations with others. When I overheard them, the topic was usually novels he’d read or novels the other was reading.

Rising from the chair he’d settled into, he approached the early twentyish woman on my right. Another regular but not as frequent as me, she was familiar to me. I’d seen the other man talk to her a few times. He greeted her as a friend and she reacted in kind. They began talking about books and his recent visit to a bookstore.

The coffee house manager went to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but it ended with her escorting him out. After he was gone, I saw the shift lead go talk to the manager. Again, nothing was heard. The shift lead returned to her spot behind the counter, and then the manager approached the young woman the man had been talking with.

After giving her name and explaining her position, the manager asked, “Do you know that man?”

“No, not really. He’s spoken to me before.”

“Well, I came over because we’ve had complaints about men approaching young women such as yourself without being invited. Some feel threatened and believe that the man was trying to groom them or other young women, so we felt we needed to act.”

The woman thanked her and the manager went away.

I sat, reflecting on all sides of this, wondering exactly what was true and real, respecting the coffee shop’s position but understanding the man’s loneliness. Yet, I didn’t know if he was grooming. I don’t know his intentions. And then, there are other men who may have approached young females to groom them. It can be an insidious world.

I mentioned it all to my wife, who reminded me, “Woman are often socialized to be friendly when a man approaches. It’s hard for them to say no to them or rebuff them. That’s just how we’re still taught through movies and television shows, and the things we see. Men are in power and are to be respected is what we’re taught, and it’s hard to break the habits that come from that training.

I understand that, too, and thought of my own position when I go into the coffee shop to write. I’m friendly with staff but not other customers. While I want to be friendly with others, my natural inclination, I decided that I need to not be friendly with other regulars; I’m there to write, and the time that I’ve carved out for that is precious. Despite observing so many who seem desperate or hungry for social interations, I do so with regret but remain firm about it.

We’ve followed long and tortured paths to come to these moments of who we are.

Metafloofosis

Metafloofosis (floofinition) – Change of physical appearance, size, or personality and behavior in an animal. Origins: Internet, 2020

In Use: “Orphaned as little ones, the puppy and kitten each easily fit into the palm of a hand, but after metafloofosis, they were magnificent creatures who each easily took up half a bed.”

In Use: “The black rescue cat was renamed from Ebony to Sunny, but stayed hidden for the first three days. Day four delivered a metafloofosis from a scared and wary floof into a sweet and intelligent boi who enjoyed treats, playing, catnip, and conversing with his new people as he sat on their laps.”

Recent Use: “The four rescue kittens metafloofosized from extra spicy gray furballs into purring little sweethearts who easily found new homes.”

The Writing Moment

The writing center — known by everyone other than him as a cofffee shop — had a full parking lot. With past experience as a guide, he thought that getting a prime writing table* wouldn’t be possible. Head for number two, he ordered his brain, which delivered the message to his body, which set his car on the required course.

Coffee shop number two was packed. He selected a tertiary choice location with plans to move to a better spot when one opened, and joined the short line to acquire the necessary hot and dark magic water that helped stimulate his writing efforts. As he stood there, movement flickered in his eyes’ left periphery. Leaning a little, he confirmed, people were leaving a prime space. Hustling followed as he relocated his gear and thanked the coffee gods.

The place, he realized as he picked up his coffee, was packed. Every table, prime or not, was in use. Both conversation pits were filled, and almost all the window bar seats were engaged. Five baristas in black outfits worked in mechanical precision behind the wood-encased retail island to restock food and dishware, prepare orders, take, or deliver them. About fifty people filled the small business.

The place’s warm hum keyed his sentimental side. Such a friendly, happening scene. While a few patrons were like him, solitary animals focused on keyboards, staring at phones, or reading books, most people were chatting and laughing in twos and threes as they ate breakfast sandwiches and pastries and sipped coffee drinks, chai, or tea. The scene made his heart swell three times its normal size.

Then he sipped his coffee twice — once to sample it, the second time to more fully appreciate its warm, bitter flavor, put his head down and started typing. An hour later, he looked up and smiled as he gazed across the quiet, almost empty place. Music unheard over the previous rattle and hum was audible. The baristas were reduced to two, and plenty of seats and tables were available. Take your pick.

How quickly things could change.

*The prime writing space is a table or counter with space for a laptop, mouse, and coffee, a chair, and an outlet, and is located two to three feet away from others for privacy and isolation.

Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: crotchety

Another foggy and sunny Oregon aunter day in Ashlandia, where the people are liberal. Well, mostly. It’s complicated. Of course. Everything is complicated in the information age in the modern United States.

It’s Saturday, December 9, 2023. We’re rolling through the upper thirties to low forties, depending upon which part of town you’re in, and whether it’s sunny there. My home’s overnight low was 28 F. The cats stayed in. Didn’t even complain about it. Just got themselves cosy and slept the night away, except for litter box breaks and kibble bowl visits. Reminds me, I need to clean the litter box and refill the kibble bowls.

Our high today will crest the mid 50s F.

Can’t stomach the news today. I start reading about Ken Paxton, AG of Texas and his efforts to stop a woman’s abortion and just want to puke. So much is wrapped up and on full display about Republican ‘values’. Doctors are behind the medically recommended abortion; Republicans are pushing their ‘religious beliefs’ to stop it, this in a country which is purported to advance freedom from religion. This s the death panel that they used to threaten would happen under ACA, the ones which never did happen. It’s typical of Republicans to project this way.

Remember, please, this is the party of small government. Limited government. Government that shouldn’t be in people’s bedroom. Right. Sure. That’s all more GOP smoke. Nothing they do is really about small government; it’s about control and power.

Like the Zieglers of Florida. They project in the same way. She, Bridget, is busy with Moms for Liberty, banning books, worrying about what these books she wants banned will do to children’s morality. In parallel to this bullshit, this morally upright Republican christian was having an affair with a woman. Actually part of a three-way with the woman and her husband. Her business, yes, except her business is directly contradictory to her political stands, causes, and ‘principles’. By the way, show me where in the bible they extol it says threeways are okay. Christ on a penny, this is who christians look up to for leadership?

All this exploded onto news pages because her husband, Christian Ziegler, is accused of raping the woman in the three-way. He is of course, the GOP party leader. Makes perfect sense. While innocent until proven guilty of the rape, this paragon of Republican virtue does admit to the threesome. There is video but that means little to the GOP; all that video of Jan 6, and Republicans claim those folks threatening their elected officials, breaking into our capitol building, smearing feces on the walls, threatening the police, and stealing things are just tourists. Or they’re really antifa or BLM. Anyone except Republicans.

See why I want to puke after perusing the news?

For the theme music, The Neurons have launched “War” with “Low Rider” from 1975 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark torpedoed). I honestly searched for why they plugged in this funk tune. I enjoy the song and haven’t heard it in a while. But why, after eating oatmeal with nuts and cranberries, drinking some coffee, feeding the cats, and reading the news, is that song going on? I can’t see a direct correlation.

Could have something to do with a general mood of mine, an overstretching sense of optimism that runs contrary to so much evidence. The mood, when I pause to feel through it, takes me back to when I was young and just starting out, and that is where this song was released. Maybe my mind is tuning into the radio of my youth. I can see myself in my old little ’68 Camaro, driving home from work in the Command Post in Fairborn, Ohio, back home to my girlfriend, who become my wife later that year. Nice scene to remember.

Be strong and positive, and lean waaayyy forward, right? I’ve had some coffee and I’m eager to tackle some matters that need tackling. Here’s the video. Cheers

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I are fumbling around plans to move to the northeastern US. Part of that is researching locales and checking out houses on real estate sites. Some of the interior decor ideas startle us, and not in good ways. We’ve always preferred lighter colors on our walls. Seeing them in cherry red, lemon yellow, and apple green — not infrequently in the same room — takes our breath away. We remind ourselves, it’s just paint.

Several facets strike us about these homes with brightly painted walls. They seem to be older homes, and they seem like they’re in places where cold, long winters are endured. Just saying.

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: transcendant

It’s December 8, 2023, Friday. 37 F outside in Ashlandia, where the women are lovely and the men don’t brood, up from 29 F. We were encased in a gothic novel cover a few hours ago; fog, mist, and diminished gray light set a brooding stage of mysterious shadows and stifled sounds. We brought on the fireplace to help the furnace with the day’s early cold moisture, and it was cozyrama.

Our valley’s high will be 46 F. Snow flurries are in today’s weather blend.

Sis is going home from her operation and all was a success. That encouraged The Neurons to light up the morning mental music stream (Trademark bamboozled) with Ten Years After at Woodstock with “Going Home”. It’s a powerful old-time rocker for an early Friday morning before I’d had coffee and my mind segued to their song, “I’d Love to Change the World”. When I used it back in 2019, I wrote,

Ten Years After released “I’d Love to Change the World” in 1971 as a response to the violence, protests, emerging counter-culture, resistant establishment, and war. Gosh, does any of that have any echos in today’s world? Naw, probably just me.

Like most of TYA’s offerings, the song features some powerful Alvin Lee guitar work, which is always good to hear. Beyond the rock essence of guitar and dream, these lyrics, and how they’re presented in the song, plaintive, accepting, and reflective, spoke to me as a fifteen-year-old when the song came out, but still talks to me as a sixty-three-year-old.

I’d love to change the world

But I don’t know what to do.

So I’ll leave it up to you.

I’ll leave that up there, adding that the other line resonating with me is, “Tax the rich, feed the poor, till there are no rich no more.” Guess I’m getting more revolutionary as I age.

Stay positive, fight injustice, remain strong, help others, and lean forward. Give me more coffee and then I’ll do the same. Here’s the video. Gotta go; cat wants in. Rock on.

Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

Rain showers the street and sidewalks outside the coffee shop windows. Between the clouds and rain, gray smothers the day like swaths of gray flannel.

The coffee shop is cold. It’s always cold when the sun ain’t cracking through to brighten and warm us. Despite wearing a fleece jacket, I’m shivering, and my hands are cold. My wife, who suffers Renaud’s disease, would be in misery.

And I had to pee again. I finally decided to seek the answer about why I pee more often when I’m cold and did a search.

“Cold-induced diuresis,” thenakedscientists.com on the net informed me, basically an increase in urine due to more blood being filtered due to vasoconstriction to conserve heat, more or less.

At least I know the reason now. At least my laptop’s keyboard warms my fingertips a little. How we artists must suffer.

Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: disenchanted

It’s Thursday, Dec 7, 2023. I looked out. Rain clouds parted. My eyes drank in sunshine. Alexa said it was 37 F out but would reach 44 F. My weather system already said it was 43 F.

The clouds close. Rain falls. It’s aunter (a variation of autumn and winter) in Ashlandia, where the weather can be vexing, just as it happens in many world regions.

December 7. No need to think much about that date. Can’t say that all in the US remember December 7 and the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and the Pacific Fleet, a step which pulled the US formally into WW II. Oh, people will pretend to remember, doing little ceremonies to solemnly recall history and what happened. I can’t guess what people remember of WW II in the US, not when they throw words around like fascism and socialism with little understanding of what they mean and what they are, not when NAZIs and white supremacy is openly embraced with greater frequency by one of our political parties and its leader, not when that leader openly talks about being a dictator. How can his supporters remember their history lessons when he calls for exterminating his political opponents and applauds dictators as smart, good people?

After all, these are the ones who declare us a Christian nation and fight against the separation of church and state. This was supposed to be a nation of freedom and equality. No, it was not born that way; women had few rights and were generally second-class citizens. For blacks, it was worse, as they lived as slaves and were horribly mistreated. Indians received even nastier treatment as their people were killed and their land was stolen, and immigrants from multiple places were pilloried, stripped of rights, and treated as if they were not human. No, it was not a pretty beginning, and there’s still a lot of shit going on. Witness how often police kill with impunity, and worse, how often those killed are Blacks. Witness how people trying to escape persecution in other countries are treated. Witness how many right-wingers treat LGBTQ+ citizens as undeserving of rights and security as fellow citizens, and how eagerly they throw people in prison.

But we were trying as a nation, making some progress, sometimes sliding backwards, but mostly managing to claw forward. Now the GOP and its wannabe dictator, Donald Trump, are striving to drag the country backward, away from freedom and equality no matter religion, sex, or the color of your skin, to a land of warped christianity, twisted history, and perverse values. Trump supporters — the MAGA — hungrily embrace his efforts, gleefully spreading lies and denying history, showing aggressive willingness to undermine and dismantle democracy regardless of the means, regardless of what the US Constitution and Bill of Rights might say, or the rule of law. “There’s no one like you,” I think of them, but I know there are millions like them, and millions more around the world.

No wonder The Neurons dragged “No One Like You” by the Scorpions into the morning mental music stream (Trademark imperiled). “There’s no one like you,” they sing in the song. I could hear them singing that about Trump in a disparaging way. No one like you, lying and cheating, misleading and whining, squealing with hate against justice, opponents, and anyone who is different than him, claiming everyone is being mean to him. No one like you, MAGA supporters, bleating about how great Trump is, ignoring all the disasters and failures which pepper his existence, the rapes he’s been accused of, his affairs, or his constant lying. Except there are others emulating Trump in DeSantis, Abbott, the ‘Moms for Liberty’. There are GOP legislators around the nation eagerly banning books, dismantling the education system, disenfranchising voters. There are too many like those close minded, repressive individuals.

Sunshine breaks out but rain is falling. Traffic streams by, throwing up small wakes. A long, thick, wide black cloud is coming over the northern mountains, darkening the land below it.

I didn’t mean to get on to this bandwagon today, but after the GOP ‘debates’ last night, my irritation was renewed.

Be strong, stay positive, and lean forward. The coffee is going down nicely. Think I’ll have more. Here’s the music. Cheers

Grim Task

It was a grim task set before me. I, not a fan of tasks and less enamored of those tasks of the grim variety, didn’t relish taking it up. But duty, right.

All were assembled around the table. Leaning forward so they could see me, looking around, I loudly said, “I have a question for you.” I waited for silence, which came fast and cast another check on their attention; all were regarding me. “Do you wear socks in the shower?” I asked.

Staring followed, then questions. What, what are you talking about, and say that again was heard among the ten facing me, along with some sputtering, uncertain laughing.

“Do you wear socks in the shower?” I repeated.

“No,” several responded, and then a few inquired, “Why are you asking that?”

“Well, my wife read an article about bizarre things people from different states do, and she read that people in Oregon like to shower with their socks on. Then she asked me, ‘Have you ever heard of this?’ No, I told her. She said, ‘I’ve never showered with my socks on, but I don’t shower.’ I told her, ‘I shower, but I don’t wear my socks.'” Then we talked more and realized, maybe people do this but don’t talk about it because it’s a normal routine for them, so they see no need to speak about it. So, I said that I’d ask you guys, my beer group.”

“No,” all chorused, fully laughing now. “None of us wear our socks in the shower.”

Satisfied that the grim task was done, I sat back and sampled my ale. It was very good.

Cruoof

Cruoof (floofinition) – An intense fatuation with an animal. Origins: Internet, 2022

In Use: “After arriving as a rescue dog at Sara, the senior lab immediately developed a cruoof on the kittens Sara was fostering, inviting them to cuddle and play with him, and watching over them when they ate.”

In Use: “Butterscotch had a cruoof on Mocha, always running to him when she saw him, and grazing beside him as he ate.”

Recent Use: “Lisa developed a cruoof on her aunt’s Bernese Mountain Dog, Samwise, and within a few minutes, the dog seemed to have the same feelings for the four-year-old as the two spent the rest of the day side by side.”

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑