Category: Information

Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: moody

My mood is sometimes up today, eager to get on with things. But I look outside. Smoke from wildfires filled our air overnight. A check of the indexes verify that we’ve gone into the unhealthy range. I can guess that; the light gray and white smoke obliterates views of the trees and mountains. Visibility is truncated at a few hundred yards. The smell, mildly chemical in this round, reminiscent of burning plastic, irritates my nostrils and eyes. My sinuses clog and spirits droop. I was planning to engage the yard with some cutting implements. That probably won’t happen with this smoke. Yes, I can make like a bandit, don a mask and get it done, but it’s not a critical task.

So begins Saturday, September 23, 2023.

Beyond the smoke, it’s 56 F outside, with a chance it’ll reach 76 F outside today. I’m doubtful about that, given the smoke layer blanketing it. The smoke keeps the sun out and chills the air. Sunshine is reaching the house’s backside, which faces the east.

Whenever smoke spills into the valley, like most, I search for the source. We especially worry that a new, closer fire has started. None appears on the map. With the lack of a woody smell to it, I suspected it’s a wind shift. Besides, we’ve not be warned by any government entity to get ready to pack up and go.

The smoke is snaking to us from the southwest, indicative of the California fires. This screenshot is a product of the Western Fire Chiefs Association website. Ashland, where I am, is directly north of the Happy Camp Complex.

My sister, L, is making a good recovery from her cancer surgery, but it’s early days. She received the flowers and expressed delight with them and the message. Fingers remain in the crossed position.

The Neurons are feeding the morning mental music stream (Trademark bogus) with music by Talking Heads and David Byrne. Today I’m hearing “What A Day That Was”. This song’s spirited beat and sound, and the stories conveyed, bolster my energy and optimism. The Neurons undoubtably chose this tune because of my reflections back on my nephew’s wedding last Saturday. Such a happy mood prevailed, bathing us with positive energy. What a day that was.

Stay pos, be strong, and carpe diem. I’ve carped the coffee; half a cup of the black sustaining beverage has been reduced. Here’s the tune. Hey ho, let’s go.

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Another Space Traveling Dream

I again went through the space traveling dream.

This is a continuing dream series. I’ve blogged about it before three times, but I didn’t mention several other episodes, and the series fell out of fashion. Like a new TV show season, the series returned last night.

In the space traveling dream series, I’m in my house, but it’s traveling in space on an alien spaceship. I’ve never seen or heard the aliens behind this, as far as I know.

When I awaken from these, I’m often confused about where I’m at and what’s going on. Although in the very first dream space traveling dream, I thought it was cool to be in my house being transported by aliens through space. I never thought I’d make it to space, yet here I was.

Last night’s dream event was recalled when I awoke in my home office. I’d fallen asleep in a recliner while streaming the first season of Justified. Awakening, the streaming service had stopped streaming, a feature set when it’s been going awhile, so the television was silent. I was alone; Tucker had been asleep on my lap, but he’d left.

Bewilderment washed over me. I was confused about where I was. Some anxiety splashed up about forgetting to do things. I scrambled to think what I thought I should have done that I neglected. Was it about charging devices? Going somewhere? Feeding the cats?

No; it was about kitty litter. What was it about kitty litter? Oh, it was missing.

But wait; aren’t I on the alien ship? Does the alien ship have kitty litter? Do we need kitty litter in space, or is something else out there? I didn’t understand what I was thinking there, but then began worrying about kitty litter being in space’s weak gravity. I imagined it floating around, polluting the air, maybe damaging systems. Except, I was in my house, and there was gravity, so there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Except, was the whole house there? I panicked, thinking the aliens had carried my office away from the rest of the house. Scrambling out of the office, I found the house intact beyond the door.

I wanted to look out a window for the alien spaceship. I never have seen it; I always imagine the house resting on the outside hull, which is dark as a lightless night. I have no evidence for believing that, and don’t know how it’s connected to the alien ship. Yet, I also think that if I want to, I could go into the alien ship.

Coming up on two AM, I felt it was time to hit the bed.

The thing about this, it took a lot longer to write what transpired than it took to think, panic, and scramble. It was like, from the dream, I was thinking that I was somewhere that I didn’t expect to be and then had to solve the mystery of where I was and what I was meant to do.

Hitting the bed, Tucker joined me after a few minutes. Comforting sleep was rediscovered once again.

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Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in the Pittsburgh International Airport baggage area, awaiting our luggage’s arrival as though they’re rare precious animals. We’ve already taken the first needed steps after a long flight of relieving our bowels.

It’s weirdly quiet here; sounds echo in the tall, wide chamber. Other passengers sprinkle in , surrounding the system like an army laying siege to a fort. We’re all cold, with postures as though we’re huddling. Airport A/Cs are usually set low enough to preserve popsicles.

I recognize fellow travelers, such as the tall elderly man who wobbled slowly up the jetway, and the young Japanese woman in colorful fleece pants and jacket who appears as if she’s walking while asleep. Most people are silent as they wait, checking messges or reading emails on their phones; a few start talking on cell phones, giving all of us broad strokes about where they’re at, where they’re going, what’s next for them.

A harsh buzzer bellows. The red light on its single metal tube begins spinning. Mechanical grinding and groaning rises. The metallic system commences its hurried orbit around the central chute.

We watch and wait, watch and wait, arms crossed, sighing, coughing, as the belt goes around bereft of bags. Of course, it’s the end of a journey for the bags, too. Hundreds of yards away, they left the aircraft and are traveling the system. It’s supposed to go faster than the passengers, so the passengers don’t need to wait.

That has yet to happen at any airport I’ve ever used in the United States. At last comes the thump announcing the first bag. A red hard-sided piece slides down the chute with a hiss. We crane forward to see the lucky person who claims the first bag.

It isn’t me. My bag is black, I remind myself. My wife’s bag is brown leather. Sighing, I cross my arms and look forward to the next bag, watching as it bumps along, waiting for its person to show, feeling dismayed as more bags are claimed and the others trot away. Then, finally, a flush of triumph; our bags have cometh.

Bags claimed with grunts of exertion, we hustle on to the journey’s next stage: the rental car counter. There is some relief that all has gone well. I feel myself shedding travel anxiety. Every step has the potential to disrupt safe and succeful travel. Knock wood, it’s gone well for us.

We leave the baggage area tired but smiling, pressing back into the terminal against the flow of people coming down to find their bags. Good luck, I think to them.

Good luck.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: hopeful

We’ve begun streaming daylight. It’s Friday in Ashlandia, where the winds are kicking the trees around and the sun is acting tired, September 22, 2023. The cats are like, “Who turned the wind on? Find them and turn it off or kill them.” It’ll be 79 F today, although we’re at 59F now. First day of fall, according to the net, so you know it’s true. No leaves have revealed their autumn colors in my realm yet.

Brekkie is made and being consumed, and the coffee is ready, waiting for its turn. My hot water has been drunk. I’ve been drinking hot water first AM thing since I was about nineteen years old. We acquired the habit because of the Edgar Cayce readings. We were big fans. Still are.

First, an update to my sister’s cancer surgery. Removing her rectum took three hours and was successful but painful. She’s in hospital now. Was on morphine yesterday for the pain. I imagine she is on something today. She has eaten oatlmeal and French toast for breakfast. Our new family mantra is no chemo and reversed by November. She’ll be in the hospital for a week. The clock has begun.

The phone rang at 6:45 AM. My wife was up, getting ready for her exercise class but Tucker and I were purring in bed, and halfway spilled into sleep. Realizing the time, my parents’ health and age, my sister’s surgery, and other matters, I rolled out of bed and raced for the phone. Point of order, we don’t have a phone in the bedroom. I keep my cell in the office, and we still have standard cordless phones running on VOIP. I’ve had that since 2008. That’s what was ringing

So I ran down the hall. Two rings had finished. After four rings, it goes to voicemail so I needed to get there before the fourth ring ended.

But my wife had grabbed the office phone. I heard her answer and veered that way. As I went in, my wife said, “Here he is,” and put the phone toward me. I was trying to read her face when she said, “It’s the flower people.”

Relief and confusion. My wife and I ordered flowers yesterday for my sister to be delivered today. I had my sister’s phone number wrong. Extra digit. I took care of it and went back to Tucker. We snooze well together.

Today’s song is “Fix You” by Coldplay. You know, because it’s about trying to mend others who are sick or hurt. So, I pulled it up for my sister and all those others suffering diseases like cancer, or injuries, or whatever problem, mental, emotional, physical. I wish I had the power to fix others. Instead, I try to send positive energy to them, zapping them like it’s an extremely accurate healing ray.

So here is Coldplay, with guests Billie Eilish and Finneas. Stay pos, be strong, endure, and progress. The coffee has been tested, and the results are exemplary. Time to stream the day. Cheers

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Aflooferation

Aflooferation (floofinition) – A word created that associates an action or behavior with an animal’s antics.

In use: “One aflooferation that M uses is pogoing or pogoed. Pogo was a sweet buff ginger cat, a twenty-two pounder who loved hunting and playing. Once, startled when M’s wife was rubbing Pogo’s belly, dropping her long dark hair over Pogo’s face, he swatted her hard on the head with both front paws, claws retracted. Ever since, whenever a cat hit one of them with their claws in, they say that the cat pogoed them.”

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The Writing Moment

I’ve just returned from vacation. We went east, from Oregon to Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania (PIP to my brain’s shorthand) primarily for a wedding (the #3 nephew in terms of age) but also to visit family, like Mom. This took about ten days out of our usual existence. While traveling and there, I planned to write, but it didn’t work out. First, my body and mind weren’t in agreement that I should get up early. Nor was my wife (something about sleeping in while on vacation). I didn’t want to sneak out, didn’t want to abandon her on vacation while she was with me for my side of the family.

Our schedule in PIP was erratic. Some writing and editing was managed around snatches of escape. Like, on the return flight. Sometimes while at Mom’s home; a few times in the hotels.

But Mom has limited mobility these days. She’s mostly confined to her house with her partner, Frank. And everyone has a lot of that stuff called life happening to them, so my sisters and their offspring can’t visit her often, and Mom gets lonely. My presence with my wife alleviated that. Naturally, once I realized it was so, I had to live up to Mom’s hopes. Definitely opinionated, she slips into conversational ruts, especially when venting about the men of her life, past and present, politics, and the ongoing feud between several sisters.

The gist of the sisters’ feud is one felt omitted in the vacation planning. Years ago, littlest sis — we’ll call her L –and her hubby ventured to the Outer Banks on vacation and included Mom and Frank. I think that was so because they lived in the same house. The four enjoyed it so much, they went the next year, and the next. Second little sister — coded G — heard about it and invited herself, spouse, and her at-home daughter, A. They went again the next year; then G also took her other daughter — J — and J’s family. Like ants finding some good stuff and spreading the word, more family invited themselves and descended on the vacation. Planning, communications, and coordination was done to include everyone who invited themselves. That’s one key to the mess: all the subsequent people outside of the first four invited themselves.

Well, the other sister — S, the oldest of the three youngest — always claimed she and her husband weren’t invited or even told about it. This has been a continuing problem in the three younger sisters’ life: who invented or included who in what party-holiday-vacation planning and participation. Finger pointing and accusations are the standard weapons in this battle. Now it’s reached the point that G and S are not speaking to one another, which goes back to early 2022. What exacerbates the situation is that S has NEVER included anyone else in any of her vacation planning. She doesn’t tell anyone where she is going or when, and will frequently keep it a secret after the event. While L’s Outer Banks vacations began around thirteen or fourteen years ago — Mom can tell you exactly when — S’s secret vacations began in at least 1991. So, boom, G responds to S. J’accuse!

This is what I heard about in 2022 when I went back to help Mom recover from her extended COVID and heart issues. My wife wasn’t with me in 2022, so SHE needed to be brought up to date about the battle this year, at least in Mom’s opinion.

It’s part of my excuse for why I managed little writing and editing. Listening to the feud saga, not just from Mom’s POV because L, G, and S also talked to my wife and I about it, was good insight into family dynamics as well as character arcs. I mean, people arcs. Observing these disagreements and how they escalate and dictate stories and relationships is terrific for my writer side.

I did try. Mom has small house. Built in 1942 by the previous owners — Mom is the house’s second owner — the rooms are small. The kitchen abuts the living room area. The living room is where Mom sets up for the day. I set up on a breakfast bar which Mom installed in the kitchen. From there, I can see and hear what’s going on in the living room.

One of Mom’s habits should be inserted her. She’s sort of a news junkie. When she comes down and sets up her living camp, she turns the television on and tunes it to MSNBC. As her hearing has declined, she keeps it LOUD. Meanwhile, in the kitchen is a radio which is tuned to a local talk radio station. It’s on at the same time. Yes, the television and radio are on at the same time, in different rooms, even when nobody is in them. Just for fun, when Mom goes into the bathroom on that level, she’ll often turn on a radio in there, too.

And while all of these are on, she’s talking with guests and getting on her phone. It’s madness, and disruptive as a quake to me. So I’ll slip into the kitchen to get a little writing in, only to be hailed from the living room to clarify some point. Is the scene developing? It’s another point in the frustrating challenge to write while in PIP.

Now I’m back in my coffee shop, returned to my place behind my walls of routines. I think part of the issues with writing when away this time was that I’ve created this writing structure as part of my temporal order of memory and episodic memories. Going for a walk alone or being in a coffee shop has long been my methodology for inviting the muses in and triggering the writing process. I think now, minus that standard structure, the muses and writing neurons just take time off.

I missed writing while I was away from it. I had to tell myself, just breathe. This will pass. And it has. Now, I resume writing, picking up right where I detoured, entertaining myself in the world of my creation. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Ah, it feels so good, like a coffee addict getting their first swallow.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: cheery

Back home from the trip east to visit family, and now it’s morning. Turn up the daylight. Fill the sky with blue. More. Now, some sun heat, please. Right now, Ashlandia — where the crows are chippy and the streets are under repair — is 51 F, up from the overnight low of 42 F. The cats are happy with this weather, heading outside to sleep, groom, and puzzle out the ways of the world. The weather is going to try to slap 70 F today but rain is pretending to be in the picture, at least in the weather seers’ minds. Gotta have clouds for that, I believe, so I’ll be monitoring the horizons.

Thinking about the weather had The Neurons bring up “Some Might Say” by Oasis (1996) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fiction). Those first lines are something like, “Some might say sunshine follows thunder, go tell it to the man who cannot shine.” I should look the lyrics up but I’m lazy. I’m sure my dreams were part of the catalyst for The Neuron’s choices; as I thought about what they meant, I thought, “Some might say that these are good dreams.” But also, “Some might say that they’re meaningless products of neurons playing.

My sister went into surgery this morning and had her rectum removed as part of a cancer scare. It’s the beginning of a long road for her. Now recovery begins as analysis and monitoring for cancer continues. She’ll be in the hospital for a week and then bedrest at home for two weeks, and she’ll be wearing a bag, which really bothers her. That’s the plan. Many are stepping up to help her. My other sister, who is her big sister but my little sister, stayed the night with her in sister’s hospital room, along with a few others. They sang “Hey Jude” to her before she went into surgery this morning. We’re ready to send flowers but we need a room number first! That won’t be assigned until she’s out of recovery.

Got many things to do regarding house and writing, so I’m cutting this short. Sweeping floors — hasn’t been done in over a week, you know — and airing the tires in the cars, things like that, along with some small yard jobs. Then revising, yeah? Yeah.

Coffee has been consumed so I’m feeling it. Stay pos, be strong, and help others if you can. Here’s the bebop. Cheers

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Two Dream Moments

I had two dreams last night which are remembered. Both were extremely brief.

In the first, I saw a large headline blaring on a screen, “FORMER PRESIDENT TRUMP IS DEAD!” Don’t know what media source it was supposed to be, but utter shock went through me when I saw it. Below the headline was a black and white photograph of DJT. Then I recognized that the screen was angled in green grass like a tilted tombstone. That was all.

Awakening, I thought about it for some time. When I mentioned it to a friend later, he said that someone had hacked Trump’s son’s X account and posted something about Trump being dead. I wondered if I’d heard or seen the story in passing without realizing, and it manifested as part of the dream. Of course, Trump being dead would launch conspiracy ideas and rip through the GOP’s structure like a Force 5 tornado. Guesses about the end results went all over the place when I spoke about it with friends, including prophecies of violence, and the impact on financial markets; would the US be viewed as safer and more stable with him deceased? It’s easy to speculate that it could go either way.

Of course, as it’s a dream, it could also just be wishful thinking in my head about how much the man bothers me with what he says. For example, I rose this morning and read the news that he’s urging his party to defund the parts of the legal systems which are taking him to trial, claiming that these are political persecutions. As others pointed out, such a spending proposal by the House would might difficulties finding their way into law past the Senate where Dems rule, or past President Biden’s desk. So his proposal is pretty empty but it stirs up the fires of his base, doesn’t it?

Second dream, similarly brief, had me walking outside through short, dark green grass. Shiny things in the grass hooked my attention. Drifting toward the first, I found a half buried silver dollar. I easily pulled it free from the earth. As I reckoned what it was, I saw several more. Collecting them, I realized it was hill full of half-buried silver dollars. As I collected them in delight, I wondered what I should do with them — keep them or turn them in somewhere — and how they got there. No one else was in sight, nor were buildings, cars, or paths. I concluded, they must have somehow fallen from the sky.

I was really excited, though, taking them for signs of impending good fortune. That lifted my energy and reinvigorated determination to do things. I guess I need to make it so, number one.

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Winceday’s Theme Music

Mood: ambivalent

We’re at 37,000 plus feet, 480 miles per hour. It’s Wednesday, 9/20/23. We just left Illinois behind, heading for San Francisco to Pittsburgh. Bumping ride right now, above a fuzzy streaked gray puffy cloudscape. We left coolish fall weather in Pittsburgh’s area, 56 and cloudy. The computer is reading weather from below and tells me that Chicago is 56 and rainy. We’re heading home to Ashlandia, where the dogs are above average and the cats are good looking. Ashlandia is currently 42 F and clear, but we expect sunny and 68 F as the day’s overall approach.

All went well back to the airport and onboard. Perfect timing all around. Glitchiest part was returning the Sixt rental car. Place wasn’t open, just a receptacle for the key. Say what? Nothing else? I’m suspicious. Dubious. I await the next phase of this. UPDATE: I done did it right: just drop off the keys. Nothing else required. Shazam.

Once onboard our United 737, things aren’t as rosy. Going first class because we’re fortunate, which gives us much more leg room and width, and demands less of proof of our. But my wife’s seat doesn’t go back much and her entertainment system is malfunctioning. I offer her mine; that’s imperiously dismissed. Her mood has changed fast. She engages the flight attendant about it. I can’t hear the conversation because of space and noise. The spouse doesn’t share with me what’s going on; that is the mood. Knees up against her chest, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes closed, she’s gone to a silent but angry place. I try engaging her but she doesn’t want to be engaged.

For music, I end up with “Ridin’ the Storm Out” by REO Speedway splatter through the morning mental music stream (Trademark dissected). That’s directly related to my wife’s state of mind after her issues with the flight issues with her seat. It’s like the gods of united airlines were deliberately pissing just on her.

Stay pos, be strong, stay cool, and press on. Fueled by black coffee, I’ll do the same. Here’s the music.

UPDATE: late posting, connectivity issues on der airyplane. We’re home safely, and those floofs are so over the kibble ecstatic about it. Had to feed them twice and love on them each three times. And the weather here is decisively cloudy, with dark skies beckoning rain. Hello, autumn.

Cheers

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