Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
He opened a cupboard. Floofs hurried over and peered in. They do this whenever he opens any door. He can hear them talking to one another. “Look! A secret door.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. Wonder where it leads?”
“Maybe we can use it to escape.”
Because they always feel like they must escape this life of comfort.
I listened to Alexi’s report. My wife joined me. We were at the breakfast bar, where Alexa nests. “What she say?” my wife asked. I asked Alexa for the weather again.
She finished her report. My wife and I checked the windows. East, south, west. Alexa had said it was mostly sunny. “I don’t see any sunshine,” K said. So it wasn’t just me.
It’s Monday, Feb. 13, 2023. Not a speck of sun is visible past the battleship sky. 34 F out, we anticipate rain and clouds all day and a mid-40s high. Sunrise was at 7:11 this morning and sunset will come at 5:41 PM. Snow warnings are out for tomorrow.
Taxes were filed yesterday. Bedding washed. Smelling the fresh bedding as I climbed into bed summoned childhood experiences. Mom would tuck us in and say, “I washed your sheets today. Smell them. Don’t they smell fresh?” I would do as directed and smell the sheets, and agree, they smelled fresh, like sunshine and wind.
I watched Superbowl LVII, which makes me think, liver. That was Superbowl Liver. Just a weird brain tick. KC Chiefs won, and no serious injuries were reported, so far. K was pleased that KC won. She thinks Mahomes is a cutie pie. She didn’t watch because she didn’t want to jinx him.
From the Superbowl, via The Neurons, I have Huey Lewis and the News singing, “If This Is It” from 1984. The Chiefs lined up for a field goal to take the lead. Eleven seconds left. “This is it,” the announcer said on Fox. “Playing ‘If This Is It’ by Huey Lewis and the News’,” The Neurons said. And so it still plays in the morning mental music stream, and I pass it on to you. Not a bad theme song. It’s Monday – if this is it, fill in the blank.
Stay positive. Cats returned from their outdoor recon. They report that it’s cold and there’s no sunshine. “Tell that to Alexa,” I tell them. “She needs the input.” Reporting live from Ashlandia, here’s the music. Cheers
I found myself as a young man at a wide, flat river. Dark as a winter night, the river didn’t reflect any light.
It was a cold day. Swimmers filled the river. They were heading downstream. I was not a swimmer, but walked among them as they came out of the water, giving them towels, talking to them and encouraging them.
Three swimmers caught my eye. One female, two males, all young, one black, one brown, one white, nothing extraordinary about them. Like the other swimmers, they wore swimsuits, and these weren’t anything special. Yet, watching them, I thought, keep an eye on them.
Seeing them leaving the water, I rushed to get them towels. All the towels were blue or gray; I wanted different colors for these three. I thought different colors would highlight them and help me keep watch on them. I ran around asking for other colored towels, and then demanded those towels. At last, red, yellow, and white striped beach towels were brought to me. I hurried over and gave the towels to those three.
Someone else with towels asked me what I was doing, etc. I explained that I wanted to keep an eye on those three. The other queried, “Why?”
“Because they’re special,” I explained. And then I knew, “They’re not part of this world. That’s why I wanted to give them special towels.” I gathered insight that the blue and gray towels muted people. Colors brought them more alive, bringing out talents. I said, “They’re shapeshifters from somewhere else, but they don’t know it. They can be anything, but the towels are keeping them unaware.”
After saying that, I took in the rest swimming by or toweling off and wondered, why don’t we give them colored towels, too?
Winter wonderland has returned to Ashlandia. Temp flutters around 29 F. Fog, ice, and frost lick the environment white. Sun participation was brought in at 7:11 AM. Not that you can swear it. Visibility is sliced to a hundred feet. The sun is much further out, not even a pale orb behind the scenes at the moment.
It’s Feb 12, 2023. Sunday. Today’s high will be sixty-two, the weather gossips whisper. What? 62 F out of this? Don’t make me laugh. It’ll probably happen. Weather, you know. Changeable. Ashlandia’s sunset is due at 5:40 PM. Winter storm warning out for the week’s start. Buckle on cold weather gear as temperatures shift into the freezing zone and clouds deliver rain and snow.
With winter in mind, The Neurons cranked up, Winter – Edgar — “Frankenstein” — and then Johnny and Edgar with “Tobacco Road”. But the little ones finally settled on “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo” out of the seventies of last century. The question always worrying my gray functions is, what exactly is a Hoochie Koo? Miriam-Webster’s online dictionary isn’t helpful on the matter. I’ve always associated Hoochie Koochie with belly dancing because that’s what an aunt told me when I was young. But “Koochie koochie, koo,” was used by Mom to tickle and play with us when we were toddlers. My brain is confused.
Anyway, here is the music. Johnny and his band bring it. Hope you have an entertaining Sunday. Coffee is at hand. We have launch. Hoochie koochie.
Their household waste keeps declining. It’s a judgement he makes by observing how much is being rolled to the curb. Garbage collection is every week. They usually have less than a full bag to put in there. Recycling, done every two weeks, is typically less than a quarter full.
It’s like their waste is wasting away. It probably helps that they’re in their mid-sixties. They’re no longer inundated with mail inviting them to a new credit card, offering funeral or cremation services, hearing aids, living trusts, cable and satellite television connections, Internet deals, financial management services, or offers to join AARP. It’s just another way in which growing older pays off.
Countdown commenced. Issues such as needing more coffee put the launch on hold once, twice. Finally, the writing day sluggishly took off. He wanted to be done but he wanted this to be good. Work remained before the novel in progress could be considered done or good.
It felt like it was going to a be a long, tedious writing day.
He thinks about the things he uses, enjoys, and curses every day. Computers and cars, sandwiches and plastic, phones and music. So different from 200 years ago. He tries to place himself there, struggling to see himself as a person in those times, without these things, and pretty miserably fails. Would he have been a teacher or shopkeeper, a farmer or soldier? Depression rolls over and sighs.
Sweeritable (floofinition) – Something done by an animal (or animals) which is charming but also annoying.
In use: “Michael awoke from dreaming to find Tucker taking his hand with one paw and raising it to Tucker’s face to be petted, a new sweeritable habit which the black and white floof had developed.
Firefloof (floofinition) – 1. Animal who enjoys fires.
In use: “Jade was such a firefloof that she needed to be monitored around the fireplace to ensure that she didn’t just go ahead and climb in it.”
2. An animal whose color or patterns bring to mind fire or flames.
In use: “Sly was a true firefloof, with an unusual color that made many think the small Finish Spitz was a fox at first glance.”
3. A class of ships used to secretly transport animals.
In use: “The firefloof class ship, Serenity, was often used to find and remove animals from abusive situations. Cloaked and commanded by Captain Floofy ‘Floof’ Reynolds, the ship was never seen, but stayed in constant motion on its mission to help other animals.”
Michael Seidel, writer 