Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofbassador (floofinition) – An animal who acts as an emissary or envoy of other animals.
In use: “A small kitty found in the backyard was fed. Little did the family knew the little one, which they called Spartacus, was an floofbassador, but the next day, a mama cat was there for food, along with three other little ones.”
Monday, September 5 of 2022 dropped in for a visit. I asked her how she was. She answered, “I’m on holiday.”
Yes, it be Labor Day in the U.S., the culmination of a three-day weekend. Many turn it into a four-day weekend by asking for Friday off.
Beautiful morning here. 17 C after a clear, languid sunrise at 6:40 AM today. AQI says our air is green, 17. Purple Air makes us green and 2. A high of 93 F is on the menu for today. They tell me sunset will come at 7:38 this evening. Who am I to argue with them about that?
The Neurons are celebrating Labor Day with “Waitin’ for the Bus”, a 1973 song by ZZ Top. It has an urban blues feel to it which I’ve always enjoyed. Used to listen to it in high school art class, as our teacher invited us to bring in music.
Hope your Monday is the best it can be for you. Stay posi, test negy. I’m getting ready to coffee up. Here’s the tune. Cheers
He read that male giraffes will butt female giraffes in their bladder until they urinate. The male will then taste the female’s urine to see if she’s ovulating.
Imagining how all that might have worked if humans had followed a similar course, he decided that he was glad that humans did not.
Reading an article online, he encountered an asterisk at the end of a sentence and scoured the rest of the page for why the asterisk was there. None was found.
He shook his head in disappointment, muttering something about the shortcomings in life being found in unexplained asterisks.
Gumbyfloof (floofinition) – Animal who stretches, curls up, or generally contorts itself in unusual positions.
In use: “Little black Crystal was a true gumbyfloof, tucking her head under in ridiculous positions when she was sleeping, and managing to twist and coil her way into weird places all over the house. Predicting where she might be found needed a true seer.”
He awoke writing in his head, picking up the story where he’d stopped the previous day. Cats were first fed because he wasn’t inexperienced. The cats would haunt home with song until they were fed, and, you know, responsibilities, right? An agreement existed which must be honored on his end.
He settled into his office chair, typing fast for fifteen minutes. Insulated in his fictional world, he heard his wife’s activities as she pursued her post-rising rituals. Mental countdown beginning, he typed faster, racing through the scene to grab it all. The cats joined him, one on the windowsill behind him, speaking to his back, the other jumping up onto his desk, heading for his right side, waiting for him to reach for the mouse, intercepting his hand with a nose mash as he tried selecting a line to copy, paste, move. Then his wife entered talking.
He didn’t know what she said. Muses still shouted words in his head, but he knew the writing moment was done, at least for the moment.
When the sky rolled over again, we saw land. Scrambling off the raft and through the water, we came to a shore. Jersey solemnly pronounced, “This is Sunday.”
Now, it’s September 4, 2022, Labor Day in the United States, a holiday to celebrate working people. Many must work during the celebration because work never ends. Our smoke is better today, but good news is thin when it comes to the fires and fighting them. Fingers crossed, positive energy for those areas, prayers if that’s your thing, for them. Air quality for us is hovering at 100 but the smell is much better today. My eyes are only tearing a little, there’s less ache in the back of my throat, and the snot faucet has been turned off. I call that an improvement.
Only reached 85 F yesterday. Winds shifted and pressures moved. Today it’s 18 C now with a high of 90 F lurking out there. They’re forecasting a steady rise back to triple digits this week, and then a general cool down as we laze toward autumn. A leisurely sunrise was witnessed by those looking to the East at 6:39 AM. Look west at 7:40, and you’ll catch the ‘setting’ sun.
I have “Candida”, a 1970 song by Tony Orlando and Dawn in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons put it there when the cats and I went out back to do a sniff test. Lovely cold air and no bonfire scents made me think of the air as fresh and clean. Those words are lyrics in “Candida” so The Neurons fired up the song faster than you can say, “What?” Tony Orlando and Dawn wasn’t slotted in between The Who, Led Zep, and Pink Floyd as part of my regular music rotation, but the group made it big. Their sound regularly graced AM pop stations and television variety shows. Mom liked their songs, so whenever we were in the car and one came up, it wasn’t unusual for her to tip the volume up two notches.
“Candida” is a repeat. The last time The Neurons volunteered the song was in Feb. of 2019, and it was because of dreaming. See how The Neurons work my mind?
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, etc. The coffee signal has just gone up, and I must respond. Have a Happy Labor Day, if it applies to you. If not, have a happy day. Here’s Tony and the girls. Cheers
Antefloofent (floofinition) – An event or action which precipitates an animal’s activity.
In use: “In many households, the antefloofent for animals interrupting their naps is the some sound, smell, sight, or thought that food is being opened, eaten, or contemplated.”
Touching a sword to the day’s shoulder, I dubbed Saturday Lastallday. I’m alluding to the smoke. Fires are on three sides. Two in California and one, Rum Creek, in Oregon. The newest is Mill Fire by Weed down I-5. It’s like bonfires lit the night out there as a burnt wood smell permeates existence and ash collects on plants and cars. Depresses the bejeesus out of me, hence the name, Lastallday, as in, I hope this air doesn’t last all day.
Bad as we have it, far worse for the people enduring the smoke and fire aspect of it. Evacuations are spreading, animals are fleeing, people are praying, and they’re losing homes and possessions. Another weary year of drought, fire, and smoke with reports coming in that it’s only going to get worse in the coming years.
Hi. Today is September 3, 2022. Sunrise lit our environment in red gold as Sol rays were given scarlet hues by smoke particles at 6:39 this morning. Not a cloud in the sky, we’re bathing in cool air, 17 C, which would be lovely if it wasn’t smoke laden. A high of 100 F is in the works before the night shift takes over at 7:42 PM.
My wife is bummed out. Lake of the Woods Resort isn’t far away. Each summer Saturday, they have a BBQ and then a southern Oregon band plays and everyone dances. We’d created a tradition of trekking up there a few times during summer to celebrate and have fun. Well, COVID holed the tradition for the last two years. This year, it just fell apart. Our June plans fell through, and now our Labor Day plans have gone kerplunk. She’s in a mood, which puts me in a mood. The blazing hot, smoky day does little to alleviate our outlooks. Hope it doesn’t last all day.
I really like that expression, ‘bummed out’. Certainly stocks my mind with interesting imagery.
I’m not much help for my wife. Focused on writing after denying myself the opportunity while other things were pursued at her behest. First, the push to stay in the military. Get that retirement. “You’ll write when you retire from the Air Force,” she told me. Then I retired in 1995 and wanted to move somewhere to make that plan so. “I have a career here,” she said, referring to her advertising employment in Silicon Valley, SF-San Jose California edition. “So I don’t want to move.” But also, I needed to work because that place is hella expensive. After a few years, her employment was over and I was embedded in corporate life, which lasted a few decades, because someone needed to bring in income. And here we are.
Yeah, I’m bitter. Sorry about the self-pity spiel. I’ll try not to do that again.
Checked on Mom. She and her partner are still recovering from COVID. Mom is on molnupiravir under an FDA EUA.
Catching note of my mood, The Neurons saw that I yearned for other times, for times in the near past when I could walk outside, breathe pleasant air and plan activities without worrying about wildfires, smoke, or COVID-19. The Neurons fished around those circulating thoughts and drew out Nirvana and “Come As You Are” from 1992. The Neurons argue that my thoughts reflect my mood of 1992, when the future looked so bright, I had to wear shades. Right.
Here’s the tune. Time to get some magic elixir in me, ye ol’ black brew, kaffee. Test negative, stay positive, and on and on and on. Cheers
Weird little dream. I came to a wall of large beige tiles outside. It was a corner piece. Stopping with others, I looked at the wall and listened as some spoke. It was a small group of people. I knew about half of them. They were guessing about what the wall was about and I responded, oh, it’s an idea wall. Seeing the ideas (none remembered now), I started rearranging the ideas into an affinity grouping, laughing as I did this. The others began recognizing what I was talking about. Most of them then left as I stayed with it. One or two took ideas with them, which didn’t bother me at all. I was enjoying doing this work by myself, studying ideas and re-arranging them. The wall was by an intersection of two paths, and people constantly passed. Some stopped to ask questions. A few asked for ideas and carried them away when they left. Others arrived with ideas. A few placed them on the wall themselves, some after consulting me. Others were haphazard. Shrugging that off, I just correctly arranged the ideas again.
Dream end
