Here we go. Thursday ends in a y, so it must be time for me to rant.
Subject: Are more people running red lights?
It seemed like that was rare for me to witness anywhere outside of Japan, which was over thirty years ago. I’d see one sometimes in the Bay area, especially in San Jose.
Now, here in little Ashland, I typically witness two cars or more a day running red lights. I rarely if ever saw them before the COVID era began. Now they’re increasing. While some are people turning left across traffic and waiting for an opening that doesn’t come until the light changes, the huge percentage are going straight, speeding up to hurtle through an intersection before the light goes red.
They often don’t make it. People get the green light and begin to go and then, here comes the red light runner, forcing everyone with the green light and right of way to slam on their brakes. I often witness very close calls between vehicles, or the speeding vehicle and cyclists or passengers.
It reminds me of the one crash I saw when someone ran the redlight.
This was around 1997. We were living in Mountain View, California, and had decided to go to the Mall of America in Milpitas. Stopped at a traffic light, I realized I needed to be in the lane to the right. Only one car inhabited it, so I thought I’d delay until they went and then shift over.
The light changed. The car in the next lane started off. I followed.
Suddenly, here comes a Cadillac sedan. Running the light from my left, they slammed into the driver’s side of the first car.
That could’ve easily been me.
We went right, around the block, coming back to check on the cars. Took a few minutes and by the time we arrived, the cops were there and the people from the crash were in a parking lot. But my wife and I stopped anyway, to share what we witnessed, and to check on the people.
As we approached, we heard the young female driver whose car was hit say with heavy sobbing, “I thought the light had changed.” On the parking lot’s other side, an old man paced while an elderly woman fumed beside him, arms crossed, lips tight.
I immediately said to the young driver, “It had changed. I was there. It was green when you went.”
The cops looked at me and asked who I was. I explained it all. My wife and I verified, the light was absolutely green when the woman went forward.
I heard the fuming woman say, “You’re always doing this. I knew this was going to happen.” As I looked her way, she finished to the old man, “You’re lucky you haven’t killed someone yet, but you will, if you don’t change.”
Watching these people taking greater and greater risk, I often now think the same thing which that woman said that day.
Winter stepped closer to us today. Though it’s Thursday, October 26, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the animals are heading for hibernation, and so are quite a few people, the lows are now in the thirties at night. Our present temp here is 38 F, and it’s blue-sky sunny. Today’s high will be in the low to mid sixties, but tonight will drop to 32 and more snow will kiss the elevations.
Snow on the els is a good thing, though. Snowpacks require replenishing, as do all the ways we save water to support ourselves through the dry, hot summer.
Today’s mood (disappointed) results from the House GOP Speaker vote. With Rep Johnson installed, another right turn toward the dark edge was taken. Yeah, pessimist, aren’t I? No reason to believe otherwise. Modeates went along with him because they realized that the GOP’s naked dysfunction was ugly optics. Voters no like, markets no like, allies no like. Had to change those optics somehow. And Rep Johnson, a hard right conservative who preaches religion to save us while stamping out abortion choices and rights but affable enough to get along with all the GOP factions, is their Missouri Compromise, a temporary peace with nothing resolved.
My internal optimist suggest wait; see. My pragmatist laughed at my optimist.
Feel like we’re just bleeding the Earth dry. Suck out all the fossil fuels. Drink all the water, bottle it up and sell it for a few dollars more, or throw it on landscaping and golf courses. Douse the crops and fill the swimming pools. We keep butting up to limits. So what will be cut? Who will stop getting water? The wealthy and powerful will keep getting water. ‘Cause they’re the ones with the most say in a capitalistic democracy. Some voters and citizens will shrug it all off as a temporary setback or completely deny it’s happening. Others will desperately fight to change our course but will be blocked and obstructed every time, on every initiative. That’ll go on right up to the bitter end, when even the wealthy start singing the out of water blues.
Speaking of vampires and blues, The Neurons eavesdropped on my whining and dropped Neil Young and “Vampire Blue” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fading). It’s a classic Young song, spare of chords, simple structure and words, delivered in a weary tone. At least, that’s how I har him.
Stay pos, vote, be strong and keep getting up after you go down. I’ll do the same. Just pour some coffee down my throat first, would’cha? Say, how much water does coffee take? I’m as addicted as the rest to the way it was.
Another Monday is about us in Ashlandia, where the rain falls mainly in the valley, and the streams and rivers swell with the results.
The weather is 52 F, cloudy and rainy. Forecasters warn that today’s high will be 65 F, with intermittent clouds, but it won’t rain. It’s a good coffee and reading day.
As for the world outside of Ashlandia, there were no overnight miracles. The news reports that the ongoing wars are still ongoing, one in Europe, and one in the middle-east. Besides those two, the GOP still wars with the GOP in the US. I don’t look for a quick or happy resolution to the war in the middle-east, but expect it to trudge on as has happened with Russia and Ukraine in Europe.
To summarize, led by the hardline Gang of Eight, the Republicans outsted their own guy as Speaker, Kevin McCarthy, even though they’re all part of the majority party nominally known as the GOP. Since booting McCarthy, the House has not been functioning much.
Note: the House wasn’t doing much before losing its Speaker, mostly because the GOP was determined to be the Grand OBSTRUCTIONIST Party. This is largely because a Democrat is POTUS, and most of the GOP’s ideas involve stripping rights from others, banning books, and keeping fossil fuels as the nation’s primary energy source.
Steve Scalise, House Majority Leader, R-La, tried and failed to become the new House Speaker, and withdrew after that one attempt.
Jim Jordan, a hardliner from Ohio, tried and failed after three rounds of voting to become Speaker. Just couldn’t find the votes. He’s considered too hard right and has never been known to compromise. Besides that, he has a poor legislative record.
“Critics of Rep. Jim Jordan (R-Ohio) have increasingly pointed to this – most notably the fact that he has yet to get a bill signed into law since being elected in 2006.” h/t to UnionLeader.com.
A line during Saturday Night Live’s cold open captured the essence of Jim Jordan’s attempt to be Speaker: “I want to be Speaker so that government starts functioning again so I can shut it down.” That’s the gist of Jordan’s politics. He doesn’t like ‘big’ government.
These wars complicate the world’s already precarious situation. The biggest crises we face in 2023 is growing food shortages and rising food costs, per ReliefWeb. Food shortages are worsening because war is tearing up farms and arable land, and growing extreme weather is damaging crops and disrupting growing seasons.
What a mess we’re in, and so much of it is brought on by our own actions. But just as so many addicts of drugs and addictives are helpless to save themselves, so it seems, are we.
Let’s go on to more pleasant matters, like music.
My wife was telling me a story about a conversation between her and some friends. I thought, “Oh, shit, sparks are going to fly now,” as I laughed, because I knew the husband and wife involved and how they were going to react.
Boom, The Neurons pounced, delivering “Master of Sparks” by ZZ Top into my head, where it remains in the morning mental music stream (Trademark sagging). This feels like a case of needing to play it for others to unloop it from my mental music stream, so here we are, me presenting it to you as Monday’s theme music.
The song is part of the first ZZ Top album I ever listened to, Tres Hombres, from 1973. I was seventeen. My buddy, Scott, brought it into high school art class as part of the established routine of listening to music while drawing and painting. One take of that album and I was smitten.
“Master of Sparks” turned out to be one of those songs that caught my attention as I was drawing because I was struggling to figure out what it was about. “What are they singing, Scott?” I asked. He brought it in, so I thought he’d know.
Sweeping his long bangs off his face, he grinned at me with big eyes. “I don’t know. Sounds cool, though doesn’t it?”
Scott introduced me to many new rock bands during that time, and shaped my musical preferences. Highly intelligent, athletic, and creative, Scott started at our school in my junior year after being tossed out from a well-regarded prep school. We shared multiple classes and were on several sports teams together. We also were both very rebellious.
Taking the question seriously, Scott returned two days later and told me that “Master of Sparks” is telling a story about a ball-shaped steel cage that the narrator was in. My reaction was basically, “Whaaa?”
Scott explained that he and Rick listened to it again and again at Scott’s house, and decided that’s what the song was about. Thanks to the net, I know they were right.
High class Slim came floating in Down from the county line Just getting right on Saturday night Riding with some friends of mine They invited me to come and see Just what was on their minds And then I took my first long look At the Master of Sparks on high
In the back of Jimmy’s Mack Stood a round steel cage Welded into shape by Slim Made out of sucker gauge How fine, they cried now with you inside Strapped in there safe and sound I thought, my-o-my, how the sparks will fly If that thing ever hit the ground
Slim was so pleased when I had eased Into his trap of death He had slammed the door but I said no more And I thought I’d breathed my last breath We was out in the sticks down Highway Six And the crowd was just about right The speed was too, so out I flew Like a stick of rolling dynamite
When I hit the ground You could hear the sound And see the sparks a country mile End over end I began to spin But the ball started running wild But it was too late as I met my fate And the ball started getting hot But through the sparks and the flame I knew that the claim Of the Master of Sparks was gone
Friday, October 20, 2023, has risen. Or has it descended? Maybe neither; maybe it’s just there because the calendar said next time Earth completed its spin, this will be the day, the result of eons of evolution of people thinking about time and how to best track it in a coordinated, organized manner.
Today’s weather in Ashlandia, where the streams are low and the mountains are high-ish, looks like yesterday’s weather on paper. Same numbers. Greater quantity of thin white clouds have stolen into our picturesque blue sky fall theme.
The planet’s trajectory and axis have changed things, though. Weirdly, 80 F at this time of year doesn’t feel as hot as 80 F in spring and summer.
The sun rises further to south. Trees and mountains limit the early morning and late afternoon sunshine reaching my house. That reduced direct sunlight keeps it feeling cooler, even though the thermoment says otherwise.
The sun’s angles affect our house in other ways. The night cools faster and deeper. The house doesn’t warm as much during the day. Our interior temperature drifts along at 68 at night to 72 in the day, all temperaturs Fahrenheit. That was true yesterday despite reaching 82 at our house outside and 53 F last night. Not complaining, just noting it all. It is in fact, extremely pleasant and relaxing. Weather like this is one selling points for us to remain in Ashlandia, buy a house, and spread roots.
An interesting time was had in our house yesterday. My wife went to have lunch with a friend and then see Taylor Swift’s concert movie, The Eras Tour. She left at 2:00 PM. I came home from writing at the coffee shop at 2:40. A note was on my desk: “Strong smell of gas in the laundry.”
Natural gas heats our house. We also have a gas dryer, stove fireplace, and hot water heater. She and I both worry about gas leaks. It’s our nature, but when I a child, several homes in the area where I grew up exploded after gas leaks went undetected and untreated.
I went into the laundry. Yep, I agreed with her; I smelled gas.
So, I did all the things I’d been taught. Shut off the gas at the meter. Turned off circuit breakers so nothing could spark. Opened all the doors and several windows to air the house. Then I took my cell phone outside, along with a book. I called the gas company and reported the situation and sat on a chair on the porch and read and waited.
Nice day for such a thing if you need to endure, I thought, enjoying warm sunshine and a cool breeze.
The tech arrived about forty-five minutes later. He went through the house with an expensive gizmo which looked like a huge old cell phone, checking the gas levels, first with the gas turned off, then with the gas turned on. Nothing, he reported. “I don’t smell any, either.”
All clear, then. He left. I turned everything back on and set the clocks. End of emergency, though not end of worry. What did we smell?
I’d ask the tech for his ideas. He basically shrugged. Naturally, I checked the laundry for smells later. Nothing last night, nothing this morning. But it’s the kind of event that plague my mind, because nothing was essentially resolved.
For today’s music, I have Jimi Hendrix playing “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark uncertain). The Neurons started playing it when I was out walking yesterday in a mountain’s shadow. It was very natural. I mean, the song starts, “Well, I’m standing next to a mountain.” Making a transition from standing next to a mountain and walking next to one and back was very easy.
Stay pos, be strong, and make the best of what you can with your day and what the situation provides. I’m off for coffee. Here’s the music. BTW, look at this stage and crowd. So different from many rock star concerts being put on this year, wouldn’t you say? Crank that up to eleven.
We’ve gravitated to Wednesday, October 18, 2023. Will it be one of those days? you ask. Thinking about what’s going on, I wonder as well. How will this day be remembered by us in five years and more? History will have one perspective, and each of us will have our own variation of what this day was like in hindsight, just as we do with absolutely everything that happens.
I believe that in a year, this day will be lost in the existential mud for me.
It’s 61 F with fog out there in Ashlandia, where the rockers are old, and the dancers are above average. From my window’s vantage, there’s not a scintilla of fog marring the blue, sun-fed expanse. Temperatures promise to live up to the sunshine; forecasters are announcing with some pleasure, it’s going to be in the low eighties today.
I was thinking about how difficult getting out of bed was when I was sick during the last two weeks. Every day was worse until something broke on Sunday. Then it gradually improved until it’s much better today.
The Neurons heard me thinking. That inspired them to inspire me with “Moving in Stereo” by The Cars in my morning mental music stream (Trademark inspired). The song’s forbidding techno beat always gives me pause. Combined with the voice inflections in the song’s early verses, it inspires robotic movements.
The words themselves capture some of the essence of my life views. I hear in them my thoughts about how we so easily succomb to our problems and often magnify them.
It’s so easy to blow up your problems It’s so easy to play up your breakdown It’s so easy to fly through a window It’s so easy to fool with the sound
[Verse 3] It’s so tough to get up It’s so tough It’s so tough to live up It’s so tough on you
[Verse 4] Life’s the same, I’m moving in stereo Life’s the same except for my shoes
I hear myself magnifying my issues in things like me muttering to myself, “I feel so sick.” Well, it’s a relative thing, innit? I was not dying, just coping with some mild to strong symptoms that affected thinking, breathing, and moving.
I ended up mocking myself about those things. I always like to see those you-are-here depictions of our planet as a miniscule dot in the galaxy, and the galaxy is a tiny dot in the universe. That restores my perspective. Or some of it. It’s a relative thing.
Stay positive, be strong, and cling to whatever optimism you can muster today. Fortified with black coffee, I will do the same.
We’ve come upon a rare beast: Thursday, October 12, 2023. It only happens once.
47 F in Ashlandia, where the air is clear and the people are refined. Never fear, the rain has stopped, and the skies are clear deep blue. With the sun and air working together, we’ll reach 69 F before sunset comes at 6:35 PM. This sunset gives us an swath of daylight just over eleven hours long. The clock is running.
There’s a great deal to care about in the news, as usual. Several wars and politics just edge baseball and football. Best news heard this week is that my little sister looks cancer free after having her rectum removed in September. Hurrah for that. As another friend privately noted, but once you’ve experienced a close encounter of the cancer kind, the fear it’ll return haunts you.
The Neurons have plugged a 1982 Donald Fagen song into the morning mental music stream (Trademark petrified). I heard “I.G.Y. (What a Beautiful World)” on the car radio a few days ago. The song is a riff off of an International Geophysical Year – IGY – which Fagen read about. The IGY was in the 1950s. Fagen then contemplates a beautiful future.
The words and sentiment kept pestering my thinking. Simplifying, part of the IGY philsophy was to bring scientist together to discuss problems propose solutions.
Hearing this song, though, about how science and technology could advance and help us, I’m dismayed. Science and technology is under attack by many. Witness what’s been going on with the COVID-19 vaccines, along with other vaccines. (Point of order, many have derided vaccines for decades, so that’s not a clearly new development.)
So, let’s point out that people doubt what scientists are saying about global warming. This, despite the rise of sea waters, drought, melting ice caps, and increased extreme weather which scientists warned us about.
Led by hard right conservatives, people doubt the potential benefits of solar and wind power. Most focus on the negatives, ignoring the negatives behind the accepted energy sources like fossil-based fuels and nuclear energy.
Fagen talks about new technology like undersea trains taking us from New York to Paris in 90 minutes. I can’t help but wonder who that might help besides the people who can afford it. We already have space travel for the wealthy developing. Of course, they like to say that if space travel can become common enough, prices will come down.
But how much does space travel help the masses? For my end, I’d prefer to see high speed rail built in the United States so that it doesn’t takes days to cross the country and a small fortune, as it does now. Perhaps electric trains to move people and cargo so we’re not all crowding into commercial aircraft like sardines in a can.
And I’d rather see money and technology spent on solving problems that affect people every day, such as we saw happen with vaccines. Let’s do the same to battle cancer.
While saying all of this, I do remember a television show called “Connections“. James Burke hosted the show. The subject was about unexpected uses and benefits derived from technology, and how these improvements were connected through science and medicine, and the continual quest for improvement. So, while I poo-poo space travel for the wealthy, perhaps unexpected benefits will be derived to solve some of the problems our world faces.
Finally, Fagen mentions, “What a glorious time to be free.” Yet, war is on the rise. So are challenges to people’s basic rights.
Book banning is on the right, as is racism and white supremacy.
Doesn’t feel like a glorious time to be free.
Anyway, “I.G.Y. (What a Beautiful World)” is today’s theme music. Please listen to it and contemplate the ideas in it. I’d enjoy hearing what others thing. Perhaps, I’m just emerging as a pessimistic as I lean in toward my geezer years.
Time to saddle up this day and ride on toward the sunset. Be strong, stay safe and optimistic. Here’s the music. I got my coffee and I am a go. Cheers
Hello, fellow trekkers through life. It’s Monday, October 9, 2023.
Heavy clouds clipped in under night’s cover, announcing autumn was ending our Indian summer flirtation. 65 F now, 66 F is the projected high for Ashlandia, where all ingredients are fresh, locally grown, and organic, except when it isn’t. Showers are expected shortly, the beginning of a local rainfest running this week.
Was tired this morning and didn’t want to leave my bed. Not happy news out in the world, in my mind, right? More war rising and escalating.
But, the cats clarified who has the power and how my desires fit into the morning routines when it comes to decisions about them eating or me sleeping. I also remembered that I’d committed to helping my wife.
Said wife — still the first (I know, it’s a surprise to all of us) — had Food & Friends deliveries scheduled that day. She’d be returning from exercise class, change clothes, swig down his coffee and don some lippy, and then she and I would jump in the car. I’m here driver for this monthly volunteer work.
Our last F&F outing didn’t go great. Three people didn’t answer the door or the food. Typical F&F beneficiaries are elderly, handiapped, or people coping with diseases. So, besides delivering food, F&F’s mission includes ensuring people are okay and don’t need assitance.
We picked up the food at the senior center and perused the list. Three people were off it. We talked about them, hoping they’re okay, wondering about their situation. Two new people had been added. Off we went.
It mostly went well, although there were hitches, such as being short one frozen meal. The biggest issue was that one new man didn’t answer his door. My wife called the number provided; not in service. After knocking more, she wrote a note to him on the official F&F slip and we pressed on.
Afterwards, we went back to his place. Still no answer.
The man lives in an apartment complex. The manager’s office was nearby so my wife went over to speak with the manager about the man. Turns out, the F&F client has a motorized wheelchair. He’s a smoker and likes to go out to smoke. The manager had seen him two hours before, buzzing around the campus.
Calling it a day, we returned to the senior center and my wife documented all that had happened.
The driving and waiting seemed to drain me today. Selfish of me, I reflected, but then again, that’s my writing time. Reactions involving writing doesn’t aways flow down normal culverts of thinking and emotions. Also, I volunteer to help her, and I enjoy it. Just one of those days.
I always wonder, though, what brings people to this point. Thinking about why they might be on a F&F client, I pursue the regular courses of reasons. Genetics, giving disease an unfair advantage. Bad luck, like car accidents and house fires. They might have been victimized by others, or made decisions which seemed to be the thing to do, only to have it all go south.
While sitting in the car, I listened to the radio and waited at one point. “Tailwind” by Kenny Wayne Shepherd came on. I’d only heard the song, which came out in 2019, a few times before. I know controversy about KWS was stirred a few years ago over his ‘General Lee’ replica. The General Lee is an orange ’69 Dodge Charger with a CAS battle flag painted on its roof. The car was featured in a television show called “The Dukes of Hazzard”, which aired from 79 – 85. Overseas most of the time, I didn’t see much of it.
Anyway, KWS had a nomination for Blues Musician of the Year (or some honor like that) rescinded because of his ownership of the car. In his response, KWS acknowledged he had the car but had the CSA flag covered up because he knew it represented racist elements. He apologized for it and stated that he stood against racism and oppression for everyone.
Well, hearing the song, The Neurons kept it going in the morning mental music stream (Trademark confusing) after we’d shifted into the afternoon. So, I’m gifting it to you. The Neurons and I agreed that the lyrics fit my mood.
Sometimes I feel like a man in a can About to go hurtling through Space, whiplash fast Soon as the match hits the fuse Sometimes it seems like I’m making it up Crazy and crazier days When fiction ain’t stranger than the truth Turn the page Turn the page
Roll around the world And around again Someplace we’ve never been Blow a kiss and Fly with the sun See how lightning fast we can run With a little luck We might just catch a tailwind Hey, fellow travelers Keep travelin’
Somedays I swear that the game must be rigged Jokers up every last sleeve And if crooked is straight Then what the hell does that make me
Austin showed up earlier in 2023. Just after spring, is what I think. A white man in his mid-twenties, he appeared to be in good health. About 6′ 2″, his hair was bright, shiny copper. His shoulders were broad but he was otherwise lean, but didn’t seem very musular. His clothes, usually green or gray, the sort worn for hiking, were in excellent condition. A large backpack rested on his shoulders and back.
My interactions with him were brief and superficial. I nodded to him once and said, “Hello.” He didn’t answer. I held the door open for him another time and was rewarded with, “Thank you.” Thank you is the most I ever heard him say to anyone.
Quickly becoming a daily regular, Austin usually requested water or ordered tea. His voice was low, with a soft tone. I rarely heard him order, but saw the tea or water. He never spoke to other patrons and sat alone, sipping his drink and listening to his phone through earphones. He didn’t have a regular seat, as I do. He sat wherever there was space, stripping off his huge backback and setting it on the floor beside him. People tried to give him money several times; he always rejected it.
His routine presence intrigued me. I like watching people and observing matters. Regulars and their habits are like a weird hobby for me, which I call ‘coffee shop spotting’. I have made several friends in this way. I’ve often included aspects of what I observe in my fiction writing.
Since we’re located close to the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT), I speculated that Austin was walking it and stopping in Ashland for a break. Many hikers pass through here in that way. They’re a normal, regular sight. Many stock up on supplies, rest and clean up, pick up mail, and receive packages. I figured Austin was doing these things.
But one week became two, and two weeks expanded into several months. Austin spent the entire summer in Ashland, walking Ashland Street with his pack on his back, stopping at the coffee shop, and then going back out and walking down the street again. I never saw him anywhere else. I don’t know where he slept. He always presented a neat and clean impression.
Now he’s gone. I never met him but I worry about him. He’d become part of my daily landscape. I asked the coffee shop workers if they knew any more about him; no. Several shared my concerns and had made many of the same questions. Austin never elaborated to him about any of his plans and situation. I know that local homeless individuals tried becoming his friend, but he rebuffed him, too.
I hope he’s okay, and that he’s not same killer or something on the run, and that whatever brought him spend the summer in Ashland has been resolved in his favor. Maybe there never was anything. Perhaps he was just taking time out from his life for a while.
It shouldn’t be important to me; other people have come and gone. It’s that Austin was a regular but an enigma. That made him a puzzle.
Now he’s gone but the puzzle remains, probably never to be solved. I hope he wasn’t injured or hurt. In my mind, I’ve sent him back to the world where he started. He’s resumed his life, and is back in college.
It was The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly in our backyard, if that movie was done by cats.
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is a 1966 spaghetti western film. That name, ‘spaghetti western’ was given to a series of western films based on the US west, but generally written, directed, and produced by Italians and filmed in Europe. Sergio Leone was one the leaders of this movement. With a string of successful films, he became influential in how westerns were made. This film was one of his masterpieces and judged by film critics to be significant.
Clint Eastwood starred in several spaghetti westerns, including this one. The movie’s morally complex story is that three gunfighters are searching for stolen gold during the American Civil War. The gold is supposed to be buried in a cemetery. The three men are searching and fighting for it while coping with the war going on. They eventually find the cemetery. A final showdown is set up.
It’s a climatic scene, delivered with long shots of the three gunfighters interspersed with tight close ups of the squinting and sweating sunburned men as flies pester them. These movies were always gritty and tense, with impressively realistic details. A music box is playing – yes, it’s part of the story – along with the titular theme song. When the music box finishes, the gunfight commences and finishes the tale.
My cats, Papi and Tucker, aided by a stranger, recreated the scene in the backyard. A jay provided the background ‘music’. Standing in an equilateral triangle about eighteen feet apart, Tucker and Papi faced off against a gray and white stranger.
Tucker is a black and white long-haired/short-haired mix with crazy long, white whiskers. There looks like some Maine coon in those whiskers, along with his ears and face shape. He used to be a fierce fighter but has finally chilled as he’s aged. Papi, the ginger blade, is years younger. He’s been in a few fights – he was in one just last night – including at least twice with Tucker, but prefers to not fight if fighting can be avoided.
A strong wind was blowing. Tucker was in sunlight on a small knoll on which three trees are perched. Their branches blew wildly over his head. The stranger was back by the wooden plank fence between two bushes. Papi was in shadowed dark green grass. The only movement I saw on the three floofs were small eye slides and ear shifts.
Though Tucker isn’t the right ‘colors’ to be Eastwood, his expression was worthy of being Clint’s character. I could easily imagine a cigar in Tucker’s mouth as he stared down the other.
A few minutes into it, Papi slowly settled into a more comfortable watching posture. Tucker followed suit a couple minutes later, encouraging the third cat to do the same. They stayed like that for about three minutes. Then, Papi, I guess growing bored, looked around and discreetly walked off. Tucker lowered his head down for a nap. The stranger carefully shifted, and then went up the fence and away from the scene.
All very anticlimactic. While it reminded me of the famous movie scene, none of these three participants were ugly. I can’t speak for the stranger, but my two can sometimes be good, or bad. Come to think of it, they’re as morally complex as the gunfighters, and just as entertaining.
Hallo, fellow earthlings. Greetings from Ashlandia, where the sun is shining, and the inhabitants are spirited.
Today is Thursday, October 5, 2023.
It’s started out at 52 F this morning. Sunshine lit the bedroom with a golden haze.
Wasn’t so nice in the rest of the house, where it was dark, even a little gloomy. Mountains and trees hid the sun until the Earth and sun moved enough to bring the sunshine over the obstructions.
60 F is now on display on the thermometer. Autumn colors have crept into my windows’ views. Sunshine blazes across the colors, sparking stunning vividness in the scarletts, golds, yellows, and greens. A madcap blue sky lids it with perfection. Today’s high will be 86 F.
I think Indian summer may have arrived.
Our beer group met last night. Under fading sunlight and the mountain’s long shadows, a light breeze carried an air temperature of 69 F. Lovely setting for having a beer and chatting with friends. We had a good turnout of twelve people. One member, Mark, has his younger brother in for a visit. Those two joined forces with two other members to build a pergola in Mark’s backyard. Tales of mistakes made and corrected were shared for some of our time until discussion about the vacated House Speaker position.
From there, we strangely pivoted to cars. “What car that you owned would you like to have back?” one member queried us. 1960s muscle cars were mentioned by many. A pickup truck was thrown in. I would opt for my orange 1974 Porsche 914. My wife and I had much fun in that car, tooling around San Antonio and the local Texas countryside, targa top off, sunshine soaking us. Conversation then shifted to rock concerts people had attended.
Eavesdropping on the conversation, Les Neurons began playing Bob Seger singing “Fire Lake” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark fallacious). This mellow 1980 song has such a throwback feel that brackets a story-telling mode, ending with a philosophical question, “Who wants to go to Fire Lake?” With Bob Seger’s throaty whiskey delivery, it’s a pleasant song to have in the MMMS.
Stay positive, be strong, and keep your head in the clouds and keep reaching for the stars. Coffee is being consumed. Time for the day to be embraced. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 