Category: memories

Thursday’s Theme Music

After popping the appropriate meds, we woke up as humans on June 15, 2023, a Thursday. As none of us remembered popping the meds, except poor Gerard, all was well. A technical glitch saw the sky as green and the grass and trees were blue, but that was fixed. Everyone but Gerard was given another med to fix their memories.

It’s cool again in Ashlandia this morning, rising from the 40s F to the mid 50s F now. Blue sky now, completely unbroken by clouds. Last night was also clear of clouds and full of astronomical wonders, great to admire as I called Papi. The ginger lord had broken our agreement and was MIA for a while despite calls for his return. He showed up after two plus hours, tall up, happily greeting me as though nothing was amiss, asking for lovin’ and kibble. How could I scold that face? He was back and that mattered.

The Neurons have piped “Yer So Bad” (1989) by Tom Petty into the morning mental music stream. Yes, it’s about Papi. I told him, you’re so bad, and The Neurons said, “You got it, boss.” They always hear a order or request to start a song, whether one was given or not, but they never hear the order/request to stop. I always enjoyed this song’s lyrics about the singer’s sister and her marriage to a yuppie. Some of the later Travelin’ Wilburys songs reminded me of this song. Not a huge surprise, given that Petty is Charlie T. Wilbury, Jr., and Jeff Lynne, who played on the song and produced it, is Otis Wilbury.

Stay pos, fresh and chill. Use coffee. Coffee; it’s what’s for breakfast. Also good for snacks. Here’s the tune.

Adios

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Hello, you lucky people. Time to embrace another Wednesday. It’s also an opportunity to celebrate Jun 14, 2023. If it’s your birthday, have a happy one. Same toast to you if it’s your anniversary.

This is Flag Day in the U.S., a celebration of the congressional resolution in 1777 about the new nation’s flag design.

Although we’re a week away from summer’s start in Ashlandia, we’re doing a chilly one this morning, 52 F. Sky is a sea of softly rolling gray-tinged white with sporadic islands and atolls of darker grays. No blue. A white lagoon represents our sun. High of 76 F is in the deck. Same is planned for tomorrow, with cold front delivering us overnight lows in the mid to upper 40s. Get a blanket out.

You can guess that the house floofs are saying nope to this weather. Not expecting the cooler air, they were out with their usual bravado. Now they’re sitting in the other room, telling me, “We thought we’d visit you today. Help celebrate flag day. Seems like a silly celebration. When will we celebrate treat day? How ’bout lap day? That’s worth celebrating. We’re not even sure what a flag is.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s Star Wars Day somewhere as on this date in 1977, the first Star Wars movie was shown in the U.S. My wife and I, then stationed at Randolph AFB, just outside of San Antonio, TX, went with my cousin and his friends to see the movie. Pretty entertaining.

I have Eric Clapton’s cover of the Bob Marley song, “I Shot the Sheriff”, in the morning mental music stream. I don’t know why The Neurons tossed it into the morning mental music stream. I think sometimes they do things just to see what happens, like mixing and coffee. Both are good. Wouldn’t they be better together?

Stay pos and fresh as a winter day. Don’t know where I was going with that. Maybe coffee will help me find answers. Won’t hurt to try. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Papers, please. We need to check you papers. Don’t you know? It’s Sunday, June 11, 2023. We need to check your papers and see if you’re on the right date and have the correct authorizations for being on this date. You know how it is. You start on one day, then, without any fault on your part, you’re on another. Confusion sets in, forcing you to ask others, “What day is it? What’s the date?” I have a calendar on my way to keep me straight. My computer also shows the day and date. As does my Fitbit. And phone. So I can crosscheck what they claim. I mean, machines, am I right?

Sprimmer is still on tap in Ashlandia. Moody clouds of different sorts and backgrounds. Some block the sun, then the sun re-asserts itself and throws down a hearty blaze. 61 F now, we anticipate highs in the mid 80s. We’re rolling on toward that longest day in the northern hemi, the once called summer solstice. Longest in theory, in general, on average. Our longest day in Ashlandia generally takes places a few days after the ‘official’ date. I suppose it’s because we’re a little rural, and it takes time for news to reach us. Yes, even with computers.

Papi was lounging out by our front porch yesterday in the early evening. I heard people talking through the open window so I looked out. Women walking by had stopped to speak with Papi and admire him. Papi eyed them like an imminent threat. He’s not one for flirting with strangers. I’m about the only one he’s consistently warm with. My wife tries and Papi tries to let her, but the results are uneven.

Had it been the late Quinn, he would have dashed right out there, offering himself up. He was the friendliest and sweetest floof I’ve ever had. The late Boo would have bolted away as soon as he heard them coming. They would have seen him. Scheckter would’ve talked to them but not allow an approach. Most of the rest would have just shrugged them off. As Tucker did later, when he’d joined Papi on the front porch and the women came back down the street. He was completely indifferent to them.

The Neurons have installed “Wondrous Stories” by Yes from 1977 in my morning mental music stream. Started last night when I was watching telly. Had been reading, writing before that, with yardwork and housework mixed in. At that point I was thinking about stories and the book I’d just finished reading. Eventually, I just realizing that “Wondrous Stories” was playing in my head. A mellow tune, has sort of a renaissance sound, not unusual for Yes.

Stay pos. Enjoy your weather wherever you are. By the way, it’s Father’s Day in the U.S. I sent Dad a card and will call him later. He’s in San Antonio, Texas, so I need to adjust for his time and schedule when I make the call. They’re always out at this time. So, first, coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

It’s raining again, a light falling, bringing up SuperTramp’s song from fifty years ago. Today is Jun 9, 2023. Friday. Last night’s thunderstorms skirting us. We could hear them like someone shouting from far away. “What?” You should back. “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You strain to hear and then just shake your head and walk away, muttering, “I can’t understand them.”

As for rain last night, it spit on us a bit a few times, but left us alone. Temperature topped 84 F locally, for the record.

Of course, yesterday started with a blue sky. Blue is as rare today as snow on a summer lawn. Clouds of different colors, depths and textures, ranging from flat white with a tincture of gray to billowing, curly, unkempt clouds edgy with dark pockets, have blanketed the sky. It’s 61 F now and the weather gurus tell us 79 will be the high, and there will be rain and thunderstorms later today. As always with weather, we’ll see.

Several songs inhabit the morning mental scream. “Wipe Out”. “Sweat Pea”. The Neurons are mixing weather, writing, and dream inputs. But I went with the song which came up after the dream sequences finished, “Fly Like An Eagle” by The Steve Miller Band, 1976.

Hope you stay pos and enjoy a most excellent Friday. I’m enjoying a most excellent cup of coffee. Establishes my baseline for the day. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Summer’s prelude to summer in Ashlandia has settled into a new weather routine. Blue sky. Plentiful sunshine. Cool, 50s to 60s F, in the morning. Rising to high 70s, low 80s by mid-afternoon. Roll in some clouds. Cue the thunder. Spark some lightning. Now, turn on the rain. Repeat for a few hours.

This is Thursday, June 8, 2023. Yesterday afternoon and evening on the storms squatting on Ashlandia. The climax was a twenty minute deluge of big drops, dense, falling fast and hard. What’s striking about all this lightning (couldn’t resist), thunder, and rain is that it’s so rare for Ashlandia, especially of this intensity, duration, and repetition. But it’s been a growing trend in the last several years. It could be part of a larger cycle and we all just don’t live long enough to experience it, so it strikes us as odd. But it’s also a continuation of an odd weather year.

The cats aren’t pleased. The weather even brought Tucker in, who is usually indifferent to these things. Papi, though, decided the best place to be was with us in a lit room, awakening, waiting, ready to run, and willing to be comforted. Tucker decided that he’d be wherever Papi was.

We’re seeing a lot of deer on our street this week. Two bucks strolling up the street the other evening. Three or four deer — or maybe the same few again and again — wandering around our house and across the street at the neighbors. Well, no recent cougar sightings in our vicinity, so maybe that has something to do with it.

I stood in the front doorway last night, protected by the porch, to watch the rain. Not just watch, but breathe in the fresh petrichor, and enjoy the sounds. Lightning frequently flashed to enliven the experience. As I stood there, The Neurons fired up a 1981 song by The Rolling Stones, “Waiting On A Friend”. Song is still in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons made a good choice. The storm broke me out of my normal routines. The smells and sounds also made me nostalgic for similar times experienced around the world from different phases of life where I was waiting for a friend to arrive as part of our plans to go off somewhere.

Stay positive, and enjoy Thursday as only you can. I have coffee, so I’m pleased for the moment, sipping hot brew, windows breathing in cool air on my back, sunshine slinking around the house, cats wandering in and out to give news updates. Here’s the tune. Love the video’s end, when the band gets up to play in that tiny, tiny space. Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Okay, that’s it, we’re takin’ it up a notch.

It’s 60 degrees F. Monday, 6/5/2023. Temp is gonna git up to 86 F today. This gradual climb by day of sunny heat is pleasant, acceptable. Heat isn’t crisping us to overcooked pizza crusts within a minute. Cool morning breezes descend from the mountains, whisper, it’ll be okay. We appreciate it.

Noisy out there. Air is lousy with work machinery noises. Don’t know where it’s from or who are the villians. Stirred me to arise — “Arise, arise” — and make flapjacks for breakfast. I always enjoyed the word, ‘flapjacks’, from childhood till now. The works isn’t easily pulled apart for morning. Not one of those expressions which you hear and immediately understand. See, like ‘pancake’, you have two familiars: pan and cake. Sounds already. ‘Flapjacks’ also have two familiars, flap and jack, but neither make me think food on their own merits. That doesn’t change by putting them together.

Got “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding” throbbing through the morning mental music stream. It’s a regular song in the rotation. Came to me while I was trimming bushes and doing odd jobs around the house. Far as I know, no particular activity or thinking was being done to cause The Neurons to say, “Hold up! We have the perfect song for the moment.” Nope, they just brought it on outta the blue. That’s how the mind sometimes works, hey?

While I was looking for a video to link, I saw another regular song I often hear in my head, “A Change Will Do you Good” by Sheryl Crow. As I listened to it for a bit, I saw that she’d done a version of Peace, Love, etc, so I dialed it up — yeah, I clicked on it. Her rendition became my choice for the day.

Be good out there. Be safe. Stay pos. Ima gonna pop down some coffee and go off with my wife to deliver Food & Friends. Then it’s on to writing, yardwork, housework, reading. Just finishing up reading Six of Crows. Really enjoying it.

Here we go. Let’s start with music and coffee. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Sunshine and blue skies. Presently on the mid side of 60 F, up from 52 F overnight, we’ll be hunting the mid 80s before the sun skirmishes with the falling night and carries us into a new day.

It’s June and Saturday, June 3, 2023, for more exactitude. The cats are loving this weather, right? Mostly out there sleeping in part shade, part sun. Seeing them out there, and I drift through memories. Tucker has always been a little strange about doors. He goes to the linen door, coat closet door, garage door, pantry door. A drawn out merow is issued. His meowing is either very loud or barely a whisper. No midpoint for him. When it’s a loud meow, he draws out the sounds and employs several syllables.

I ask, “What? You want into the <insert location here>?”

Head nod (yes, by him), mumbling mew sounds, a head tilt at the door in question, his look shooting from it to me, back to it, conveying his desire.

Head shake (yes, by me). “Okay, buddy.” Sigh. Door is opened. He heads in for investigation, sometimes dwelling in wherever for fifteen to twenty minutes. He’s old now, a long-furred black and white stray who chose to stay with us, showing up with matted fur and bad teeth almost ten years ago, I think. Need to check the histories to know with certitude. Point is, these demands have been incorporated in his behavior since his first year with us.

The Neurons planted “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” into the morning mental music stream. 1966 Yardbirds song. Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page on lead guitars, I thought this song was so cool when I first heard it, one of those radio offerings that had me jumping for the radio and reaching for the volume knob. Never heard it much on the radio in the years since. Don’t know when I last listened to it. But this morning, walking out of dream sleep and into the other room to begin standard morning practices, the first lines broke out of memory and into conscious thought.

Meeting people on my way
Seemingly I’ve known one day
Familiarity of things
That my dreaming always brings

Happenings ten years time ago
Situations we really know
But the knowing is in the mind
Sinking deep into the well of time

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Wasn’t long after that before The Neurons delivered the song to a loop in my head. I think it’s a related-to-writing thing. I obsess over time, reality, and questions of what we know vs what happened vs what we think we know is one that in my novel writing. Memory is a mischief maker and history is written by the winners and then revised, leaving many of us floundering about it all. So here we be.

Stay pos. Coffee drinking has commenced. Big old cup is a quarter down already. Goes well with a cool summer morning on the patio, sunshine blazing down, cats washing in the green grass, jay yelling at us all from different perches as he surveys the yard and lands on chairs and trees. Could be a good day, you know?

Here’s the tune. Cheers

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There & Gone

The floof is there and then he’s gone,

And then back beside me like a remembered song.

Pleasing me with his looks and presence,

Causing me to give him treats and attention as presents.

So it goes for a number of years,

Feeding him, tending him, addressing worries and fears.

Till it comes, a day so still,

Death has finally broken his will.

And he’s not beside me because he’s gone,

Till my mind brings him back like a remembered song.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Made it to June — June, when a young man’s fancy lightly turns to — well, that depends on the young man. We’re all different you know. Some ask, “What’s love got to do with it?”

Now that I’ve reached June, I’ve set my sights on July. As was said in the military on performance reviews, “Set low goals and failed to achieve them.” A cynic’s coven, they were.

Sunrise was about 5:30 on the AM side of the day and the setting part will be on the B side after 8:30. Temperatures for the nocturnal portion dipped into the mid 40s F but we’ve strutted into the low 60s by now, making our way to the low 80s in Ashlandia. How do you describe a sky this blue, not smudge by dust, smoke, or cloud, just sun-kissed and beckoning?

This, ladies and germs, is Friday, June 2, 2023.

Re-installed the pet door last night for Papi’s use. T’was removed for the winter. Some trepidation clings to the decision. Cougar, you know, seen in these parts. Well, there are several ranging our town’s streets and yards. Wife suggested, “Put the pet door back on so that you can get some sleep.”

“Cougar?” I responded, a one word summary of the six sentences said to remind her of her worries about a cougar getting Papi.

“This will give him an escape route. He can run in through the pet door if he gets scared.”

Sure, in a perfect world, I didn’t answer. That assumes Papi lounges around the back yard, close to him, instead of chasing moonbeams around the block. It also assumes that Tucker doesn’t passive-aggressively sleeps in front of the pet door, blocking it. Whatever. I am like water.

Today’s song is a product of glancing at the TV and seeing something. That something — I don’t know what it was — prompted The Neurons to select Dire Straits and “Lady Writer” (1979) from the memory bins and play it through the night. It still plays in the morning mental music stream, a classic DS sound to me. Catchy tune, upbeat, with intriguing words. Hope it stirs something for you.

Speaking of stirring, I’m stirring to get some java. The coffee low level light is blinking, and a top-off is the cure. Stay pos and bounce into the weekend, wherever your are and doing. Here are the lads and the song.

Cheers

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The Paths

The children bellowed into the coffee shop on a wall of sounds and cliques, styles varying sharply among them all, a mélange of current youth culture. Their ages escaped him – anywhere from fifth grade to eight or ninth, he thought.  Several schools surrounded the coffee shop so it wasn’t impossible. Except, few of them seemed like young adults. No, these were children.

His study flicked through them, trying to glimpse their futures. Not the close history, no, but what they’ll be in thirty, forty, fifty years. No more possible for him to see in them than he’d seen in his friends. Few followed predicted paths. Surprises, disappointments, successes and failures too often changed the paths.

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