Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofucheato (floofinition) – Animal who regularly steals from people or other animals.
In use: “The Prince, as the little Yorkie was usually called, was a floofucheato, stealing doughnuts, bacon, and snacks with brash aplomb, along with towels, socks, slippers, keys, and TV remote controls. Nothing was safe from the polite little thief.”
Sunshine kicked the day open at 5:36 AM. Birds immediately entered talking and singing mode, testing new sounds. Cats continued as cats do. People variously leaped up to embrace the day, sighed and forced themselves out of bed, or whispered, “Just a little more sleep, please. Just a little more.” Those are a few of the ways the day’s beginning was addressed. It depended.
Planning was already underway to finish the day. Sunset would be at 8:42 PM. Many people find it easier to finish the day than to start it. For those struggling to get it going, caffeine often helps. Many imbibe it in tea or coffee. Some drink sodas. Adding sugar to the start up process enhances it for more than a few. It also can cause problems. People find that they’d consumed caffeine and sugar to get started. Now, at day’s end, they can’t stop.
Between those minutes when sunrise and sunset were declared, the day lurked. Many northern hemisphere areas have discovered that summer has arrived. Ways to beat the heat are conjured, just as ways to beat the cold were manifested back in the cold, dark months.
Today’s music choice is “Let It Rain” by Eric Clapton and Bonnie Bramlett, a song that came out on Clapton’s debut album to begin his solo career in 1972. Motivated by my preferences and needs, I’m thinking, let it rain, to the universe because my area would swallow fresh rain like a thirsty Steelers fan takes down a beer. After a couple days of high heat, we’d sinking into low heat. Highs are dropping from above 100 F or the upper nineties to the upper eighties. Leaves are turning brown and drying out. Hence my call, “Let it rain.”
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as required, and get the vax. Masks are less and less required here. It’s a slow transformation. We’re like critters poking out heads out. Looking around, we tentatively remove masks. Eye others. Are they still wearing their mask? They vaccinated? The air is sniffed. Seems okay. We’ll see. We’ll see.
Here’s the music. Please enjoy. Cheers.
There were so many of us. All there for activities, as in clubs and sports activities. Buildings, fields, tents and canopies provided the settings.
I was there mainly for racquetball. We had a tournament…seven players. I was ranked fourth. Yes, mid-field, but I was having fun. An elderly white man with a laconic voice approached me and told me that he thought he could help me improve. Was I interested?
Absolutely. He started by telling me he would hit a few balls around to see how I reacted and assess my playing level. Only three balls were hit, though. I returned two of them. The first shot pleased me, the second shot was ‘okay’, but the third was horrid. I was thinking that I needed to improve my racquet control but he was like, “Oh, dear, that wasn’t good.” Interruptions kept him from hitting other balls. We needed to leave the court.
So we went outside. Overcast, a blowing wind put me into a sweater and jacket. My instructor hit a ball. It went wildly askew. With others watching, he encouraged me, “Chase it down, chase it down, get it, get.” I ran and ran, trying to get my racquet under the blue ball…and failed.
Oh, he was disappointed. “We have much more work than I thought,” he announced.
Rain began falling. I took that as an excuse to quit, taking off my sweater and jacket, and putting on a raincoat. I was also concerned that my blanket was getting wet, and had to retrieve it. My instructor said that we’d continue later.
I went into the building and joined a group of young people. Many were female. Inquiring what they were there for, they informed me that they were part of the surfboard building club. Did I want to join? They passed around sample materials and sign up sheets. They were trying to think of other uses for surfboard materials and construction techniques. “What about coffins,” I suggested. Half-serious, I said it would make coffins lighter. I decided not to join that group and went on.
Next stop was the blues society, where they were offering lessons in how to play blues guitar. I signed up for that after some conversation. When I did, I discovered that I was already a member but that my dues were in arrears. I needed to pay five extra dollars to be reinstated. They handed me an electronic pad to sign my name and make the payment. As I did, my wife joined me. For some reason, I didn’t want her to know that I was five dollars overdue, so I hastily finished business and led her away.
The activities center was closing down. We were being urged to leave. Someone called something to us. Apparently, it was about my father joining the blues society. “No,” I answered, “he’s suicidal.” My wife repeated that response to the people asking the question.
We went on our way.
The blinds needed to be removed.
This was a requirement to paint around the frames. Somehow in the madness of life, I’ve decided that I need to paint the living and dining rooms. Together, they are, ‘The Great Room’.
Point of order: my wife hectored me into doing it. “These rooms are too dark. We need a lighter color.”
Me: “Huh-huh, you’re right.”
“When can you do it?”
“Wait, what?”
Life sometimes needs a rewind function.
Into the garage! To the tools! My tools are not greatly organized. Shelves hold several power tools and their requirements, along with a large toolbox. It’s augmented by a small thing with a work surface and four drawers. One drawer has lost its front. (I’m going to fix it sometime.) The top drawers are well organized with screws, anchors, glues, nails, sandpiper. The bottom two drawers are stuffed full of whatever I can get in there. I avoid opening them, except to retrieve tape and edger/trimmer string. My tape variety is impressive.
The screws holding the mounting brackets have a Philips-head X on it. They would not budge despite my grunting. “Get a screwdriver with more torque,” I muttered to myself. I already had the biggest. I would use the drill on it, but there’s not enough clearance. Bummer.
Sighing in frustration, I hit the ratchet wrenches. For some reason, I’ve acquired three complete sets. No, there’s more. At least two sets are metric. I bought them because I lived in Germany and Japan. Metric was used there, and I owned foreign cars – BMW, Porsche, Mercedes, Audi, Toyota, Nissan, Mazda, Honda, Toyopet. Plus, at least one set was priced at a dollar at a garage sale. Who can resist tools at a garage sale? They’re like books. You gotta look and see what might fill that imaginary hole in your library or toolbox.
The sockets are semi-disorganized. Most are in their proper places but the smallest sockets always go strolling. I go through them, looking for the 1/4 inch, along with the proper adapter to go from big to small. With all those socket kits, I have a multitude of options for changing spark plugs. Every manufacturer had a different size of socket required. Some had several. I also have a number of tools for setting the gaps on plugs and rotors, and wires for cleaning them.
Which reminded me of computers. Back in the office closet lives a set of shelves. On it resides office requirements like Wite-out, file folders, label maker, pens for the next century (if they don’t dry up), paper for the printer, ink for the same, assorted docks for laptops I no longer use, another printer I no longer use, cables for laptops and printers… You get it, right?
Disk drives also live on these shelves. Floppy 5.25 inch. Hard floppy 3.5 inch. Zip drives. CDs. All are ready to be formatted and written. I have not formatted anything in over a decade, maybe longer. I used to format things several times a week, back in, um, the last century. Strange that something that once was so common is now rare.
Not really. We were riding horses and trolleys more back in the last century, too. I only rode horses a few times for entertainment. Never mounted one to go to the store, or to visit the neighbors.
I don’t change my car’s oil any longer, either, although I have the wrenches for that, too, and the big wrench to remove an oil pan nut. I have baskets of computer and electronic gear. Ribbon wires, chipsets, an old power supply, old fan, along with a huge variety of RCA cords and adapters. There’s an extra monitor, too, and a VHS head cleaner for the VHS deck that I no longer use. I also own bearing grease, quart jugs of motor oil, and car cleaning supplies, like polishes and waxes.
Sometime, someone needs to go in there and clean all this stuff out. Not me, not today.
Time for me to paint.
“Hold your horses,”
A little bird told me,
grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“A fly on the wall says,
he used to drink like a fish,
but he’s gone cold turkey.
Now he’s happy as a clam
though lazy as a dog.
Busy as a bee
feathering his nest.
As cute as a bug’s ear
in his cat’s pyjamas,
mad as a hatter,
but quiet as a mouse,
maybe because the cat got his tongue.”
I always thought him the cat’s meow,
sly as a fox
but crazy as a loon,
a night owl willing to party
until the cows come home.
Welcome to the day, by international standards, which is the fourth day of the week, Thursday. We count Sunday as the first day of the week in my house, so Thursday is the fifth day of the week. Regardless, it is May 13, 2021. Sunrise, by scientific observation, came to Ashland at 5:52 AM and sunset will follow at 8:20 PM. Outside, we’re expecting a dry, warm, spring day, with temperature pushing into the lower eighties.
We saw 40 new cases of COVID-19 in Jackson county yesterday, continuing the roller-coaster trend. Our seven-day average has declined to thirty. Thirty-six percent of Oregonians are fully vaccinated. Almost fifty percent have had at least one shot.
Dreams were of a wide variety last night. They featured a great deal of domesticity like shopping and house-cleaning, but also trended to having broken machines (like vacuum cleaners) and broken remote controls. Must go through the debrief about what it’s all about.
Today’s music choice comes from Chris Rea. Released in 1986, “Let’s Dance” was a small hit in the U.S. for him but made into the top ten in several other countries. I always like the jaunty tune. Feels optimistic. That summarizes my mood: optimistic.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Cheers
As inexorable as the sun arriving in the east each AM, we’ve cycled into another Tuesday, labeled May 11, 2021, for official record keeping. The star known as Sol punched in at 5:54 AM and will punch out as regular as Fred Flintstone at 8:21 PM. Spring sunshine is as plentiful as green leaves and temperatures are expected to tiptoe into the upper seventies today. Lovely.
Feeling well today. During my Saturday evening hospital visit for a damn kidney stone, I was given batteries of tests to verify all is well. They keep saying things like, ‘you’re remarkably healthy.’ I always think, you should see the other guy. CT scan showed liver, gall bladder, appendix, intestines, colon, stomach, lungs, kidneys all in great shape. Blood work support those claims. So, yea, me, or more rightly, yea Mom and Dad for giving me genes that set me on the road of having good health.
Mom and Dad are still about. Dad and his siblings are all alive. Now residing in San Antonio, Texas, Dad is the oldest of that lot of five. Mom is less fortunate. Living in Pittsburgh, PA, second to youngest, she’s the sole survivor of her gang of five. Mom is 85 this year and Dad is 89. Mom had health problems over the last five years, dealing with various heart, lung, foot, and cancer issues. Now she consumes twenty meds a day but still moving. Dad had been doing well but suddenly has issues the last three years. Now he’s losing blood, uses a walker or a cane, oxygen at home for his COPD, and several care-givers coming in a few times a week. Despite several hospital stays, cameras inserted into various orifices, and lots of blood and urine work, they don’t know where the blood is going. His spirits are up, though. Dad is pretty indefatigable.
Mom and Dad divorced almost sixty years ago. They’ve arrived at this point in their lives with good partners. Dad is on his third marriage (although he lived with another three women for years) while Mom is on her sixth fellow. Mom and her fellow are not married but they live together. I’m happy they have someone growing old with them, taking care of them. I’ve seen how hard it is when you’re elderly and living alone.
I’m listening to The Clash in my head this morning. They’re singing the 1978 song, “Guns On the Roof”. Reading about the U.S. troop withdrawal from Afghanistan brought me to this song. We’re still leaving one thousand troops in there, along with contractors. We’ll also continue pursue our latest military fad, drone warfare. That brought up The Clash line, “I like to be in U.S.A. Pretending that the wars are done.” The United States is never done with war. Peace would wreck too many stock portfolios.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Cheers
I read an interview with Calvin Trillin today. He said, every family has a theme that runs through it.
I can dig that. I grew up with some very Catholic and Jewish friends. Lessons and classes were always interfering with plans. I went to Bible School every summer for a few weeks, for a couple years. Other than that, I think we were Presbyterians. We attended church on some Christmases.
Religion wasn’t my family’s theme. Neither was education. Mom and Dad took the attitude, don’t bring home a bad grade and we’ll be okay. Several other themes were possible. Mom married multiple times in a quest for happiness. She’d taken private vows not to be like her mother, cold, hard, distant. Mom would be friends with her children. We would play games together.
Man, did we play games. Card games, ball games in the backyard, board games, Mom was always up to playing a game with us. Tripoley, a card game Mom picked up from her in-laws, became the go-to game. There was a board, in our case, a green plastic sheet. On it were different card combinations, along with poker, and ‘out’. Everyone paid into some pots, usually two to three cents each hand. A dummy hand was dealt. The dealer had the choice to keep their hand and sell the second hand, or to pick up and use the second hand. When you evaluating a hand to see whether you would bid on the extra hand, you were looking for pay cards, like the King and Queen of Hearts, or the 8-9-10 combo, or if it was a good poker hand or one that would allow you to go out.
We always played for pennies, and had great old Maxwell House coffee cans filled with coins, because sometimes, those pennies started adding up. “Look at that King and Queen, is that silver in there? There must be eighty cents in there.” Such a large amount. No one counted it, though; counting a pot drew bad luck down on you.
My wife quickly learned about the game but most of the spouses stayed away from it. They didn’t understand how we could sit and play for several hours for a few pennies, coming away with a beam for winning almost three dollars. Woo hoo.
The theme also could be hiding. Mom taught us all to hide whenever someone came to the door. I never heard why we were hiding. Someone knocks, we freeze, falling silent, eyes wide, like it’s WW II and the Nazis have found us. “Who is that?” we’d mouth at one another. Someone would sneak to a window. Carefully peek out. We also did not answer the phone. Whoever was calling us needed to know the code: let it ring twice, hang up and call again. If you don’t use the code, we’re not answering your call.
Our family’s theme could be fragmentation. I left Mom to live with Dad when I was fourteen. The older sister moved out of state when she was nineteen. We lost contact with her. Mom moved many times in her quest to be a good single mother, work, and find joy in marriage. It just didn’t work out. Yet, whenever I returned home, it was like I’d never left. We picked up having good times, laughing at everything, playing games. My wife noticed it after a few visits.
Pressing myself for the truest answer, what is your family’s theme, I laugh and answer, “Food.” Of course. Many people probably say the same. Mom loved to cook. She loved making us happy with food, and she was a damn good cook. The sisters took it up. Holidays Fare always encumbered with too much food, too many munchies, too many desserts. Typically, there’s pies and cakes, because Mom and sisters didn’t want to overlook anyone’s favorite. There are salads as an homage to health, along with something Italian — spaghetti, ravioli, maybe, but usually lasagna — along with turkey or ham. Depends, you know? Thanksgiving always required turkey. Ham was on Easter. Burgers, bbq chicken, and hot dogs on Memorial, Labor, and Independence Days, along with the Italian entree. There is lots of food. Leftovers get divided for consumption. It was often enough to supply troops invading another country. Desserts are usually frozen for other occasions. It’s not weird in our extended family to offer someone dessert from the freezer. “I have some leftover birthday cake from Gina’s birthday.” That Gina’s birthday was two months ago didn’t matter. It was frozen; it’d still be good.
Mom loves a cook out. That’s what she calls it: cooking out. We call it grilling. While my wife and I grill vegetables, sometimes chicken, fish, or beef, Mom always grilled burgers and hot dogs. Both needed to be well done because Mom worried about food poisoning from undercooked food.
We have favorites, right? Mom’s potato salad and fried chicken are amazing. All say so, if I do say so myself. It ruined it for anyone else offering me those things. I’ve searched the world for Mom’s potato salad and fried chicken. Nowhere else comes close to her product. Mom’s Fried Chicken. It could be a thing, except we’d need to answer the door.
I guess we’ll set up a code.
Floofcano (floofinition) – Animal with explosive disposition, or capable of explosive behavior.
In use: “The beagle was a sweet, mild-mannered beast, but a floofcano at heart, exploding in racing ahead and barking whenever he saw a squirrel — and he was always vigilant for one to show up.”
Michael Seidel, writer 