Category: miscellaneous

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

He read an abstract about the effects of chewing gum on mood and concentration, and then perused a paper. The abstract stated, “Recent evidence has indicated that chewing gum can enhance attention, as well as promoting well-being and work performance.”

Well, he could use all of that! He immediately went out and purchased several packs of different gums for his own experiment. One immediate finding was that gum prices have skyrocketed since he last purchased gum. But if it helped his attention span, well-being, and performance, it would be worth it.

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The Best 3 Things of the Gold Beach Vacay

We went west to the Pacific Ocean, enjoying its presence from the shores of a little town called Gold Beach in southern Oregon (population: 2241). Highway 101 runs through it from California, serving as the main way in and out. We stayed there three nights and four days, making and taking terrific memories. Here are my top three worthies from bottom to top.

3. Jet Mail Boat to Agness. First, the boat doesn’t have propellers, which allows it to travel in water as shallow as twelve inches. Using three 6.2 liter Chevy marine engines to steer and propel it along, the boat delivers the mail to Agness six days a week during the summer. Besides the boat ride and the history of the USPS run from Gold Beach to Agness up the Lower Rogue River, we saw a bear eating blackberries, a few river otters swimming around, deer, Roosevelt elk, beavers, osprey and their nests and young, and a couple bald eagle nests. We were also told about the stunning 1964 flood. We were about fifty feet below a bridge. That flood crested three feet above that bridge deck. Like, mind blowing. Besides it, we learned about the now departed Lowry fishing camp. Clark Gable used to fish there, among many celebrities and politicians, but Cable always asked for our boat pilot’s grandfather as his fishing guide. So we had water, boating, nature, and history, along with a dinner at a lodge.

2. Chapter One – yes, it’s a coffee shop. I enjoy coffee shops, even have a passion for them. First, I like a good brew. Second, I look for the ambiance. Third, I consider the food offerings. Like my other favorites — the lamented Li Di Da in Half Moon Bay and the long departed original Beanery of Ashland — Chapter One offers these things. They almost displaced The Green Salmon as the best coffee house. The Green Salmon’s fabulous gluten free baked goods keeps the competition level, but Chapter One’s maple scone was OMG excellent. What keeps the Green Salmon (Yachats, OR) at number one is their gluten free vegan breakfast sandwiches. Oh, yeah.

  1. The Pacific Ocean. We had a beautiful stretch of little used public which was a few miles long. It was so little used, it felt private. Wonderful to breathe fresh ocean air, gaze out over the sun splashed waves, and hear the crash and roar. Walking the beach was done several times a day. Great place for contemplating existence and discarding worries. I left a lot there in the beach’s sand.

Just want to note that the numbering is another WP thing. It insisted on indenting #1, at the bottom of the list, identifying it as ‘list’ and indenting it. Why? Only WordPress knows for sure.

Naturally, to make this a complete WP experience, it dropped again while I wrote this. Couldn’t save the draft, couldn’t publish. Had to work around by copying it and pasting it to a doc and then creating a new post.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: upbeat

We’re leaving the coast today and the coast weather has turned gray in sadness. Yes, that’s really what I tell myself.

It’s Wednesday (right? Is that right?), August 2, 2023. Beautiful weather until this morning. This still isn’t bad, just cool at 56 F, and a marine layer clouds. We still have that awesome ocean sight, smell, and sound. It’ll still be in the mid sixties here. Meanwhile, we’ll arrive home at 91 F. Gotta say, I’m looking forward to seeing my floof boys. I miss the goof balls when I don’t have regular access to them.

We’ll head north to see more of the coast. When we drove here, we dropped down into northern California, passing through a redwood forest, which is a wonder of its own. Now we’ll just zip north on 101 to Bandon and cut across the coastal mountains via Winston and pick up I5 south for our final leg.

The Neurons are driving “Route 66” through the morning mental music stream (trademark lost). Came about from conversations about what route to take home, natch. A terrific song, there are multiple grand covers of this song about. I ended up channeling John Mayer’s version from a Pixar movie.

Alright, fire up the coffee machine and let’s get on with the show. Be safe, be safe, be pos. It’s an exciting life. Can be depressing, can be uplifting. What what you can with the moods.

Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I’m away from home, so I worry about my floofies. Per the instructions I left with the cats, I logged onto Zoom today at the appointed time. They immediately joined to purr and complain to me. A little of both. They said the weather isn’t bad the human caretaker I hire was doing ‘okay’.

Yeah, that’s fantasy. There wasn’t a Zoom con with the cats. I did call the caretaker and she said they’re doing great. Next best thing to being there with them.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

A beautiful day has been born in Ashlandia, where the produce is local, except for the imports. We’ll call this Sunday, July 30, 2023. Skies of blue promise don’t know anything about smoke, and sunshine is spilling down. 56 F now, 89 F is the projected high, quite doable numbers.

A short post. I’m getting on the road to another city here shortly. So I’m eating coffee and drinking breakfast — oh, wait, other way — and then I’ll be in the bath for the standard three morning maneuvers which start with S. Then I’ll dress. That’s right, I’m naked and posting. No, not really. I’m in my night shorts. They were originally sold to me as jogging shorts but they work so well with a tee shirt, that it’s my chosen sleep gear. Today’s tee shirt features the Blues Brothers and was picked up in Chicago at Buddy Guy’s bar.

Since I’m going on the road again, my oh so imaginative Neurons have packed the morning mental music stream (trademark visualized) with Willy Nelson singing “On the Road Again”. You know that’s gotta be my theme music on this day.

All you on the road have safe travels. Whether on the road or not stay positive and be strong. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel. Here’s the music. More coffee, anyone?

Cheers

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s amazing. When he was a kid, he usually had two pairs of shoes, known as his ‘good’ shoes and his play shoes. Good shoes were also known as ‘dress-up’ shoes and ‘nice’ shoes. Play shoes became gym shoes and good shoes became school shoes. Dress shoes were added into the mix.

This trio — gym, or ‘tennis’ shoes, as they grew to be called — school shoes, dress shoes — were the status quo for years. A second pair of school shoes was added, along with cleated shoes for sports.

During his military years, he stayed with the triumvirate of shoes for his personal life. Gym shoes were still tennis shoes (though he didn’t play tennis), along with dress shoes and ‘jeans’ shoes. He began playing racquetball, so racquetball shoes were added to the mix. So were sandals. Then running shoes joined the shoe group. Military requirements dictated three more pairs of shoes: low-quarters (which were a super-shiny version of dress shoes), chukka boots, and combat (or paratrooper) boots. So it mostly stayed for his military career, except slippers were added through Christmas presents, and jungle boots and desert boots were added to fit his mission needs. The three pairs of military footwear were now five, because they’d done away with the chukkas.

Civilian life post military retirement brought on more shoe requirements. Aging helped. And shoe marketing. Now he added beach shoes, boating shoes, hiking shoes, walking shoes, and several pairs of ‘jeans’ shoes, also now called ‘casual’ shoes. There were work shoes, so he looked the role in the ‘business casual’ environment, but the military shoes were gone.

Going into marketing added more shoes to go with suits. Brown, gray, and black shoes were needed. He still had running and hiking shoes, along with walking shoes, jeans shoes, and casual work shoes. He was wearing cargo shorts frequently, and needed shoes to go with those. Moving from a pleasant year round clime to a snowy and wet environment brought up needs for wet weather and cold weather shoes.

Now he’s come to retirement. The suit shoes sit in boxes on shelves, but the rest have become so complex and numerous. He purged his shoes regularly, giving them away. His feet had widened and his feet’s needs had changed through the years, and that dictated changes as well.

Like so many other things, it’d become so very, very complicated. He wished for the days again when he had just two pairs of shoes. Given how life goes, he figured that circle would complete itself when he grew older.

Next: socks.

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Sattiday’s Theme Music

Mood: green

It’s another day of rock and roll in Ashlandia, where musicians are elderly and the students are young. July 29, 2023. Sattiday. 66 F now, 89 F is expected to knock on the door before we take leave of the sun.

Same three fires burning around us — Bedrock, Flat, Golden — north, west, east. Wildfire smoke boiled in yesterday afternoon and stayed through most of the night. Tastes of chemicals and burnt wood. Sinuses back up in protest. Eyes get gritty. Little dribble of snot wants to leave the air holes. Fortunately, the house cooled down on its own. We avoid running the air to salve our conscious about a few different matters. Inside the house dropped from 82 to 72 overnight. I usually need to open doors and windows after dusk takes over to make that happen. Smoke’s cover pushed the evening temps down fast, which made the difference. It’s typically still about 80 F at ten. Yesterday, we had 78 before eight.

82 F, friends say. In the house? That’s too hot. Naw, we run a fan as we do things. Yes, we sweat, but, so? We also bath. Tasks are completed early, while it’s still cool. Doesn’t get warm in the house until after 3:30. Then it creeps into the eighties in the house, By then we’re ‘puting, cooking, reading, streaming. We run the kitchen vent fan when we cook so we don’t kick the room temp up too much.

Today, some dirty air scuds over the blue shine. Looking north, the sky changes from blue to smoky white.

Yesterday, my wife said, “Well, pangram was easy.” So I knew I was cursed. We each do Wordle and the Spelling Bee everyday on the NYTimes site. We call Spelling Bee ‘pangram’ because we’re really only interested in getting the pangram(s). Anytime that one of us expresses the conclusion that Wordle or pangram was easy, the other is immediately cursed. So it was with me. I pulled it up and stared at the letters, coming up with BEATZIP. Site said, not a word. Okay, how ’bout ZIPBEAT? Nope. I vowed to come back later.

Later came when I was closing the ‘puter for the day and realized, I never did the thing. I flipped to the page. Immediately saw BAPTIZE. WTH couldn’t I see that before? It was the curse.

The Neurons tossed “Tripping Billies” by The Dave Matthews Band into the morning mental music stream (trademark fantasized). As is often true, The Neurons don’t drop any clues about this song choice. I haven’t heard it in longer than I can remember. Don’t hear anything in the lyrics that I can connect to thinking or what I’m doing. Fun to blast it, though. Brought up old times.

Stay pos, be strong, and ride the way of thinking, emotions, and activities. I’ll be back tomorrow. Here’s the coffee, and away we go.

Cheers

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The Space Traveling Dream Again

2:58 AM.

I awoke. Alarm seizes me. I don’t think I’ve set the rechargers for the house.

Was I supposed to set the rechargers for the house?

Does the house — can the house be recharged?

But it has to be recharged. Its engines need to be recharged.

Does the have engines? No, it doesn’t have engines.

Then how does it move?

These were my thoughts as I sat up in bed, suddenly awoke, coping again, with the dream about the house flying through space. I’ve dreamed this seven times recently, posting about it a few times. In it, my house and plot of land have been lifted from the Earth. My wife and cats are with me, and I’m actually impressed and pleased that we’re flying through space. Aliens have done this, I know, but I don’t know why.

After awakening from the dream, I visit the bathroom and check on the cats. Papi, the ginger blade, is drinking from the water bowl on the front porch. Tucker, the black and white enigma, was on the back porch drinking water from that bowl. Interesting symmetry. I returned to bed, and to sleep. Other dreams were experienced but whenever I awoke, I thought immediately of the house flying through space, and whether I’d recharged the engines.

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The Dad & I Dream

Don’t know my age when it started. Seemed like I was a young adult.

Dad and I were sharing a smallish but modern apartment. A winter storm howled outside, snow pummeling the world in unending shovelfuls. A general sense of disturbing chaos reigned.

I had a few cats. I was trying to feed them but they were running around, attacking each other, hiding. In the midst of this, in the living room by the stereo, I discovered a large window was broken. I stopped to check on it, inspecting it, confirming, because it was hard to tell, yes, a panel is gone. You’d think that’d be easy to see with snow falling, cold weather, a murdering wind, but it required earnest consideration of it for me to figure it out in the dream.

Yes, the window was broken. Several panes were missing or shattered, laying in pieces in a growing snowdrift. The cats tried to get out. As I lunged to pull them back, they retreated on their own, discouraged by the storm. Confusion seemed to paralyze me.

Dad came in, talking about a need to go somewhere, to get food, I think. Impatiently, he told me to hurry up. I was grabbing a cat, checking on the cats, looking at the broken windows. Concern over the stereo getting ruined rose up, so I moved components. Dad shouted at me to come on. I locked the cats in another room and followed Dad out. As we went, I was telling him, “Dad, there’s something you should know, there’s a window broken in the living room.”

It felt like it took some repetition of telling him this before what I was saying sank in. Then, he responded in alarm, “You should have told me this before.”

Next thing I knew, we were going back home because he was worried, and I was defensively trying to tell him that I’d been checking out the window, and I tried telling him but he wasn’t listening.

Then we were in the living room. The heater was running, hot air coming out of vents but snow dusted the floor and crusted the sofa, table, and chairs. Many things were turned over. Things were missing. The stereo and television were gone. We realized people had broken in; we realized, looking out the window, it was teenagers. They were running away with our stuff.

Dad said with bitter disappointment, “You didn’t do anything. You knew this had happened, and you didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you do anything?”

I was an adult now, and shocked. He was right; why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I take action? I could have called someone to repair the window, or put up boards. I could have done something, but I didn’t.

Dream end.

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A Dream of Friends

It was a short one. I was young again. Looked like I was in my twenties.

Hustling along through a building, I passed through a doorway and down a short fight of steps. In there were many friends and co-workers. (I realized on awakening that all were male.)

I don’t know how many were there. None of these people have been seen in the last dozen years, and most haven’t been seen or spoken with since the last century.

We were all wearing tee shirts, the sort worn to support sports teams and rock bands. All were young like me. Several of us took seats in a semi-circle around a fire pit which had no fire. Others took seats behind us. We were talking, joking, laughing, playing tricks on one another and just acting silly. I recognized at least Jeff, Gil, Ray, Jim. An ex-brother-in-law was seated beside me on my right. Gil was two seats over on my left.

A man began playing guitar and singing. Dressed in black trimmed with silver, he was seated in a chair off to one side, an amplifier beside him. Despite the amp, he played and sang low. We all needed to stay silent to hear him. The song was his own composition, I was told by another. I don’t remember any of the lyrics or melodies. I remember thinking that he could be a professional. Gil said, “It’s like we’re at a concert.” Ian answered, “We are at a concert.” That exchange brought out some chuckling.

The concert ended. We all stood, socializing. Jeff, who I saw earlier, came in. He was wearing a different tee shirt. It had Roberto Clemente’s likeness and number on it. Clemente had been my childhood hero. Grinning, I went to Jeff and said, “Hello, Roberto.”

Jeff was much smaller than I remembered him being. He was taller than me in RL. Although he looked as he did back when we worked together, he was now a foot shorter. “Hello,” he answered, grinning.

Dream end.

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