

Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
He always liked it when he encountered friendly bathrooms, ones with polite lighting and friendly mirrors. Too many times, he encountered mean-spirited bathrooms where he saw himself in the mirror and gasped, “OMG, WTF happened to me?”
He did another little DIY project, replacing the diverter on a bathtub spout. Not difficult, and yet it solved a minor problem, and that felt satisfying.
After that, he wandered around the house, searching for other things to fix. Finding nothing (although some caulking could be in order), he instead culled their financial files, taking out and shredding years of information. It, too, was satisfying, but in a different way.
What next, he wondered. What next?
When the shimmering began, he took no notice. Half an ear heard of it, a quarter of his brain gave it a few seconds of attention, but that was mostly because he was a dirty old man. He was a dirty old man, couldn’t help himself, though he tried to be woke or whatever the right expression was, so the three young women caught his attention.
They were right beside him, so young, healthy, and energetic, drinking some kind of holiday coffee drink loaded with whip cream and sipped up with straws. He could even smell whatever perfume of shampoo or lotion they wore. Their behavior kindled a universe of remembered thoughts about what being young meant. One, the brunette, a tall person with wide dark eyes, maybe endowed with some Korean heritage, gasped and said more loudly than anything said previously, “Marcus has the shimmering.”
Voices dropping, heads moving toward a center point, the conversation’s tone was a serious counterpart to their previous merriment. Such behavior just sucked him in.
“He does?” said one blonde. As she continued with rising concern, “When,” and “Who told you,” the other blonde said, “Oh my God, when did he get it?”
Their voices dropped lower. Coffee house adult contemporary rock and mild tinnitus kept him from hearing though he pushed his mind to deeper levels of concentration. Nothing came of it.
They left five minutes later, texting on phones, drinks in hand, moving in a line to the exit and out. The shimmering was such an unusual expression, hours later, at home while watching The Kominsky Method again and eating a piece of Marie Callender apple pie which he’d baked, he remembered it and asked his dog if she’d ever heard of it. Although the dog’s intelligent face perked up, she said nothing.
“Fine help you are,” he said, the expression the two shared often, especially when he thought he heard someone creeping around outside at night. The shimmering still gnawed at him like an earworm which wouldn’t let go, so he turned to his ancient laptop and brought up Google. He hated Google almost as much as Twitter and Facebook, but Google unfortunately delivered the best results.
The shimmering, he typed in, figuring that it was probably using a traditional spelling, chuckling to himself at his droll wit. The computer screen went black as soon as he pressed enter.
“What the — .” He stared at the screen. What now? Damn technology. Stupid computer. He pressed enter a few times, hoping that would stir the screen back to life, and the did alt-ctrl-delete. Ah, yes, the old three-fingered salute. Remember the BSOD, he told himself, and laughed.
Grimacing, he acknowledged, he probably needed to do a hard reboot and pray to the tech gods that the stupid machine worked. Well, it was old. He couldn’t remember when he’d bought it. Seemed like it’d been at least ten years. Could that be right?
The screen lit up as he reached for the power button. It was kind of lavender-ish and blue, but also white and almost bright as looking at the full sun on a clear day. Pulling back with a hard wince, he closed his eyes, said, “Damn,” loudly, and leaned back.
Shelby said beside him, “That is bright.”
Eyebrows jumping, he peered at the black and white dog. Did she speak or was he imagining that? “What?” he finally asked.
The dog turned her brown and amber eyes on him. “I said that it’s bright.”
He gawked at her.
“I mean the screen,” Shelby said. “At least it’s bright to me.” The dog pointed her nose at the screen. “Hey, there are words.”
“You can read?” he asked. “You can talk and you read?”
“Look,” the dog answered, backing away. “Your skin.”
“What?” He looked down in almost the same second. A gasp rode out of him. His hands were shimmering like white sequins under hot spotlights.
Then a voice from the computer said, “You have been given the shimmering.”
“What?” he replied, because his neurons had abandoned their posts and nothing made sense to him. He might even be having a stroke. He’d always feared having a stroke.
The computer said, “Initiation beginning.” The light flowed out of the screen and embraced him.
An unexpected life was about to begin.
Wednesday came calling. I agreed to meet, have some coffee, see where the day drives us.
Thinking of the snowstorm that hit the northeastern U.S. Probably hit Canada, too, but when the U.S. is involved, news of other countries is often crowded out in my realm. Photos and videos are ripe click bait the last few days as stories about the snow’s depth piled up. Some people claim in comments, that’s Photoshop. It wasn’t that bad. Everything is questioned.
Misty damp gray dresses Wednesday here. It’s the day before Thanksgiving in the U.S., November 23, 2022. 38 F, with a shy sun and smirking clouds that hold the sky. The high temperature will be 52 F. For the record, sunrise and set are 7:11 AM and 7:43 PM.
Catching up on Mom news. I text her every morning. It’s about making her feel better. She changed bedspreads, washed the old stuff, put it in the storage bag and then into the closet. Live-in boyfriend helped. He’s 92, damn good shape. She meets with her doctor today to discuss her latest issue, the yokenella regensburgei. No growth after the five-day colony test. Nothing there. So. What to do, the doctors are debating. She meets with them today.
The Neurons have “Hypnotized” by Fleetwood Mac in the MMMS (TM pending). Not about being hypnotized, but the sentiment taken from the opening verses about the same old story. Reading news, déjà vu rakes the senses. I’ve been here before, not too long ago. The day is comfortable, but is that safe?
Other than that, preparing for our now almost traditional friendsgiving celebration. Spouse does almost all of our contribution. We’re being simple this year. I’ve prepared things in the past so we would both take something, but this year, she drew back and said, “I’m just doing deviled eggs and a cheese and cracker spread. We’ll also take a nice bottle of wine.” She’s in charge, so I replied, “Okay.” Be about eighteen people there, all vaxxed. Most have also had COVID. It’s at a farmhouse in the country. Hope it’s a clear night there, as I love standing in that empty space by their house, considering the stars.
Coffee is ready so Wednesday and I will have a cup, see what shakes out. Stay positive, test negative. Here’s the music. It’s Fleetwood Mac with Bob Welch. Bob wrote the song.
Cheers
He’d done Wordle in two moves yesterday, and he was proud and pleased. Two moves! He was usually lucky to get it done in four. But he’d taken his wife’s advice to be intuitive. And, you know, he’d been lucky.
She’d finally joined him in the office, giving him the chance to crow. After mentioning the intuition thing, he said, “So my first guess was offbeat.”
Confusion creased her expression. “Offbeat is too big.”
He stared at her. “Let me try again. My first guess was an offbeat word choice.”
“Choice is six letters. That’s too many letters.” Understanding broke on her face. “Oh, I see.”
His stare deepened. “Tell you what, honey. Let’s get some coffee in you and then I’ll continue this tale.”
Both laughed.
My wife and I were traveling in the gray Toyopet Publica which we had during our Okinawa residence back in the early 1980s. Two cats, Boo and Quinn (deceased in real life in the last two years) accompanied us. A whim took us on a visit to a ramshackle and primitive roadside tourist trap. Small cabins painted light blue with dark blue trim pressed in alongside a small store, tiny café with deck, and peeling white picnic tables and a zoo.
Boo and Quinn were acting strange, pulling my attention to them. I was worried about where they were and what was going to happen to them. I kept mentioning this to my wife. Meanwhile, she was walking around, trying to see things.
I ended up going to the end of the main building. Bushes to the left over remnants of a cinder block wall pinched the path into a narrow passage at that point. As I checked on the cats, I heard noises. Turning, I discovered a large horned animal on the path back by the building. It seemed to be having a fit but moving our way. I grabbed my wife, who hadn’t noticed, and said, “Come on, we need to move.” Then I took her around to the café deck. I find us seats but many people were using the ramp beside us and kept bumping into me. Annoyed, I decided to move. A man beside me said, “Thank you to the man with the green hat on for moving.” I was wearing my green Tilly hat so I knew he meant me. I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic but went on.
Searching for my cats in different places, I encountered a wild little red cat throwing a fit. I realized that it was located where the other animal was having a fit and guessed there might be something wrong with the air there or something. The increased my concern for my cats. I sped up my search and found the two. Both were almost comatose. I took them back to the car and revived them, and then called to my wife to leave.
He read that they were ‘de-aging’ Harrison Ford for a movie.
He wondered when someone was going to ‘de-age’ him.