- John Muir and Margaret Sanger. These two are the latest to be addressed for their racism. In Sanger’s case, it’s more nuanced, regards eugenics, and is too much for my sprawled one-handed pecking for much detail here. I do recommend research. Muir, though, was an outright racist. We learn that people can be visionary and flawed. His damage to our society is deep. It’s sad and disheartening to learn these things. But they must be learned, and we need to be cognizant of the damage inflicted, and, yeah, make changes.
- Making changes like acknowledging past racism and its impact and then trying to fix it is just like the stages of grief, isn’t it? It’ll take a while to work through it. I can hear replies, how much longer must it take?
- Lovely to feel my arm healing. Strength is returning, range of movement is expanding, and the circle of pain is shrinking. Go back next week. The plan (if all is well) is to replace the splint with a short cast.
- Realizing that next week is August. July passed through with a sonic boom.
- I love the John Cheever quote I found this morning (posted elsewhere on the blog). It speaks strongly to my own writing drive. I always think, there’s more to our lives and reality than what we know. I’m agnostic about gods, and indeed enjoy tucking them into my tales, but I pursue the impression that we’ve only skimmed the surface of being. Writing helps me explore that essence.
- Drank a fantastic cup of coffee this morning. Right temp, flavor, and richness. A wow cup. Which made me immediately want to experience it again. Comparing it to drinking wine and beer, and eating food, and achieving things, I appreciated again the blend needed to brew something memorable that’s greater than its parts. Once, I’ve had it, I want more of the same. Not an epiphany, but a lesson learned one more time.
- Speaking of one more time, got a refresher cuppa coffee (yeah, it’s not the same, but it’ll do). Time to write like crazy…at least one. More. Time.
A Wistful Dream
Light and airy was how to describe this dream. It was all about a friend, Kev. I’ve not seen him in over twenty years. A military friend, we were assigned together in California (Onizuka). Though he was about ten years younger and assigned to a different unit, we spent a lot of time together during off hours. Our relationship continued after I retired from the military. Then we each moved. I went north and he went east. We are FB friends.
I recognized after thinking about the dream that he’s emblematic of better times, fun times…younger times. There’s nothing in any of this. I’m twenty years older and more aware of my life changes. Fold in the pandemic situation, isolation, and the travel and activity restrictions incurred with the situation. Add a cup of writing frustration. Stir in a tablespoon of malaise because of my broken arm and self-pity. Bake.
In the dream, I found a piece of paper. Reading its contents, I realized that it could only come from Kev and went to find him, which was immediately achieved. We struck it off again as we always had. He was back from a temporary assignment somewhere and filled me in Then, growing sad, he told me childhood stories and began a tragic tale about a female friend. He never finished that story.
It reminded me of so much that’s incomplete.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
This is sort of an unusual choice, via a circuitous route.
First, outside, looking for the comet, NEOWISE. About 10:30ish PMish. The sky is og, so clear, and the night is empty church quiet,
Up visiting comes the house pantera, whining, whining, whining for attention as is his way. He gets some head skritches, as is my way. Exception is suddenly taken by him, as is his way. A warning is issued: you’re doing it wrong. Stop, or I’ll bite.
I stopped. He tottered off (as is his way). Now I’m looking at the sky but thinking about him getting ready to bite the hand that feeds you, a stream that conjured Nine Inch Nails and “The Hand That Feeds” (2005).
The song’s lyrics:
[Chorus]
Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?
h/t to Genius.com
On one side, when thinking of the song, I think of mask slackers. They claim that maskers are sheeple. By stepping out of line, mask slackers believe they are fighting the system. Masks are only useful (to them) as signs of oppression.
Maskers, of course, say, no, this isn’t a symbol of oppression, it’s a willingness to protect and be protected. It’s not about oppression at all.
Addressing another point I see in the song, dropping down to one knee is a protest against the system. But the song — and history — will have you on your knees if you’re being subjugated. This gives taking a knee it’s power; while others stood, Kap dropped to one knee. He did it to make the point, I’m not standing for this anthem. But dropping to a knee reminds us of being subjugated, and also says (in sports), hold up; pause. Take a break. But by taking a knee — especially in the modern NFL, that was interpreted by many as biting the hand that feeds.
Told you it was circuitous. Here’s the music.
Monday’s Theme Music
Once again, le theme selection turns on my mental Alexa entertaining itself with word association.
Today’s word: fantasy.
In use:
Eric Trump Claims COVID-19 Will ‘Magically’ Vanish After Election Day
And:
Fox Host On Trump Tax Ruling: Now SCOTUS Has Been Infiltrated By The ‘Deep State!’
Whoa. That was Lou Dobbs promoting the idea that SCOTUS justices Gorsuch and Kavanaugh were part of the deep state out to ‘get Trump’. I craughed, which is a cringe modified by scoffing laughter. Into this came a 1983 Human League song, “(Keep Feeling) Fascination“.
Just looking for a new direction
In an old familiar way
The forming of a new connection
To study or to play
And so the conversation turned
Until the sun went down
And many fantasies were learned
On that day
h/t to Metrolyrics.com
Friday’s Theme Music
A cool mountain wind came by late yesterday, serving to dispatch summer’s edgy warmth.
Such a welcome combo. I was relaxing after another wall-painting session. I wanted to take a walk but was ambivalent, mostly because it was about eight PM.
(‘Take a walk’ is an interesting expression. When I hear/write/read that line, I often imagine people with numbers waiting in line. You know, take a number, take your place, take a seat, take a walk. Just word associations.)
Decided not to go walking, but as I was thinking and enjoying the mild, cool wind and watching the change from day (distant apricot sunset in the west, indigo sky rising at the zenith, the moon, clear and shiny, riding the southern sky), a Scorpions song came to mind.
“Wind of Change” (1991) is such a mellow song, it definitely answered the moment.
The wind of change
Blows straight into the face of time
Like a stormwind that will ring the freedom bell
For peace of mind
h/t to AZLyrics.com
Listen.
Call It Saturday
Today feels like Saturday.
So did yesterday, and the day before. I suspect that tomorrow will also feel like Saturday.
Lot of reasons exist for my feelings about the days of the week. One, I’m a writer. I write every day. I retired from outside employment a few years ago. My days of the week stopped being labeled work days and non-work days.
Two, I stream, and watch little broadcast television. I’ve been streaming for ten years, and cut the cable nine years ago. That means that I’m not looking at any guides or schedules to see what’s on television, which was always guided by the day of the week. For example, I don’t think, “If this is Thursday, then a new episode of X will be on.” I wait until all episodes are out and then I start streaming them on my schedule when they’re available. When they’re out depends on a date, not a day of the week.
Three, COVID-19, of course. The pandemic and the actions being taken to flatten the curve has dramatically affected social activities. Hence, we’re no longer going out dancing at the lake on Saturday night or heading for beer on Wednesday night, erasing another reason for tracking what day it is.
Four, it feels like Saturday because of my conditioning. Back when I did work, Saturdays were days for doing errands and chores. It was also a day for sleeping in a bit. No need to leap out of bed, do some quick exercises, eat, shower, dress, jump into the car and hurry to work on Saturday. I could catch another twenty minutes.
Everyday in COVID-19 land is like that now. There are chores and writing, but no errands. I can sleep in, if the cats agree.
The cats have never worried about the day of the week. To them, it’s always Caturday.
I get what they mean, now.
Saturday’s Theme Music
The civic powers have decided there’s gonna a be a youth baseball tournament in our area this weekend. Thirty-two teams are coming from all over California and Oregon.
Gosh, I think this is a great idea. Snark, in case it’s not recognized.
Yes, social distancing rules will be in play. Only a hunnert people on a field at a time. But let’s see, thirty-two teams, say fifteen people to a team including coaches, support, and chaperones, and suddenly an four to five hundred people are running around town. Going to social distance? Hmmm…
Then there are fans…
Hmmm…
So, we went shopping today. Had to be done, Costco and Trader Joe’s, our go-tos. TJ was a blessed sanctuary. Everyone masked, not many people, all observing the SD guidelines and playing nice.
We zipped out to Costco. It wasn’t opening for thirty more minutes. “Should we get in line?” the spouse asked.
What line? I saw people milling. Half weren’t masked. Three fourths weren’t distancing.
“No. We’re not getting in that congregation. Let’s go to Target and get the pet supplies instead.”
Off we went.
Target…jebbus. Most weren’t masked. Social distancing? I don’t think they’d heard the term. My mind recoiled with bitterness. We’re probably looking at walking headlines, I thought. Oh, they went to a ballgame. WEnt shopping. One had symptoms but (fill it in yourself). Gosh, thirty people then tested pos. Gosh, they’re all in isolation, and gosh, some of them are really sick and in the hospital.
Yeah, gosh.
Into all of this came the 1985 Hooters song, “All You Zombies”. I don’t know if these people are unthinking, uncaring, ignorant zombies, a piece of all that, or just rebelling cause ‘Merica, Trump. Don’t know. But they strike me as zombies.
That makes “All You Zombies” today’s theme choice. Zombies come in all shapes, ya know?
Wednesday’s Theme Music
After waking up and getting up, songs filter in and out of my cogent stream. With a little surprise, I put together their identities:
“One” by U2 and “One” by Three Dog Night, “I’m the Only One” by Melissa Ethridge, “One” by Metallica, “Still the One” by Orleans, “I’m One” by the Who. Another one song, “She’s the One” by Bruce Springsteen finishes the list.
WTH?
It becomes a quietly amusing background thinking game as I do other things, wondering why songs focused on one are in my mental stream. Not necessarily new; my mind has done this to me with other topics. But I can usually pinpoint the root. It’s different today, as I don’t know what’s kicking one into the stream.
I also wonder, why those songs, and not other songs with one in them. Or maybe other songs with one played in my head but I forgot.
Oh, well. After all that, I settled on a Wallflowers favorite from 1997, “One Headlight”. That’s today’s theme music.
So long ago I don’t remember when
that’s when they said I lost my only friend
they said she died easy of a broke heart disease
as I listened through the cemetary trees
I seen the sun comin’ up at the funeral at dawn
with the long broken arm of human law
now it always seemed such a waste
she always had a pretty face
I wondered why she hung around this place
hey-ey-ey
come on try a little
nothing is forever
there’s got to be something better than in the middle
me and cinderella
put it all together
we could drive it home
with one headlight
h/t to Metrolyrics.com
Sunday’s Theme Music
Today’s stream music arrived in my head because, what if?
The what if game is always a small diversion. The rules are to ask yourself to imagine how your existence would be different if you made a different decision, followed another path, or handled something in some other way than what you did.
What if you had gone to college?
What if you’d taken that job?
What if you’d married that person?
From that, in trickled Rob Thomas singing Matchbox Twenty’s song, “Real World”. It asks those questions about being in charge, or a superhero, among other things.
And it all has a direct link to writing yesterday. A big portion of my writing process is playing what if? It’s intriguing as part of the process because I’ll think that through, applying different ideas, possibilities, and outcomes, but when I sit down and write, it’s something completely different.
And that’s why writing entertains me.
Here’s the music.
Diversity Fail
Saw an article today: “Friends Creator Marta Kauffman Tearfully Says She ‘Didn’t Do Enough’ for Diversity”.
No kidding, right? Black characters were few on that show. Past that, though, I thought, now there’s a timely sitcom: “Diversity Fail”. It would be about all the ways that diversity fails, and would feature a diverse cast, not just of races, but sexual identities and genders, sexual preferences and fluidity, and religion. It’d be a broad, rambling show focused on one person struggling to grasp it all without offending everyone. I’m thinking it’s more like “Fleabag” than “Friends”, though.
Got to stop thinking about it. It’s a distraction to the novel in progress. I’m already distracting myself with side stories trying to understand my characters. Gotta get more coffee. Then it’s back to writing like crazy, at least for a while longer.
Michael Seidel, writer 