Good times, bad times
pastimes, last times
the next time, a new time
beyond time, besides time
just in time, the nick of time
a niche in time, high times
time beyond measure
time after time.
Sunday’s Theme Music
Two songs competed for the stream this morning. First was Billy Joel’s 1980 song, “You May Be Right”. That came straight out of my reflection in the mirror as I shaved this morning, inspired by the lyrics, “You may be right, I may be crazy.” It went on from there. Quite frankly, with my hair all wild at that point, I looked a bit loony.
But dressed, in the other room, heading out the door, into the stream came Procol Harum with “Whiter Shade of Pale” (1967). I went with the latter for my theme music today because it was one year ago tomorrow that I selected it for my theme music. That coincidence just couldn’t be ignored.
I love the enigmatic words, and the story that they hint about in the song, from the catchphrase, “Her face at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale,” to “the room was humming harder as the ceiling flew away,” and the reference to Chaucer’s, “the Miller’s Tale.”
Happy day, wherever you be, whatever you’re doing. Cheers.
Saturday’s Theme Music
You ever been asked, “You have too much time on your hands?”
When I worked, the answer was sometimes, “Yep.” Work was so segregated and encapsulated into specific roles and tasks that if I did mine fast, which I frequently did, I’d end up waiting for others with nothing to do. Exasperating. I often spent that time by reading company or government periodicals. Whether that was the military or corporate side, that helped me broaden my outlook, which was always a benefit.
Since I quit working to write full time, I never feel like I have too much time on my hands. My response is more likely to be an incredulous spewing of coffee, beer, or wine, followed by, “Are you kidding me?”
Someone asked yesterday. I didn’t spew – that was just in there for comic effect – but I did laugh and reply, “No.” Thinking about his question later brought up the 1981 Styx song, “Too Much Time on My Hands”. It’d been released just before my wife and I arrived for a four-year military assignment at Kadena Air Base, Okinawa, Japan. We quite enjoyed that assignment. Thanks to the interesting culture, wonderful friends, educational opportunities, and the ocean, we never felt like we had too much time on our hands.
And Again, and Again, and Again
He talks to his wife across the house,
demanding answers that she doesn’t give.
She doesn’t hear him, and he gets mad,
again, and again, and again.
He trips on the cat in the dark,
and curses the cat for not learning.
He goes the same way, every time,
again, and again, and again.
He leaves the lights on and the water running,
and complains about the waste,
and argues about whodunit,
again, and again, and again.
He sleeps the same times,
and does the same things,
eats the same food,
and complains the same ways.
Goes to the same places,
listens to the same tunes,
watches the same tube,
and hears the same news.
Then he complains that nothing changes?
Again, and again, and again.
Friday’s Theme Music
Today’s was a direct and simple connection between walking, thinking, and my theme music.
Thinking about time, I was walking through some low humidity, ninety degree sunshine. Across the valley was clear from my vantage. It was its typical summer brown, the green baked away, a striking but depressing tableau under a crystal blue sky. With that vision of heat and dryness dancing with memories of wildfires from the last five years, I hoped for rain.
The opening words that Sting sings from “Desert Rose”, a duet with Cheb Mami (2000), rose in voice in my mind.
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Five Times Too Many
It’s a sad situation; a neighbor ran over their cat while parking, the fifth time in my life that a friend or neighbor ran over their cat.
This victim was a cat, but it can happen with children, dogs, and other animals and people. The situation begins with a routine, complacency, and an assumption: “He/she is always there. I expected them to move. They always did.” That assumption is a killer.
His name was Buddy. He was a small, elderly black cat. Probably weighed seven pounds, but had the voice of a lion. He was sweet, trotting over to me for a treat and a scratch when I came out to do yard work or go check the mail.
I wasn’t present when Buddy met his demise. The woman’s three elementary school-age girls were.
The temp was in the nineties. Maybe Buddy was hot or ill, or deeply asleep. Like each of the other four situations, Buddy didn’t move as he usually does.
Such accidents and deaths can be avoided. Don’t assume. Get the visuals. Take the time to confirm the cat’s location. Confirm that he moved.
It’s already happened five times too many to my friends and neighbors during my lifetime. Please learn from Buddy.
Off the Cuff
I’m writing about me again. I know, it’s my favorite subject, innit?
My surgery scheduled for last Friday didn’t go off. My blood pressure was 231/131 during the prep. “Too high,” they decreed. “Let’s wait and check again.”
I was checked on the left and right sides several more times. Everything was documented. The BP didn’t go down. No surgery with that level, it was decided.
It was depressing. I hadn’t eaten for ten hours plus, and I was all naked and everything. Instead, I was referred to a nurse practitioner for treatment. NORVASC was prescribed. I began taking it that night.
Meanwhile, my wife and I started a three-day green-smoothie fast. We’ve done it several times, usually to help her cope with complications, inflammation, or pain arising from her RA. This time, it was for both of us.
Weird, I felt fine. The NP listened to my lungs and heart and various arteries last Friday and found nothing to upset them. I don’t have any issues. I generally walk eight to ten miles a day. As my wife put it to the medical staff, “He’s very active.” I’d quit smoking ten years ago and I’d never been a heavy smoker. BP issues don’t run in the family. Honestly, though, my weight is higher than I desire. I’d slowly been creeping up toward the mid 190s, and I ‘ve developed a wheat/beer belly that bugs me. It’d be nice to rid myself of that adornment.
Two days later, I wondered if there was any change to my BP with the smoothies fast and meds. Needing data, I bought a monitoring cuff on Tuesday and started tracking my BP. Naturally a spread sheet was employed.
| Date | Time | Sys | Dia | HR | Comments |
| 15-Aug | 8:27 | 119 | 78 | 68 | After being up ninety minutes |
| 14-Aug | 22:01 | 125 | 59 | 65 | Before NORVASC |
| 14-Aug | 7:47 | 149 | 71 | 75 | After being up forty-five minutes |
| 13-Aug | 23:20 | 137 | 70 | 63 | 1 HR after NORVASC taken |
| 13-Aug | 19:27 | 149 | 68 | 69 | First reading |
| Average | 145 | 70 | 69 |
I was surprised by how much my BP had dropped in such a short time, especially this morning’s reading, 119/78. Makes me wonder if my high BP prior to surgery was due to white coat syndrome.
I don’t know. Some blood work is scheduled for next week to see if a root cause can be ferreted out. Meanwhile, I question the purchased cuff’s accuracy or if I’m using it wrong. We also tested my wife, though, as a baseline. With an ongoing chronic condition, she sees a doctor and has her BP checked every other month. She knows her usual BP range. The cuff’s BP had a result that she expected. We tested it twice. Both were in her normal range. I remain dubious.
I’ll probably go to the drug store later and use their cuff and compare it to my results. I’ll probably post about it later.
I am my favorite subject.
Be Brave
Another writing slash self-examination of myself post. It’s all about me, you know…
Writing often is about the author, whether it’s the process or subject, the writer is deep into it. I’m too damn introspective for my own good, and I’m a fragile beast.
I’m struggling with April Showers 1921. Much of the struggle is my fault; some is due to life events.
Life events kept me from writing several times. Vacation. Vacation is a good thing, right? Not for this writer, as it meant not writing. Felt like someone was scraping the enamel off my teeth.
Other life events, a birthday party, memorial service, surgery and health issues, interfered with my writing habits. Those, though, could be overcome. I felt confident of that.
Harder to overcome was my doubts about what I was writing and the story that I was relating. “Overthinking” is the world. Overthinking let in the doubt monster. The doubt monster fed my writer angst. Next up was a full blown case of imposter syndrome worries.
I walked and fretted, ate and fretted, awakened and fretted…fretting accompanied everything. I was engaging in one of the worst and most common problems afflicting writers, trying to write for others instead of myself. It took me until this morning to realize it. A young woman’s tatoo finally awakened.
She’s a barista at my fave coffee shop. On her left wrist was a tattoo, “Be brave.”
I’ve known her for four years. She graduated from high school a year early. She was sixteen. She then took a year off to travel Thailand and southeast Asia. She said tattoo was a reminder.
After speaking with her, I went on a walking break. I admired her and her tattoo. I’d never tattooed anything on myself, but I employed a mantra: “No fear, no doubt, no worries.” I’d developed it when I was young to help me overcome those things. Others were always saying that they saw things in me and nominating me for stuff or asking me if I wanted to try something.
What kind of cad would say no to such sugary words? Not me. Between genes, birth order, and socialization, I’m just a boy who can’t say no. I want others to like me too much. I don’t want to disappoint them. I fear disappointing them.
That’s where and when the mantra was born. People would tell me, “You got this. You can do it.” Nodding, I’d agree without speaking, and then tell myself, “No fear, no doubt, no worries.” I frequently added, “Focus.” Results were often excellent, usually surprising all of us.
Remembering that, I turned back to the times when I employed that mantra and achieved good results, and decided, time to drag that mantra out again.
No fear, no doubt, no worries.
Time to continue writing and editing like crazy, at least one more time.
Sunday’s Theme Music
Today’s music came from thinking about the struggles with writing April Showers 1921. During a conference call with the muses, they advised me to trust them and go with instinct. “Everything zen,” I replied.
That introduced the old Bush song, “Everything Zen”. Released almost a quarter century again, it came out the same year that I retired from the military. I enjoyed this song, but the entire album, Sixteen Stone. “Everything Zen” joined my daily commute tape, used in emergencies when I couldn’t find anything on Bay area stations, while the album was put into the CD player’s preferred section.
Thinking over those words, it’s remarkable how technology has changed. Sixteen Stone was on CD. Two CD players served me then and now. One is part of the Bose Command Center, and holds six at a time. The other player is a Sony two hundred disc player, which can be organized as eight sections of twenty-five CDs. I rarely use it now, as music is so readily available via digital sources.
While I know the words to “Everything Zen” and like their play, I wasn’t aware of their references to other songs until recently. Now that it’s all been pointed out, I was dismayed that I didn’t recognize any of that. Songfact explains it well.
Have a great life, whichever day or night it is for you, wherever you reside on this spectrum of existence. Cheers
I’m Gonna
What I’m gonna do and who I’m gonna be
keeps slipping away from me like sand between my
toes
Love is a stunted realty, sex is a wistful fantasy
Train wrecks in prolonged slow-
mo
Days whiz by like pee in the night
Time sits by at one side, mocking and laughing at me and my plight
I have no idea how anything
goes
Birds still sing, the sun rises and sets
I could tell you more
but you know the
story changes, rearranges every day and
night
I think I know what I’m gonna do
like everyday before,
got my coffee, I’m in my seat,
I think I’m gonna
write
Michael Seidel, writer 