Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Flying today, left for the airport at no coffee dark thirty. Now at the second stop and awaiting the next conveyance. Naturally, my stream turns to flying and jet songs. There’s a lot out there. One immediately springing into the stream was Frank Sinatra, “Come Fly With Me”. I banished that, replacing it with Steve Miller’s 1977 offering, “Jet Airliner”.
Enjoy!
I’d been blue last week, you know, a few days of WTF and WTH coursing through me as I read news, experienced disappointment and weariness, took a jaunt down what’s-the-point lane, and pouted a bit in the pity-poor-me cul-de-sac. Yeah, a helluva neighborhood. Other streets include, who-cares boulevard and nobody-gives-a-damn avenue. We share drinks at the I’m-tired-of-this-shit cafe.
Some blues music periodically trickled through the street. Eventually, a song that was released in 1965, when I was nine, gained momentum in the stream. That would be Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues”. I listened to covers from Red Hot Chili Peppers, Harry Nilsson, and others, good work all, but the original’s rhythm and tone carried me most.
So here it be, from me to thee, courtesy of technology and Youtube. Gotta admit, watching young Bob and his signs puts a smile on my face.
A guy who worked for me at Shaw AFB in South Carolina was a big fan of Ratt, Judas Priest, and Rush. Anniversary dates and weather impressions have kicked memories of the “I was there with <XXX> when…” variety into my stream. So I was thinking of this fellow, Bob, and wondering what happened with him. Smart guy, from Texas, but no Texan accent, he seemed like he was on a slow downward spiral. Going to college but not completing classes, and gaining weight, something we frowned on in the military.
But, thanks to Bob, I’m remembering Rush today and their song, “The Spirit of Radio” (1980). I didn’t get to Shaw until 1985, but Bob loved this song, and played it in our office on a boom box almost every morning.
Friends were renting a house in Waldport, Oregon, three bedrooms, three baths. They’d invited their family. Their family couldn’t make it. Would we like to come?
Twist our arms, ouch, ouch, okay, we give, we give, we’ll come! The house wasn’t on the beach, but on a bluff that overlooks the beach, less than a quarter mile to the beach. Topology and beach access rules and agreements made it a ten minute walk to the beach. Not a problem.
We drove through pouring rain to reach Waldport. The sky ratcheted down to a gray sunshine the first night, permitting a walk on the beach. Waldport has fine, sandy beaches, flat, wide, and unpopulated by many others in September. Rain drenched the area that night. We awoke to a misty gray day, but that burned off. Sunshine and blue skies arrived and hung out with us for the next few days, a very welcome guest. Temperatures jumped into the high sixties, flirting with seventy-one inland.
Waldport is a small, comfortable town. Not many eateries called to us but Yachats ten miles to the south and Newport fifteen miles to the north were easy drives up Highway 101. Down in Yachats, we returned to Luna Sea Food twice, and also visited the Green Salmon for some excellent coffee and food. Once again, we struck out when we tried to visit Bread and Roses, as it was closed for the week! Dinner on Tuesday was at the Adobe restaurant in Yachats, where the dining room presented us with an excellent seat to watch the sunset as we ate and drank.
I walked on the beach at least twice a day, in addition to our daily hiking. For the week, I ended up with sixty-five miles on my Fitbit, which was the same as the previous two weeks. I often walked barefoot in the shallows, enjoying the sun-warmed waters churning over my feet.
Meanwhile, we had terrific companions, Marcia, Art, and Lucy. The owners’ net situation kept us off computers except to check email once in a while. We traveled the local coastline, hiking, and visiting the sights. We also walked the Alsea Bay Bridge. Just three quarters of a mile long, the bay’s water were fantastically clear and often shallow. Seals sunned and swum below us, entertaining us with their pastimes (yes, we’re easily entertained). Amanda’s trail in Yachats offered a more challenging walk, giving us fifty flights of steps on our Fitbits, and offering terrific views of the Pacific. Signs warned us about a mama bear and her cubs in the area, so we stayed on guard.
Amanda’s head has been washed away, and has been replaced by a smaller, carved statue of her. Her sad history, shared too many times with other people across America, remains to remind us how inhumane and barbaric Americans and Europeans often treat others.
A return visit to Cape Perpetua was in order, with its short hike to the CCC era stone shelter.
When we were back at the house, time was passed reading, chatting, eating, cooking, drinking wine, and gazing out at the ocean. The moon was waxing and was almost a full moon by the week’s end, splashing its gorgeous glow over the calm, rolling ocean. Not much writing was done, but batteries were drained and recharged.
Got my coffee, and my ass is in the chair. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Yeah, just thought I’d share my view of the placid Pacific today off of the Oregon coast. Not bad, let me tell ya. I can use to this.
The wine is 14 Hands red blend, btw. Marvelous.
It was funny, to me.
Dreamed I got ear wax out of my ear (where else, right?), about a quarter-inch diameter ball of it. Said to self, “Self, my, that’s a lot of ear wax.” Then I ran around looking for somewhere to dispose of it. I was in a hurry to catch a train (or a bus – it seemed like a moving target).
The ball of ear wax kept growing. I continued to notice that, show it to others, and say, “That’s a lot of ear wax.” I realized that I was often saying that to myself in the dream, and laughed.
Meanwhile…the dream filled with people, family, friends, previous co-workers, and strangers. Some night of something had just ended. We were looking around and rejoicing that we’d come out well. Everything was in good shape. I finally disposed of the ear wax, which was basketball sized. In a weird epiphany in the dream, I saw that the ear wax was my past.
Someone noticed some vomit on the floor. The scene became a little CSI oriented. Questions were asked about who and when. The consensus was a cat had puked but the identity remained a mystery. The bigger mystery was, who is going to clean it up.
Somehow that was handled. Leaping forward, I was well-dressed and ready to travel. Had shiny black shoes on, and briefcase in my hand. But the area was chaos. No one knew where to go. Separating and isolating myself from others, I scanned the situation and decided on a direction.
I headed that way. Others wanted to know where I was going. “Out of here,” was my reply. “I know the way out. Come with me, if you need to leave.”
Others said, “Can I come with you?”
Amused, I shrugged. “Sure, but I’m moving fast.”
Dressed in a suit and overcoat, suitcase in one hand, briefcase in the other, I took off, walking fast through the crowd. Others, a knot of eight people followed me. As I dodged others, I kept looking ahead and refining where I was going. Fewer people were around. At this point, I was on a train station platform. Others behind me said, “Where are we? Do you know where you’re going?”
I smiled, because I knew where I was, and where I was going. It was all very affirming. My last thought was, I’m leaving the past.
Dream ended.
My wife and I were traveling in a car. I had a sense that we were changing locations, moving to somewhere new, an exciting prospect.
Along the way, we stopped in a town. It was pre-arranged for us to meet with a local musical band. My wife and I were to sing with them that evening. We sat with the musicians and coordinated the set list and discussed when we would arrive and what else was required for our performance. Part of the latter entailed doing more work, including find the song lyrics to several songs.
After that, we had time to kill, so we first went around the town a bit, just being tourists, and then got something to eat. Our big black and white cat, Tucker, was traveling with us, except that he was a furry, fist-sized black and white spider in the dream. He was in a cage but got out. The car door was open. I saw him leaving the car, but I wasn’t positive. Either way, I searched for him, but didn’t find him, and ran out of time.
Our appointment for meeting the group to prepare to perform had arrived. We met with the group at the convention center where we were to perform. Meeting with the band, I stepped back and let others lead. After a few minutes, it seemed to me that they were off track. Everything that’d been discussed was changed. I reminded them of our earlier conversation but they were confused, and seemed unable to remember anything that I said.
That’s where the dream ended.
I was on the road today. Naturally, that opened my music stream to road songs. One of them that popped up early is by Canned Heat. AM Radio and the growing pop revolution introduced them to me in my early teens. I didn’t appreciate how much the blues inspired them until about six years later, when I was listening to ZZ Top and the Allman Brothers Band.
Besides Canned Heat, I was singing “Hit the Road, Jack,” “Truckin'”, “Little Red Corvette”, “American Pie”, “Little GTO”, “Beep Beep”, “Uneasy Rider”, “The Way”, “Sweet Hitchhiker”, “Life Is A Highway”, “One Headlight”, “Drive My Car”, “Mustang Sally”, “Little Deuce Coupe”, “Pink Cadillac”, “The Leader of the Pack”, “Dead Man’s Curve”, “On the Road Again”, “Where the Streets Have No Name”, “Route 66”, “Born to Be Wild”, “Ninety-nine Miles From LA”, “Midnight Rider”, “Fast Car”, “Runnin’ Down A Dream”, and “Radar Love”. You can place the performers to the songs.
You have any favorite road songs that I should have been streaming? I’d like to know them. Sharing is caring, friends.
Here’s Canned Heat with “On the Road Again” from 1968.
Michael Seidel, writer 