Ever get out there walking and feel the air and a sharp wind, and, giving anxious glances toward the sky, think, oh, no, I’m not dressed right? But then the sun clears its throat and heat finds you. Songs start streaming in your mind, powering you into a faster pace. Busy people and singing birds fill the background, and the air acquires a sweet freshness, and you think, this right here, right now, this is a good day.
Day #101
I like the sun
I like the rain
I like how the day
smells this way
I like the breeze
that’s sometimes a wind
I like the scents
that tease and spin
I like the hours passing me by
and the time spent
with no one asking me why
Walking Stream
finer
warmer
than yesterday
what was said who said it
the laughs the looks surprise
at the party
good pizza
okay cake
email Zee ’bout Mowgli
and Jeff?
good conversation
Goodwill the shoes clothing
televisions?
they work
don’t know if they’ll take them, need to check
old modems, other junk, have to check
Goo-goo Dolls
“Name”?
first heard in New Hampshire ninety-five
turn your mind
writing time
Pram with Kything – done
conversation on Wrinkle, unknown
Pram with red-beard, about to begin
how much more until this thing ends?
The rest is waiting to be written.
Reluctant Day
Today can’t decide if it’s spring or winter in southern Oregon. The sun is exhibiting spring friendliness but that wind has a winter bark and nip. The rest of the area seems reluctant to take sides. We humans stay cautiously busy, waiting for the day to make up its mind.
Cats Snow
Cats know the snow, and these four aren’t impressed.
Quinn mews at the open door, “I don’t like the snow, please don’t make me go.”
Boo comments from the bed, “I don’t know if it’s snow, but that white stuff really blows.”
Tucker goes, “I know that’s snow, and it’s too cold for my toes.”
While Papi puts his tail down and says, “Snow and I don’t go.”
Velvet Rain
A velvet rain is falling. It’s a rain that makes the world feel cozier and more intimate, inviting deeper thoughts.
I’d planned to walk ten minutes but the rain soothed me, inviting me to keep going. I did, until two miles and an hour had passed.
The rain didn’t appear to soothe all. Some drivers took the rain as a sign to go, “Faster! Faster!”
The walking time allowed for solitude and writing time. I’d dropped into my personal trough the other day in the cycles of buoyancy and depression. Oh, lord, that darkness. Daunting, it drinks me up and swallows me down. The sighs are heavy, the thoughts are bitter, and the world looks grim. Even the cats’ attentions are infuriating irritations.
Perspective helps me survive. Writing, walking, and solitude help me grind out perspective. Alas, Schedules and events kept me from consistently achieving two of the three. But yeah, I survived.
Our new microwave and range were delivered and installed yesterday. They look so modern, I was surprised to realize how ancient the replaced ten-year-old units looked, and the difference it makes to the kitchen. To celebrate, we went out to lunch, and then to a movie.
The movie is part of our annual Oscar Quest. Friends throw a party, and we like to be able to think and talk intelligently about the movies and performances. We’ve only seen a few noms, so we’re behind. We saw “The Post” yesterday. That increases our total to four. We have work to do in our entertainment. None of the previews (“Love, Simon,” “Red Sparrow,” “7 Days in Entebbe,” and “Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool”) didn’t inflame deep interest. Each struck me as something to stream and watch at home when it’s available through one of our subscriptions. Of the four, “Love, Simon,” sparked the most intrigue. I suppose I’m too picky and cynical.
As the lights dropped and the previews played, and then the movie opened, my writers emerged with scene ideas. When we returned home, I quietly sat down (quietly, so as to not attract the cats, who seemed determined to stop me from writing at home) at the laptop, opened the required doc, and wrote the scene and changes. Not interested in tempting fate (the cats! the cats!), I saved and closed the doc, but later, while eating, more writing visited me. I stole back into the document and added a few more pages. Best, it left me knowing exactly where to begin today.
It’s a fine feeling, to know what to write, to write it, and to look forward to writing more.
Liquid dripped onto the coffee shop table as I unpacked and set up. Rain or sweat? I don’t know; either were plausible. I suppose I could taste it, but it’s not a critical difference.
Tonight, Wednesday, is when I meet with my friends for conversation and beer. It’s a standing invitation. My attendance record is lackluster but the rain is whispering, “You should go.” I’m ambivalent, but contemplating it.
Meanwhile, the first gulps of hot, black coffee have scalded my lips and tongue. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
The Beer Warning
Beer and I get along well. We go together like pizza and beer, ice cream and pie, or coffee and pastries.
The other day, we had a warning about climate change and chocolate. Each week brings another story about global warming and the increasing seriousness.
Earlier this year – 2018 – came a story about rare poisonous sea snakes being discovered in California, coming north with warming waters.
Before that, of course, were stories and warnings of wild weather swings with rapid temperature extremes, blizzard hurricanes and increasing wildfires. Before then, climate change warnings were about melting ice caps, rising sea levels, and coastal flooding that threaten cities like New York and Miami.
But a segment of population says, “Nope, climate change, and all that’s attributed to it is fake science, or a hoax, or a conspiracy, or blah, blah, blah.”
Today, a warning from Montana, where malt hops are grown. They’re not faring well there, and climate change is blamed.
Without malt hops, we’re going to have some problems with beer production. Hopefully, more will now start paying attention. The Guardian puts it in perspective in this article, from 2015.
The Pre-writing Walk
A northern wind slices off some of the sun’s warmth. It’s a surprisingly clear, bright sun, the kind of sun that appears after storms dump inches and feet of snow.
But there’s no snow today. Snow is as rare as found diamonds this year. Ashland’s traffic is light. Town’s energy emanates a feel-good vibe. Restaurants are gearing up for lunch. Enticing aromas tempt and tease on every corner and most doors. I identify grilled burgers, French fries, and grilled onions among the scents. There are others that tantalize but leave without identification. We have a lot of good eateries and abundant offerings. Fortunately, their plot to capture me is avoided.
The writer, editor, and I discuss today’s writing plans, works spoken only in my head, so others don’t pin unwanted labels on me. The plans are fully developed, and I’m eager to get to them.
Still, I walk, thinking about last night’s dreams. One in particular trots alongside my thoughts. I was doing dishes, and I had a plan, but I was falling behind…is that about writing, life, or something else? It involved a POTUS but not the current guy. Others want to step in to help me, but a woman instructs them, “Let him go.” I struggle, turning in different directions, becoming thoughtless and distracted about what I was doing. It occurs to me that the sinks in my dream were full of dirty dishes and hot, soapy water. I slip a reminder into my head to look that up.
Lifted by the day, I walk longer and farther than planned, but finally make the turns necessary to reach my office away from home, the coffee shop where I write. ‘My’ space is available, and I take to it.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more.
Storm Names
I’ve been reading about the winter storm. Some call it bomb cyclone, but it has a name, you know. It’s been named Grayson. That name brought to mind Kathryn Grayson. She never won an Academy Award, but I thought, wouldn’t it be neat if they started naming storms after Oscar winners? Then we could say things like, “Clint Eastwood is threatening the East Coast of the United States.”
Yeah.
Sunshine and Rain
Have you ever been walking through the rain but in sunshine, wearing sunglasses and looking for a rainbow, and think, this could be the perfect metaphor for my life?
Yes, once in a while, like today.
Michael Seidel, writer 