Friday, October 27, 2023, slid into Ashlandia on icy paws, clear skies, and sunshine. Was 32 F. Warming now, and people are out walking among the gold, rose, and brown fallen leaves. None of the walkers kick them up, as I like to do as I march thlrough drifts on the paths.
Ashlandia, where the trees were imported and the people revere them, will reach the mid fifties by late afternoon. Now is the time to prepare for freezing weather, if you’ve not done that already. Disconnect the hoses and bring them in. Cover the outdoor faucets to protect them from freezing.
I’ve done those things. Now I need to deal with the furnace which just doesn’t seem to be warming us as we expect. Don’t suggest the thermostat or the filters; both are new and the vents are clean and unobstructed. No, some other technical challenge is behind this matter. I’ll search the net for what to do.
The Neurons hooked me up with Van Morrison in the morning mental music stream (Trademark facetious). Started while I was driving yesterday. A station played Steve Winwood doing “Higher Love”, a song I enjoy, inducing me to increase the volume and sing along. Counting Crows followed up with “A Long December” which forced my finger to find the volume button and add just a little more volume. Lenny Kravitz followed and a little more volume was added.
From that process of events, sounds, and thinking, The Neurons put “Caravan” from 1970 into the stream, where it remained this morning. That’s because of the Van’s repeatitive urging, “Turn it up. Turn it up. On the radio.” I went with the version from The Last Waltz to help release it from the mental music stream, where Van Morrison is backed by The Band. Hope you like it.
Here we go, out to westing with traffic, time, weather, writing, and intentions once again. Stay positive, be strong, and remain steadfast. Coffee is steaming from a mug beside me. Here’s the music. Cheers
Winter stepped closer to us today. Though it’s Thursday, October 26, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the animals are heading for hibernation, and so are quite a few people, the lows are now in the thirties at night. Our present temp here is 38 F, and it’s blue-sky sunny. Today’s high will be in the low to mid sixties, but tonight will drop to 32 and more snow will kiss the elevations.
Snow on the els is a good thing, though. Snowpacks require replenishing, as do all the ways we save water to support ourselves through the dry, hot summer.
Today’s mood (disappointed) results from the House GOP Speaker vote. With Rep Johnson installed, another right turn toward the dark edge was taken. Yeah, pessimist, aren’t I? No reason to believe otherwise. Modeates went along with him because they realized that the GOP’s naked dysfunction was ugly optics. Voters no like, markets no like, allies no like. Had to change those optics somehow. And Rep Johnson, a hard right conservative who preaches religion to save us while stamping out abortion choices and rights but affable enough to get along with all the GOP factions, is their Missouri Compromise, a temporary peace with nothing resolved.
My internal optimist suggest wait; see. My pragmatist laughed at my optimist.
Feel like we’re just bleeding the Earth dry. Suck out all the fossil fuels. Drink all the water, bottle it up and sell it for a few dollars more, or throw it on landscaping and golf courses. Douse the crops and fill the swimming pools. We keep butting up to limits. So what will be cut? Who will stop getting water? The wealthy and powerful will keep getting water. ‘Cause they’re the ones with the most say in a capitalistic democracy. Some voters and citizens will shrug it all off as a temporary setback or completely deny it’s happening. Others will desperately fight to change our course but will be blocked and obstructed every time, on every initiative. That’ll go on right up to the bitter end, when even the wealthy start singing the out of water blues.
Speaking of vampires and blues, The Neurons eavesdropped on my whining and dropped Neil Young and “Vampire Blue” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fading). It’s a classic Young song, spare of chords, simple structure and words, delivered in a weary tone. At least, that’s how I har him.
Stay pos, vote, be strong and keep getting up after you go down. I’ll do the same. Just pour some coffee down my throat first, would’cha? Say, how much water does coffee take? I’m as addicted as the rest to the way it was.
Rain baptises Wednesday, October 25, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the bears are above average and the people are wary.
At 41 degrees, which feels cold with that falling rain and sun hiding behind the clouds’ skirts, I infer winter’s edge invading. There is some evidence that winters coming on, with storm warnings of snow falling above 3500 feet in the mountains north and east of us. Crater Lake, 99 miles away by winding mountain roads, is expecting the most snow.
Today’s high: (fanfare) 48 F.
For Wednesday’s theme music, The Neurons shoved “Spill the Wine” by Eric Burdon and War into the morning mental music stream (Trademark reinvented). The song and its presence is hitched to a coffee shop incident where a woman (who I assumed was mom) urged a precious looking little girl in cowperson boots and a shiny dress and a pink coat, “Don’t spill it,” as some drink was slid in the girl’s direction and she eagerly reached.
Replied the little girl in a matter-of-fact enunciation as she aimed a green plastic straw toward her mouth, “You know I won’t spill it. I’ve very careful.”
“Yes, you are,” the assumed mom replied.
Hearing that started The Neurons with that soft percussion sounds that open “Spill the Wine”. Then the sweeping organ punched up the song and the funky rythym began. It’s a memorable song, talking about being given surreal instructions about taking a pearl and digging a girl.
Stay pos, be strong, enjoy life, and keep moving forward. Here’s the music and there’s my coffee. Time to crank on, once again. Cheers
I’m careening along through the year, charging toward the next month with barely time to notice this month. So it feels, and has felt.
Today is Tuesday, October 24, 2023 in Ashlandia, where cheese, bread, and wine are made locally and taste above average. Leaves with fading colors litter the ground, crowding against curbs, huddling in storm drains and taking shelter against buildins and in bushes. High cirrocumulus offerings mark the blue sky’s ceiling like small pieces of popcorn. They’re moving east at an impressive clip as more serious looking stratus flow in from the east, heading west. 52 F now, 61 F is the purported high, according to those who know. Rain showers are forecast for this evening.
Songwise, I have “It’s Ok” buzzing in my head, a gift from The Neurons. Overhearing a person actually saying those words in the coffee shop, The Neurons immediately slotted them into the morning mental music stream (Trademark fabricated).
Released by Imagine Dragons in 2021, the song is about feeling different or being different. You know that feeling, right? Probably. I think most people feel it at one time or another, a sense that they’re either lost or out of step with everyone else, maybe confused about the beat they’re marching to because no one else hears it. The song reassures us that being so is acceptable.
It’s okay to be not okay It’s just fine to be out of your mind Breathe in deep, just a day at a time ‘Cause it’s okay to be out of your mind, mind
Another Monday is about us in Ashlandia, where the rain falls mainly in the valley, and the streams and rivers swell with the results.
The weather is 52 F, cloudy and rainy. Forecasters warn that today’s high will be 65 F, with intermittent clouds, but it won’t rain. It’s a good coffee and reading day.
As for the world outside of Ashlandia, there were no overnight miracles. The news reports that the ongoing wars are still ongoing, one in Europe, and one in the middle-east. Besides those two, the GOP still wars with the GOP in the US. I don’t look for a quick or happy resolution to the war in the middle-east, but expect it to trudge on as has happened with Russia and Ukraine in Europe.
To summarize, led by the hardline Gang of Eight, the Republicans outsted their own guy as Speaker, Kevin McCarthy, even though they’re all part of the majority party nominally known as the GOP. Since booting McCarthy, the House has not been functioning much.
Note: the House wasn’t doing much before losing its Speaker, mostly because the GOP was determined to be the Grand OBSTRUCTIONIST Party. This is largely because a Democrat is POTUS, and most of the GOP’s ideas involve stripping rights from others, banning books, and keeping fossil fuels as the nation’s primary energy source.
Steve Scalise, House Majority Leader, R-La, tried and failed to become the new House Speaker, and withdrew after that one attempt.
Jim Jordan, a hardliner from Ohio, tried and failed after three rounds of voting to become Speaker. Just couldn’t find the votes. He’s considered too hard right and has never been known to compromise. Besides that, he has a poor legislative record.
“Critics of Rep. Jim Jordan (R-Ohio) have increasingly pointed to this – most notably the fact that he has yet to get a bill signed into law since being elected in 2006.” h/t to UnionLeader.com.
A line during Saturday Night Live’s cold open captured the essence of Jim Jordan’s attempt to be Speaker: “I want to be Speaker so that government starts functioning again so I can shut it down.” That’s the gist of Jordan’s politics. He doesn’t like ‘big’ government.
These wars complicate the world’s already precarious situation. The biggest crises we face in 2023 is growing food shortages and rising food costs, per ReliefWeb. Food shortages are worsening because war is tearing up farms and arable land, and growing extreme weather is damaging crops and disrupting growing seasons.
What a mess we’re in, and so much of it is brought on by our own actions. But just as so many addicts of drugs and addictives are helpless to save themselves, so it seems, are we.
Let’s go on to more pleasant matters, like music.
My wife was telling me a story about a conversation between her and some friends. I thought, “Oh, shit, sparks are going to fly now,” as I laughed, because I knew the husband and wife involved and how they were going to react.
Boom, The Neurons pounced, delivering “Master of Sparks” by ZZ Top into my head, where it remains in the morning mental music stream (Trademark sagging). This feels like a case of needing to play it for others to unloop it from my mental music stream, so here we are, me presenting it to you as Monday’s theme music.
The song is part of the first ZZ Top album I ever listened to, Tres Hombres, from 1973. I was seventeen. My buddy, Scott, brought it into high school art class as part of the established routine of listening to music while drawing and painting. One take of that album and I was smitten.
“Master of Sparks” turned out to be one of those songs that caught my attention as I was drawing because I was struggling to figure out what it was about. “What are they singing, Scott?” I asked. He brought it in, so I thought he’d know.
Sweeping his long bangs off his face, he grinned at me with big eyes. “I don’t know. Sounds cool, though doesn’t it?”
Scott introduced me to many new rock bands during that time, and shaped my musical preferences. Highly intelligent, athletic, and creative, Scott started at our school in my junior year after being tossed out from a well-regarded prep school. We shared multiple classes and were on several sports teams together. We also were both very rebellious.
Taking the question seriously, Scott returned two days later and told me that “Master of Sparks” is telling a story about a ball-shaped steel cage that the narrator was in. My reaction was basically, “Whaaa?”
Scott explained that he and Rick listened to it again and again at Scott’s house, and decided that’s what the song was about. Thanks to the net, I know they were right.
High class Slim came floating in Down from the county line Just getting right on Saturday night Riding with some friends of mine They invited me to come and see Just what was on their minds And then I took my first long look At the Master of Sparks on high
In the back of Jimmy’s Mack Stood a round steel cage Welded into shape by Slim Made out of sucker gauge How fine, they cried now with you inside Strapped in there safe and sound I thought, my-o-my, how the sparks will fly If that thing ever hit the ground
Slim was so pleased when I had eased Into his trap of death He had slammed the door but I said no more And I thought I’d breathed my last breath We was out in the sticks down Highway Six And the crowd was just about right The speed was too, so out I flew Like a stick of rolling dynamite
When I hit the ground You could hear the sound And see the sparks a country mile End over end I began to spin But the ball started running wild But it was too late as I met my fate And the ball started getting hot But through the sparks and the flame I knew that the claim Of the Master of Sparks was gone
After greeting us with sunshine this morning, Sunday, October 22, 2023, has served non-stop rain to Ashlandia, where the fresh air is never canned and the drivers are extra-distracted.
Well, first, my apologies. I’m glum today, even irritated and moody. This is due to my illness. It’s plagued me for over two weeks. Nothing deep nor serious, just enough to be bothersome. After convincing myself I was rid of it, the sore throat, lethargy, and headache parts all stormed back. Just depressing, you know? And irritating.
And frustrating. Did I mention that? I’d entertained visions of industrious editing and revising and this damn sickness just undercut all intentions. I’ve been gritting my teeth in a struggle to will myself through it. Instead, I just want to sit back, feeling sorry for myself, reading and chilling. Heavy sigh emerges after I acknowledge and type that.
I’ve tried to edit and revise twice; it’s a challenge today. Some of this is because I’m dealing with a very abstract notion toward the novel’s end. I’m attempting to transition it from its abstract roots into something real and authentic. Patience, deep thinking, and persistence are needed, and I’m struggling to generate those today.
Today’s theme music is “Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden. I came up with this by myself, without The Neurons’ help. It came about from watching clouds move in and overwhelm the morning sunshine, undermining my enthusiasm for the day. These days come, of course. It’s not necessarily indicative of anything except a crappy-ish day. It’ll pass.
Meanwhile, I’ve always enjoyed “Black Hole Sun”. It comes across as a declaration to me. The words are sort of contradictory — “Black hole sun, won’t you come, and wash away the rain” — but that somehow springs some defiant hope in me. Perhaps it’s just the plaintive way it first comes across before exploding with brashness, a tone and mood reinforced with hard guitar chords and rolling drums. Besides those elements, weariness is wired into the verses such as this one:
It’s a stream of consciousness of spent energy, which is much how I feel today. I should warn you, it’s a bizarre video.
Stay pos — at least more positive than me, please — and be strong. I’m trying to move forward; hope you do as well. More coffee, please, black as the sun, hot as ice. Here’s the music. Cheers
Awakening this morning, I was surprised. Sunshine was flowing into the bedroom.
Where was the dark rain?
I listened to the house’s silence. Wednesday, I thought, considering my plans.
No, Sunday, I corrected myself.
I’d expected night, rain, and Wednesday because that’s what I dreamed. Alternatively, maybe that was a different reality embracing me — which I thought was a dream — and now I’m back here again, where it was sunny, daylight, and Sunday. It’s something to contemplate.
The dream had leaned toward the odd side. My wife and I were with many others. We’d gone somewhere where I was to receive a prize and she was to be honored at a dinner. Pretty exciting stuff.
Meanwhile, I was eager to continue writing another novel which I was working on. But first, the dinner.
We’d all parked. I had my black RX-7. It was night, pitch black, and pouring rain. Despite those circumstances, it was a boisterous crowd streaming into the festivities. I knew many and was busy waving, calling out greetings to friends, and laughing.
We got into the hall’s foyer, a lovely warm, tall, and pink marble place with thick carpeting and golden chandeliers. As I chatted with friends, my wife moved away from me, but I could still see her. I called to her so we could go in and find our table.
She turned back around. Shock was on her face. I went to her and asked what was wrong.
“Doctor D is dead,” she answered.
Others approached us, inquiring if all was okay. I explained to them what she’d told me and who Doctor D was to her. Meanwhile, I wondered how she’d received the news; I’d been watching her. Nobody talked to her and she wasn’t on the phone.
Using our coats to protect our heads from the rain, we hustled through the dark rainy night back to my black car. Many other cars were already started and moving, shiny dark shapes, filling the air with exhaust smoke and startling me, because I thought they were staying for the dinner. While wondering why they weren’t I started entering my car.
Another person called to me. Sitting in her car, her window partially down, she explained that she was trying to use her computer writing program but it was asking for a code. She didn’t know how to get a code.
“Yes, you need a code,” I said. She replied that she’d never heard of that, and I said, “I think I can get one for you.”
Returning to my car, I started it and plugged my computer in, then typed some keys.
A series of red characters came up on a black screen. I memorized them and ran through the drenching rain to the other person. “Here, put these numbers in.” When she was ready, I repeated what I’d memorized.
We had to do this twice. I worried that I’d gotten the numbers wrong but it worked after the second time. “Good,” I said, and she replied, “Thank you.”
Head and shoulders hunched, I dashed back to the car. My wife was inside it, waiting. The rain cut visibility like a sheet had been tossed over the world.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
She looked at me. “You’re not wet.”
The dream ended.
First, after dreaming this and thinking about it, I eventually fired up my ‘puter. When I checked Facebook for messages from friends and family, FB showed me a post under its “Memories” category; it was the photo I shared in this post. I thought it a stretch as a coincidence to dream of a car that I haven’t owned in over eight years and see a picture of it on the same morning.
I liked that car a great deal, owning it for almost twenty years. A 1993 Mazda R1, it’d been bought as a gift to myself in 1996 after I’d retired from the military in 1995 and landed a good-paying job with a civilian company, a medicial device startup in Silicon Valley. The car reminded me of that life era, and how much my life changed at that point.
All that rain and darkness intrigued me. Despite that, we’d been very happy. I was getting a prize, and my wife was being honored. The mood quickly changed with news of a doctor’s death, but I don’t know of that doctor in real life, so that left me puzzled.
Overall, I don’t have any strong grasp on any insights about the dream. As always, it could be Neurons just having fun, or some weird neural scrambling brought on by unknown causes.
That’s how it goes with my dreams. If anyone can tell me what it means, it’d be appreciated.
Slidding into place like a giant oceanliner docking, Saturday, October 21, 2023, arrived in Ashlandia, where the coffee shops are pleasant, and the library is above average.
Cooler temperatures prevail today. Several large masses of feathery white clouds breached the southeastern horizon and now master half of Ashlandia. They block the sun. With those clouds in place and the Earth’s position on its orbit relative to the sun, it’s 53 F now and will reach 75 today, chillier than yesterday. Tomorrow is expected to deliver rain and a high of 61 F as summer’s efforts to hold on slide away and autumn more firmly asserts itself.
Lot of news this week in war and politics. Keeping up with the mess that is Israel, Palestine, Gaza, and Hamas, is wearying and sickening. It’s complicated, and war, with the killing and destruction which war brings, will do nothing to make anyone feel better. When will that mess be resolved enough to achieve a lasting and settled peace?
Of course, the mess in Congress continues. This is the one caused by the majority party, the GOP, voting out their speaker. A contentious hard rightwing gang forced the vote. Democrats, never pleased with Kevin McCarthy, a Trumpublican, were given the opportunity to rid themselves of him, and did. Now Repubublicans, the parents of this mess, are blaming Democrats for voting against McCarthy.
That’s quite laughable, isn’t it? Democrats are the more progressive and liberal party between the two parties. Republicans who routinely denounce Democrats, try to derail the Democrats’ agenda and counter the Democrats’ policies, now blame the Democrats for not supporting the Republican hard right speaker.
Enought of politics, although I could air grievances againts GOP for days. Instead, let’s turn to crime.
Interesting developments in former POTUS Donald J Trump’s court cases, right? Up in New York, things seem to be slidding down a long messy slope for Trump. This is the civil trial in which Trump is being accused of fraud in how he valuates his real estate holdings and developments.
First, the judge fined Trump for not obeying the gag order imposed on select aspects of the trial. This is because Trump posted a photo of the court clerk with a Democratic politician, Chuck Schumer, with the misleading caption, “Schumer’s girlfriend.”
Next, Trump got upset and vocal over witness testimony. That prompted warnings from the judge to Trump about his deportment.
“Inside the courtroom, which is closed to cameras, Trump grew irritated as Larson testified. Trump’s lawyers were seeking to undercut the state’s claims that his top corporate deputies played games to inflate the values of his properties and pad his bottom line.
“In a series of questions, Trump lawyer Lazaro Fields sought to establish that Larson had, at one point, undershot the projected 2015 value of a Trump-owned Wall Street office building by $114 million. Larson said the “values were not wrong — it’s what we knew at the time.”
“Trump threw up his hands during the exchange.”
Meanwhile, in Trump’s Georgia trial, two co-defendants have taken plea agreements.This case involves charges against Trump and nineteen others in a RICO trial. The accused are charged with interfering with the 2020 POTUS election, among other charges. The two co-defendants, Sydney Powell of kracken fame, and Kenneth Chesebro, took the deals in exchange for testifying as witnesses.
It’s such a complex affair, it’s difficult to project how these moves will ultimately affect the outcome. At the least, though, Trump who acts imperiously and demands loyalty, will be deeply angry.
Now, to music. I was at a store with my wife yesterday afternoon, buying birthday cards for friends and relatives. I heard an elderly man shout, “Is anyone going to serve me?” I stepped out and immediately spotted him at the mouth of another aisle about ten feet away. He might have been eighty years old from his wizened appearance, and about five feet tall, in sagging jeans and work boots. I don’t know what was going on but a sales person was hurrying to him.
Well, just as quickly, The Neurons spooled up Bob Dylan with his 1979 song, “Gotta Serve Somebody” in the mental music stream. The song was still playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark resented).
The song has Dylan’s unique style and insights. The song lists multiple people by profession or position in life, always beginning, “You may be.” But after listing these people, Dylan asserts, “But you’re going to have to serve somebody, yes indeed.” The implications are, we’re all beholden to someone, even if it’s the devil or God.
Stay pos, be safe, and stay calm and strong. Coffee has been imbibed, I can report. Here’s the video.
Friday, October 20, 2023, has risen. Or has it descended? Maybe neither; maybe it’s just there because the calendar said next time Earth completed its spin, this will be the day, the result of eons of evolution of people thinking about time and how to best track it in a coordinated, organized manner.
Today’s weather in Ashlandia, where the streams are low and the mountains are high-ish, looks like yesterday’s weather on paper. Same numbers. Greater quantity of thin white clouds have stolen into our picturesque blue sky fall theme.
The planet’s trajectory and axis have changed things, though. Weirdly, 80 F at this time of year doesn’t feel as hot as 80 F in spring and summer.
The sun rises further to south. Trees and mountains limit the early morning and late afternoon sunshine reaching my house. That reduced direct sunlight keeps it feeling cooler, even though the thermoment says otherwise.
The sun’s angles affect our house in other ways. The night cools faster and deeper. The house doesn’t warm as much during the day. Our interior temperature drifts along at 68 at night to 72 in the day, all temperaturs Fahrenheit. That was true yesterday despite reaching 82 at our house outside and 53 F last night. Not complaining, just noting it all. It is in fact, extremely pleasant and relaxing. Weather like this is one selling points for us to remain in Ashlandia, buy a house, and spread roots.
An interesting time was had in our house yesterday. My wife went to have lunch with a friend and then see Taylor Swift’s concert movie, The Eras Tour. She left at 2:00 PM. I came home from writing at the coffee shop at 2:40. A note was on my desk: “Strong smell of gas in the laundry.”
Natural gas heats our house. We also have a gas dryer, stove fireplace, and hot water heater. She and I both worry about gas leaks. It’s our nature, but when I a child, several homes in the area where I grew up exploded after gas leaks went undetected and untreated.
I went into the laundry. Yep, I agreed with her; I smelled gas.
So, I did all the things I’d been taught. Shut off the gas at the meter. Turned off circuit breakers so nothing could spark. Opened all the doors and several windows to air the house. Then I took my cell phone outside, along with a book. I called the gas company and reported the situation and sat on a chair on the porch and read and waited.
Nice day for such a thing if you need to endure, I thought, enjoying warm sunshine and a cool breeze.
The tech arrived about forty-five minutes later. He went through the house with an expensive gizmo which looked like a huge old cell phone, checking the gas levels, first with the gas turned off, then with the gas turned on. Nothing, he reported. “I don’t smell any, either.”
All clear, then. He left. I turned everything back on and set the clocks. End of emergency, though not end of worry. What did we smell?
I’d ask the tech for his ideas. He basically shrugged. Naturally, I checked the laundry for smells later. Nothing last night, nothing this morning. But it’s the kind of event that plague my mind, because nothing was essentially resolved.
For today’s music, I have Jimi Hendrix playing “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark uncertain). The Neurons started playing it when I was out walking yesterday in a mountain’s shadow. It was very natural. I mean, the song starts, “Well, I’m standing next to a mountain.” Making a transition from standing next to a mountain and walking next to one and back was very easy.
Stay pos, be strong, and make the best of what you can with your day and what the situation provides. I’m off for coffee. Here’s the music. BTW, look at this stage and crowd. So different from many rock star concerts being put on this year, wouldn’t you say? Crank that up to eleven.
Thursday, October 19, 2023, slid into its slot. Indian summer has re-commenced in Ashlandia, where the battles over how to help the homeless still rage.
With a sky full of sunshine and a wind full of promise, it’s 72 F right now. Forecasters assure us that our temperature will achieve the low to mid 80s today, a solid complement to the blue sky and fall foliage.
Had a stray cat encounter at home last night. I saw something wink past the front door windows. Investigation was demanded.
I opened the portal to see. In trotted a white and gray cat. An orange splash marked their back like an island in that white sea while its thick, bushy white tail waved like a friendly neighbor.
The cat seemed healthy and friendly. Without a mew, it worked through the house, exploring everything. Some nibbles of kibble were taken. A lengthy investigation of the kitty litter zone followed.
We were concerned. Was this cat lost or cast off? I’d never seen the cat in our neighborhood. That’s limited in how meaningful that is, because I have a limited view of the street and general area. It’s also possible that the cat lived in one of the nearby residences and never got out, but now had, and was confused.
Anyway, we couldn’t keep them. Our male cats barely tolerate one another. They never tolerate any outside cats. The sole exception to that was the late Pepper. A dark tortie, she carried herself with a majesty that asserted royal privilege. She also didn’t hesitate to hiss and swat, should any other feline venture too close. Pepper seemed to make peace with all, eventually; I used to find her and Tucker sleeping side by side on the front porch. I’ve never seen Tucker do that with another floof.
It’s odd to me that Tucker and Papi don’t get along. After all, they actually co-existed with three other cats for several years. When Tucker came, Scheckter was approaching the Rainbow Bridge. We still had Lady and Quinn. Sweet Boo, an onyx shorthair with a white star on his chest, then came along, a stray in need. I searched for his home and people without success, so he joined as a stray in residence.
Papi next joined, and that’s how the family stood for a while until Lady, Quinn, and Boo were each taken. So, I thought that Papi and Tucker were okay and even hoped that they would become friendlier.
Well, flooftente was achieved but they still issue threats and warnings to each other. Happened just the day before yesterday; Papi stepped up behind Tucker and leisurely sniffed over Tucker’s tail and rear. Tucker turned to reciprocate, sending Papi into a yowling, hissing frenzy, like, “Oh, no, he’s going to sniff me.”
So the sweet stray couldn’t be put up. We did set up a bed for them on the front porch and fed it again. The food needed to be brought in because outside pet food invites other creatures: skunks, raccoons, coyotes, foxes. The smell of food might attract one of the bears or cougars who roam our neighborhood. So, very, very reluctantly, we let the cat stay out, hating it all the way.
I posted about the cat on social media last evening but haven’t had a response. They haven’t been spied today. I hope they’re alright; I hope they’re safely home. I put food and water out for them on the front porch, in case they return, and let the boys out into the backyard.
I will also note that Papi returned from his morning patrol at about eight AM. He may have encountered the stray and chased them away. That’s Papi’s style.
While tending the stray last night, I picked up Tucker after he started after the stray. Hugging, kissing, stroking him, reassuring him that he wasn’t being replace, I told Tucker, “You need to stay calm.”
Picking up on that, The Neurons began playing Taylor Swift’s 2019 song, “You Need To Calm Down”. Without surprise, I can report that it’s continued playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark disputable). That’s how the MMMS generally works: once a song is in there, if stays until another song displaces it.
I do like the message out of “You Need to Calm Down”. The song’s message of people acting out in hate because of others’ genders when they’re not binary, or their choices of pronouns, or sexual orientation is exactly as needed. Too many people — many who seem to be right-wing — have gone over the top in their need and eagerness to deny others the freedom and right to be who they are. Right-wingers blast anyone who is not cisgender with surreal claims about how children are prey, or how the emergence of people who identify themselves under the umbrella of LGBTQ+ are destroying the world.
Witness, as a prominent example, Florida, led by Ron Desantis, and their absurd “Don’t Say Gay” law.
‘The bill’s sponsors have emphatically stated that the bill would not prohibit students from talking about their LGBTQ families or bar classroom discussions about LGBTQ history, including events like the 2016 deadly attack on the Pulse nightclub, a gay club in Orlando. Instead, they argue that the bill would bar the “instruction” of sexual orientation or gender identity.
‘But the text says both.’
Stay pos, be strong, and remain calm. I’m having coffee, which should sustain my efforts to do the same. Here’s the music. Carpe Thursday. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 