attitude – Page 16 – Michael Seidel, writer

Mood: focused

We’re celebrating Aug 9 2023 in Ashlandia, where the morning is cool and the afternoon is hot in the summer. Nothing special for this day for me, but happy anniversary and birthday to anyone out there celebrating those things. Congratulations on your promotion, your accomplishment. Well done on finishing that task, doing that work, completing that project, writing that book.

Another night where I ran through a complete slate of dreams. Most of it had to do with being in England with my wife, ironic as we’ve both been to England, but not together, and knowing where we were and getting things done. Not a surprising dream, given where I’m at.

I’ve been forced to dig down and try harder on a few things this week. Like others, I have a MO for it; I isolate, cutting access to me, and digging deeper for energy, narrowing my focus to laser intensity. It can be sustained but it’s one of those things that can become ingrained and diminish my satisfaction with life. Better to use it to achieve what’s needed to be done, and then step back and breathe and celebrate the outcome.

With that trying in mind, The Neurons dug Janis Joplin and the Kozmic Blues Band out of the gray vault, pumping “Try (Just A Little Harder)” (1969) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark surreal). While Janis is singing about romance and her man, her exhortations on trying is great stimulation for breathing deep, settling up, and going back in for another determined push. Yeah, in this case, I’m speaking of the solitude and angst of finishing a novel’s first draft.

So here’s a look at Janis and her band on the Dick Cavett show from a day over sixty years ago. Thank you, technology.

Stay strong, be positive, and keep moving it forward. I’ve have some coffee but I might be up for a little more, yeah? Sure. Here’s the music. Cheers

Don’t know my age when it started. Seemed like I was a young adult.

Dad and I were sharing a smallish but modern apartment. A winter storm howled outside, snow pummeling the world in unending shovelfuls. A general sense of disturbing chaos reigned.

I had a few cats. I was trying to feed them but they were running around, attacking each other, hiding. In the midst of this, in the living room by the stereo, I discovered a large window was broken. I stopped to check on it, inspecting it, confirming, because it was hard to tell, yes, a panel is gone. You’d think that’d be easy to see with snow falling, cold weather, a murdering wind, but it required earnest consideration of it for me to figure it out in the dream.

Yes, the window was broken. Several panes were missing or shattered, laying in pieces in a growing snowdrift. The cats tried to get out. As I lunged to pull them back, they retreated on their own, discouraged by the storm. Confusion seemed to paralyze me.

Dad came in, talking about a need to go somewhere, to get food, I think. Impatiently, he told me to hurry up. I was grabbing a cat, checking on the cats, looking at the broken windows. Concern over the stereo getting ruined rose up, so I moved components. Dad shouted at me to come on. I locked the cats in another room and followed Dad out. As we went, I was telling him, “Dad, there’s something you should know, there’s a window broken in the living room.”

It felt like it took some repetition of telling him this before what I was saying sank in. Then, he responded in alarm, “You should have told me this before.”

Next thing I knew, we were going back home because he was worried, and I was defensively trying to tell him that I’d been checking out the window, and I tried telling him but he wasn’t listening.

Then we were in the living room. The heater was running, hot air coming out of vents but snow dusted the floor and crusted the sofa, table, and chairs. Many things were turned over. Things were missing. The stereo and television were gone. We realized people had broken in; we realized, looking out the window, it was teenagers. They were running away with our stuff.

Dad said with bitter disappointment, “You didn’t do anything. You knew this had happened, and you didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you do anything?”

I was an adult now, and shocked. He was right; why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I take action? I could have called someone to repair the window, or put up boards. I could have done something, but I didn’t.

Dream end.