Tag: bears

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: eeeeeaaaaaauuuuuuuuuahhhhhhhh

Just tired today, you know? Like I’m an inflatable man with a slow leak. Bent over as I sit, air seeping out, growing smaller, more flaccid, more bent.

Haven’t had coffee and brekkie yet. That might change the self-impression.

It’s Wednesday. December 18, 2024. Almost 50 F out, a wind mutters and sings like it doesn’t know all of the words. Sometimes it remembers most of the chorus. It rained in the early morning. It’s to begin raining and keep raining for most of the afternoon. A sun is been pasted into the sky among the pillows of unwashed clouds. Peeks of blue sky skittishly open and close, an amateur fan dance. Gonna get to 53 F. Not bad for the verge of winter.

Some news begins like an ugly joke. Hear the one about the bear falling on the hunter? But it’s not a joke. It’s a stupid slash of life. Bear was treed. Had been shot by the hunter and another hunter. And it fell on the hunter, who died. I’m happy for the hunter, who after all, died doing what he loved: killing other creatures. Lester Clayton Harvey Jr.

The friend turned out to be a son, and there was a group, hunting and chasing that bear. And the son, yes, says, Dad died happy.

“Dad was doing what he loved most, bear hunting with me and some of his good friends when he was injured,” his son wrote in a post on his Facebook page Dec. 11. The post included photos of the group hunting, with a bear in some of the shots.

They don’t mention if the bear died in the story. That omission speaks volumes as they praise the hunter. Caption showing a picture of the bear accompanying the article says, “A black bear climbs up a tree. A 58-year-old Virginia man is dead after a bear fell out of tree and struck him during what appears to be a hunting accident in Lunenburg County Dec. 9, 2024.”

Which isn’t what happened. Look at they shade that tale. The man died when he shot a bear in a tree after he and a group chased the bear into the tree. Reacting to its wounds, the bear fell out of the tree, killing the man.

I notice my computer is slow today. As if it’s affected by the same low-key blahs afflicting moi. Maybe it’s a December thing. The Neurons have picked up some cosmic playing which eventually unfolds and refolds into Cream playing “Crossroads” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark pending). Ah, that’ll do.

Off to make coffee and brekkie. Find something for my spirit and body. Have a better one. I believe I’m sinking down. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

It’s Sunday, June 18, 2023. Let’s put this day on our back and run wild. You know, like Trump said that gangs of young people do by the hundreds. Except he said they were running into department stores and stealing refrigerators by strapping them on their backs and running out of the stores. Cities all across the nation. Sure you’ve seen some videos of it on the net or television. I haven’t. Doesn’t seem to be happening in my world.

It’s a chilly 58 F almost summer morning. Gonna be 69 before we’re done with the sun in Ashlandia, where the cats are smart and the drivers are below average. Clouds dominate the blue above like Game of Thrones dominated HBO. Sun is out there, poking and peeking around said clouds but a front tempers the sun’s effects.

Our house floofs are not pleased with this turn. Their exact comments, said in unison, was, “What the hell? Where is the warmth?” They search for it outside and then turn their sights inside, settling down on old familiars like the sofa and bed. They’re miffed but they’re not letting that impede a good nap.

The bears are awake, out, and active, so beware. Mostly going for trash cans, trashing bird feeders — they are especially fond of hummingbird feeders — or trying to open doors to see what’s on the other side.

We’re bemoaning the state of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. They made some unusual moves the last several years. The artistic director resigned this year and OSF is begging us to donate money so that the show can go on. Meanwhile, they uprooted the Tudor Guild a few years ago — said that the landlord raised the rent — and bought and built several properties, and moved their offices to a swanky new locations. The pandemic, wildfires, and smoke affected them — the primary theater is open-air — but they also killed several youth-oriented programs which focused on introducing school children to plays. If it sounds like chaos, that’s how it feels living alongside it.

Today’s song is “Photograph” by Nickelback from 2005. It was inspired by looking at some photos, of course. I’d stumbled across them as I looked for something else. I was surprised that The Neurons brought out this instead of something like “Kodachrome” by Simon or “Photograph” by Ringo. But The Neurons have a mind of their own. The song works as today’s theme music, as it’s all about looking back, reacting and remembering. Photographs of Dad were in there, which was nice serendipity for Father’s Day in America.

Stay pos, and don’t let the weight grind you down. My morning cuppa coffee is over. Time to move it, move it, move it. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Cougar Update

One friend from the north end of town two miles away shared a video of a cougar dragging a deer across their yard. Another friend stopped by at the coffee house and showed a video of a cougar passing his front door with a raccoon in his mouth. The second friend lives a mile away in another direction.

Yeah, they’re out there. Meanwhile, someone else posted video of a bear cub running back and forth across the street not far from the downtown plaza. Nature always provides things to think about, if you pay attention. I told the cats, “Cougars are why I try to keep you guys inside.”

They looked at me like I was crazy.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Everyone was worried about putting their trash cans out by the curb the night before pickup because of bears.

But most people’s trash cans are stored by the side of their house. Some are behind wooden fences, no doubt a robust protection against a bear (yeah, that’s snark). A bear can get these cans just as easily there as on the street, waiting for the trash collector. If they’re really concerned about bears getting into trash cans, they need to do a lot more than delay putting them out until the morning.

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The Guests Dream

My wife and I lived in a small place in this dream. It was outside and had no walls or roof. Nor, I later learned, did it have a private bathroom.

As said, it was small, tiny, really. It was all about the kitchen, dining room, and living room — without walls, which I didn’t think odd at all. Guests arrived, including cousins. Among them was one a few years younger than me who passed away in 2002 from a heart attack. He was there and in good health and I was pleased to see him. I realized that the guests meant that I needed more kitchen space. Of critical concern was that I make a place for them to make coffee and sit and enjoy the coffee — and BTW, Christmas was on the way, according to my guests. Some began putting up colored electric lights and other decorations.

I set up what I thought would suit the guests, a small, squared off space with an elaborate coffee maker on the left, and a sitting area on the right. My deceased cousin complained about it IAW his nature. I deflected his complaints with good nature. His mother arrived and made observations and suggestions. As I began explanations about the arrangements and my logic, I cut myself off. “Wait. You’re right! That would be better.” I commenced making the change.

Finishing, I stepped away from our square, wall-free, roofless, ‘home’. Around us was a park with swing sets, seesaws, and slides in use by screaming, laughing, chattering children. After surveying them, I turned and spotted two huge bears lumbering by. Worrying about the children, I turned to warn them. They’d spotted the bears. Quieting, they’d climbed bleachers and were waiting for the bears to leave. The bears left without incident.

I went to use the restroom. In dreamstyle, I turned and stepped and was upstairs in a white building. This, I knew, was a stick and wood building three stories tall. I was on the third floor in a hall. A square antechamber was on my right. I faced white doors spread out in the hall and antechamber in an odd and haphazard fashion. Black numbers labeled the doors one to five. The bathrooms, I realized. As I went to select number five, I realized there was a sixth and shifted toward it. As I did, a young woman in loose black shirt and pants accosted me, explaining that the rooms were shared and she was scheduled to use one of them to give a massage and a bath to a client. She said, “You need to reserve the room for your use.” As she talked, she crossed to a wall and took a clipboard with a yellow shirt of paper on it. “We use this to reserve the rooms. I suggest you use it as well.”

I countered with another suggestion, which were cards by the doors, which indicated if they were in use or available.

Dream end.

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