Tag: bees

Grayda’s Theme Music

Wenzda, Mai 14, 2025, is Grayda in Ashland. Gray hangs over us with gravity’s weight. Sunshine comes in and leaves quick. No rain is expected, but neither was Grayda. This is Ashlandia. We’re supposed to be basking in warmth. It has risen to 56 F. 61 F is on the menu. All these gray clouds do something to my mood. Their impact is much different if its over a crashing sea, but that scene is a coupla hundred miles away.

Today’s tune was brought to me by nature. Nature; when you want the very best.

I was out looking for pollinators. My wife and I are down. “I’ve seen one fat bumble bee,” she said, “and one dragonfly, and a looper, but that’s not really a butterfly. So I haven’t seen any butterflies.”

I recounted my count: two bees, no dragonflies, butterflies, wasps, hornets, or hummingbirds. Even the birds are frequenting our area less. We’re used to being a buzzbox of activity. This non-activity disconcerts and worries us.

Papi was with me during my pollinator watch. “Where are the butterflies?” I asked him. He rolled around on his back on the patio cement, his eyes scrunched closed and his paws working the air.

A dog barked. Papi flipped over and studied the area, his ears finetuning themselves to the dog’s position. Not in the backyard, which is fenced. And it wasn’t either of his mortal enemies, the dog to the east, or the wicked dog to the north, Cowdog.

And then, “Dog & Butterfly” by Heart started in the morning mental music stream. The Neurons’ thinking was clear in this instance. That’s often rare so I appreciated the linear clarity.

“I’m going back in, Papi,” I said. Papi yawned and stretched. A jay came to the yard and conversed. I closed the door on the scene.

Ann Wilson said about “Dog & Butterfly”, “This, like a log of songs, came from something iteral and changed to something more poetic. I was upstairs in my music room waiting for my muse. It doesn’t always happen on cue but, in hindsight, it did this time. I looked out of my window and saw the dog chasing a butterfly. He wouldn’t give up; he just kept chasing that butterfly. I thought it was impossible, yet he kept on going. The chase took on another meaning for me. Like so much in life, the spirit is undaunted, you keep going after it.

“Many people have said that it is that thought in this song that has helped them through rough times. When they’re up against the wall I life, thy could refer back to it and keep going.

“Nancy (Wilson) and I, as Heart, were new at the time in 1978 or so, and this became our personal theme song as well. Now if we don’t play it in our set, people are disappointed.” h/t to Wikipedia.org.

I think it’s a good day to help push through graydas. Sometimes these days in Trumpland feel gray and heavy despite the sunshine. I turn to music to help get through. Do what’s needed, without doing yourself harm.

Coffee has been consumed. Here we go again. Three…two…one…

Hey, the sun’s out. Things are looking up again.

Cheers

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So Hilarious

I shared this with friends. Some replied, “I wasn’t really sure this was satire. Because, you know, Trump.”

Indeedly do, we do understand. Trump can be a nutter! He often says things that prompt many of us to respond, “Whhhaaattt?” Then we embrace the task of dissecting his crazy verbiage to understand what he’s saying and then struggle to pierce the insanity for truth, logic, and reason.

LucN over at Daily Kos gave us a pitch-perfect youarthere performance of the Donald, and it is so funny, I felt it incumbent to ensure others read and enjoy it.

Trump’s plan to introduce honeybee colonies to public school cafeterias goes spectacularly awry

So, read and enjoy! Laughter is good for you, you know.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Fridetermined

Sunshine jumped over the hills and in through the windows, lighting up the trees against a blue sumumn sky. Although we’re ranging through the mid fifties now as the sun’s air kisses the air, we’ll be striking the mid to upper 70s by day’s end.

Cut the grass yesterday. We have one large section of it which is something called clover. Bees were busily jumping from clover to clover so I left that nine square feet uncut so they could do their thing. I’ll cut it once they’re done. Not a big deal to cut the grass, as I use an old mechanical push motor. No gas or electricity needed.

At 6, we headed to the OSF Green Show to see one of our favorite local bands, The Rogue Suspects. The sun was dropping and the tempertures was sifting through the low 70s, providing a wonderful venue for enjoying music. As expect, per usual, they put on an excellent show, featuring songs from the Pointer Sisters, B-52, Journey, Huey Lewis and the News, and other bands and performers out of the last century.

Today The Neurons have “Fix You” by Coldplay going in the morning mental music stream (Trademark broken). Weirdly, I have featured this song twice before, both times in September. Must be a September song, right? Curious, I checked; released in September, 2005.

Papi drew the song into my head this morning. The other night, he was acting listless and uninterested in his food. That’s unusual for the feline known as the ginger blade. Six times out of ten, he comes in and heads right to the food bowls. Three other times, he’ll come over to me for skritches. Once, really less than one time out of ten, he’ll come in due to weather, loud noises, or something else disturbing his force, and head into the bathroom to chill.

This time, he came in and went over to a corner and settled. I took food to him. He sniffed as if interested but passed.

Okay, this is a cat who experienced a life-threatening bout with triaditis before. I informed my wife about my concerns and we made plans to keep him in overnight and keep watching him.

Later that night, he wanted out. No, I told him, not until I see you eating. I checked the food bowls put out for him: untouched.

I fed him the next morning. He showed some interest and ate a little. No vomiting, and he was acting closer to normal. A Churru was given him, and he lapped that up. After drinking water, he came to me and purred. His tail rose a bit, more like his normal self. I made him some kibble slurry — warmish water with kibble. Starting hesitantly, he lapped up most of that.

Anyway, to finish, he’s jaunting around with his tail up today, eating in his normal style, and meowing and purring per usual. Talking to him after he ate all the breakfast provided him, I told, “I’m happy we were able to fix you.” Lo, Der Neurons cranked it up.

Be strong, stay positive, lean forward, and vote blue in 2024. I’m doing the same. Coffee has been warming my innards. Time for the music, with Michael Fox joining them. Cheers

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A Shoe Dream with Alvin

I walked along a sandy path to get shoes. I had shoes on and was fully dressed in pants and a shirt. When I was walking, I discovered blue booties, like something worn at a crime scene. I put them on over my shoes, and then continued on to get shoes. This made total sense to me, that I had shoes but needed a different pair. When I got to the location, a window on the side of a light blue building with a glass front door, I was told that my shoes weren’t ready and that I needed to return a little later. I walked back to where I’d started but took of my blue booties. I’d been thinking about them and decided that they weren’t needed.

I encountered a woman after taking off my booties. With dark, curly hair, she reminded me of one of my younger sisters. She saw the booties in my hand so we chatted about the booties. She told me that she wears hers in her shoes, over her socks. I replied, my shoes wouldn’t fit it I wore the booties like that. Then I wondered about the booties’ purpose and whether I needed them at all.

I went back and got my next pair of shoes, which were military jump boots, all black and shiny. I was baffled about why I had them and why I thought I needed them. Setting them aside, I began looking for Alvin. Alvin was the man who was gave me my shoes. I’d seen him, a tall white man with short, dark hair. I told other that I encountered that I was going to play a joke on Alvin. They asked me who Alvin was. When I explained, they replied, “Oh, that’s Mister Simon.” I asked why they called him that and they said, “That’s his name.” I repeated the whole name, Alvin Simon, and wondered if we had part of it wrong.

That’s where it ended.

As an aside, a scene in a movie triggered recall of a dream where bees were flying in front of my face, teaching me by sending me information telepathically.

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