‘Nother Military Dream
It was another military dream but with a marked difference. First, a friend, Jeff, who was also in the military was in the dream.
I was at some unidentified Air Force base. I was a chief master sergeant, E9, and was due to attend a conference of CMS that was due to start. (This is two ranks above my RL retired rank.) I worried about my hair, my uniform, and my shoes as attendees began arriving. But I slipped away and pressed my uniform, taking care of that, putting razor sharp creases in it. Then I stayed low until the barber opened. When I walked into the barber shop, there were two barbers and no customers, so either one could immediately cut my hair. Both knew me by name.
After getting my hair cut, I left the shop and looked down at my shoes. They were scuffed and old. I said to myself, those aren’t my shoes, and they immediately changed into highly polished new shoes.
I felt a lot better about myself. I ran into Jeff, also a CMS. He and I chatted. I ended up telling him about a cousin who died of cancer (a cancer did die of cancer in RL). We were walking around as we talked. Female military spouses were all over the place, and they kept flirting with me. The attention flattered me.
Jeff and I stayed together through the morning, sitting down and eating. Then the conference was due to start. Another CMS came up and asked if I was going, because it was getting under way. I told him that I’d left the military twice and came back twice, but now I’m done. I wasn’t going to attend. I was taking off my uniform and leaving.
I went off to find a bathroom. When I found one, I undressed and then peed and discovered that my pecker was half purple. One of the wives walked in on me. While taking a long look at my body, she apologized for entering. I replied, “I don’t mind. I’m just wondering why my penis is half purple.”
Dream end.
Friday’s Theme Music
Spring must be ready to take the scene. My sinuses said something is in the air. I guess it could be love.
We’re getting ready to ‘spring ahead’ on our clocks this weekend in the U.S. Spring ahead and win a prize: one hour of ‘lost’ time. Where will you subtract your hour?
Today is March 11, 2022, Friday, in weekspeak. The sun came for our valley at 6:30 this morning, bold, bright, and welcome, dragging warmth out the cold air and earth. Twas 31 at my house this morning but now the desk weather station claims it’s 49 F. We saw 60 yesterday and anticipate 67 today. Looks like good walking weather. Might even do some yard-tidying and weed pulling. The sun will take its light and warmth and go on at 6:13 PM.
Today’s morning mental music stream inhabitant is “Livin’ On A Prayer” by Bon Jovi from 1986. It’s cat music. Yes, it’s a repeat from back when the coronavirus kicked in on a massive global scale While Papi seems very recovered, singing a rousing rendition of “The Breakfast Song” this morning, (and more than one verse), sick cat, whose RN is Boo (our bedroom panther), seems to be losing his cancer fight. I raise a glass to all the sick and diseased, fighting wounds, diseases, sickness, and chronic pain, and their caretakers.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, get the vaxes and boosters when you can, and send out some peace energy toward Ukraine and its people. Send them some hope that the invaders won’t kill or maim all of their people, that all of their buildings and lives won’t be destroyed, that Russia will stop this assault on their rights and lives. Pray for them if that’s what you do. Ask the Universe to make Putin come to his senses, or for Russians to rise up and rein him in.
That’s a lot to do. I’m gonna need more coffee first. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Another F1 Driving Dream
A bounty of dreams again last night. I again had one about being a Formula 1 driver. I’ve now had several in the past few weeks. In the previous ones, I was a fast up and comer. Last night, though, I was now champion. It was, look out, Alonso. Slide aside, LeClerc. Out of my way, Max and Lewis. I have arrived.
The dream was mostly a montage of me in a sleek F1 car slicing around tracks and taking checkered flags. At the end, I was congratulated on being World Driving Champion. I was then shown an image of my sick black cat; his tumors were gone. Then, I was given my prize: two cans of cat food to feed him.
I was quite ecstatic. My cat was better, I had food for him, and I’d won the WDC. Ah, the stuff of dreams…
General Updates
Watching, walking, reading, writing, cats…that’s my world. Oh, and the wife. And eating and sleeping. And games. Cleaning house. Shopping. Can’t forget Wordle, Spelling Bee, and Sudoku. And two DIY projects. And keeping up with the news.
All family except my wife are several thousands of miles away. Literally on the other U.S. coast. We’re on the west and they’re on the east. Visiting under COVID conditions is problematic. The best way would be to drive across the country. I supposed we can pile the cats into the car and do that. I don’t think it would be a pleasant trip for cats or humans.
- We’re watching The Expanse. When Amazon began airing the final season, my wife proposed that we watch the series from the start and then indulge in the final season. It’s worked well. We find ourselves speaking in Belter slang after watching an episode. We limit ourselves to one per night.
- Also on the watch list is Anxious People, Cowboy Bebop, Bordertown, and Undercover on Netflix, Myth Quest on Apple +, and Third Watch and The Rook on The Roku Channel. Vera and Would I Lie to You are back in play on Britbox, and PBS offers us Around the World in Eighty Days (a rebooted series with David Tennant) and the new season of the rebooted All Things Great & Small on PBS.
- We just finished Upright, an Aussie series about a man with issues taking an upright piano to Perth, and Firebite, another Aussie original, with an interesting twist on vampires. These came to us via AMC+, along with Ragdoll, Kin, and Stella Blomkvist. I usually keep three to four channels on subscription per month. I rotate the subscriptions. I figure, why not? A monthly subscription usually costs between one and two coffee drinks or beers. Not bad, to me. Funny, but the most expensive subscriptions are from Showtime and HBO Max, and they usually have the least enticing fare. I watch for them on special. Amazon and Roku both chase new subscribers with deals. My AMC+ subscription this month and my Showtime subscription last month were both just $.99 for the month. Very good deal.
- Reading is a constant. I’m now reading Binti by Okarafor and Bewilderment by Powers. Both are beautifully written. Just finished were Harlem Shuffle, When We Cease to Understand the World, Fortune Favors the Dead, Find You First, When We Were Orphans, Hell of a Book, and Telephone. Ondeck is an old Jack Vance novel bought at the library for $1, Louise Penney, Caleb Carr, Amor Towles, and others.
- My average walking distance per day remains 11.2 miles. I range from 75 to 80 miles a week. This warm weather, my improved ability to walk and run in-place while reading or watching television, and the longer periods of daylight, all contribute to the sustained average. Also, there’s nowhere else to go with COVID still playing hot and fast.
- Despite all my walking, I have gained weight. Twelve pounds. Gads. The discovery shocked me. Beginning to work on the plan to whittle that off. Just don’t like carrying it.
- I did put together one jigsaw puzzle this year. I did start it last year, though. I enjoy them, but they absorb me and steal focus. So, no. I reluctantly set them aside.
- My poor fur friend, Boo, continues to cope with his cancer. He’s a mess. A mass on his jaw keeps him from eating properly. It’s a challenge for him and me. I’m his primary caregiver. He often drools after eating and can only eat small portions at a time. But he’s still trying, so my wife and I will keep trying. I crunch his grain-free kibble and make it into a sort of chunky soup as his favorite. His drooling means that we chase after him with tissues to catch the drool. It’s hit and miss, as we’re not up twenty-four hours a day. The hardwood floors take hits and require mopping a few times a day. I put several towels down for him to sleep and eat upon. Those are changed each day. We wash several loads of Boo material each week. We wonder, how long can he go on like this?
- The other two cats are doing well. They give Boo space, which he and I appreciate. Tucker and Papi are endearing characters.
- Still editing The Constant, my novel in progress. Halfway through the process. I’ve begun the next novel in that series. Working title is Fiveland. Couldn’t help myself. Was reading Bewilderment when the next novel’s plot and opening both slammed into me. Trotted on in and wrote the first chapter and began sketching the plot and story in my mind.
That’s all my happenings. Hope you’re all staying busy and healthy out there. Drop me a line. Let me know. Time to return to writing and editing like crazy, then go for a walk. Cheers
Cat Update
I have three cats. One, Boo, our bedroom pantera, has cancer. This affects his mouth, obstructing his throat, causing him to drool, and naturally affecting his ability to eat. Started two weeks ago. It gets better, it gets worse.
He’s always been a cat that freaks out. Loud sounds — say a sneeze — launches a charge for the door. The vacuum cleaner being moved sends him skittering to get out of the house. Turning the vacuum on causes huge meowing fits by the door until he’s freed from the terror. Someone knocking on the door or ringing the doorbell is an incentive for a mad dash to the back door. If he can’t get out, he hides in the closet.
He barely permits us to scratch and pet his head and the back of his neck. Getting medicines into him is a ridiculous battle. We don’t know his back story of how he came to be like this. He came to us six years ago, another refugee who no one would claim. We gave him shelter and love to the best of our abilities.
He loves going outside in the morning. I permit him out, weather permitting. Although it’s in the forties today and sunny, wind gusts turned Boo back from going out. He couldn’t eat and was in pain, so he’s crying and drooling. My wife is doing her Zoom exercise class, so a voice is stridently shouting, “Heel toe! Grapevine! Four more!” This is set to blaring music. Today it’s old country and western. Of course, my wife is exercising, thumping across the floor in her shoes, which, yes, is a new stress-fear-anxiety source for Boo.
So, I’m trying to feed and comfort Boo. Also trying to feed the other cats. But they’re distracted by what’s going on with Boo, so they follow me around, trying to supervise and give advice.
Hell of a morning. All before coffee.
Friday’s Theme Music
Today is Friday. It’s freezing (29 degrees F) and foggy (well, a little) but not frosty. So another 3-F day, utilizing different Fs.
Sunrise was at 7:20 AM while sunset is expected at 5:31 PM. Per annual worry, we’re monitoring the snowpack. Our snow pack provides us water throughout the year. As he snowpack melts, the runoff refills our reservoirs and cisterns. As in other recent years, we’re falling short again. Right now we’re peering into the future of another dry summer, re-kindling concerns about wildfires. Fingers crossed that it doesn’t happen.
Went through a lengthy song list this morning. Seeing that fog and cloud cover, I streamed “Let the Sunshine” and “Sunshine of Your Love”, “Daytripper” (because I was thinking of daylight) and “Walking On Sunshine”; “Friday’s Child” (the Wendy Matthews song — too mellow) and “Black Friday”; and “Friday” by Phish (oh, that’s too depressing).
As none of that brought me joy, I shifted directions and recalled yesterday’s walk. Up there in the hills, I could see for miles, which brought home the 1967 song by The Who, “I Can See for Miles”. Its energy was more satisfying for the moment. Plus the fog was lifting and thinning, giving me hope for a sunnier day. It’s possible; yesterday began as a much foggier day and ended up clear and sunny. It was that deceptive cold, the kind where you look through the house glass protection out at the world and think, “It looks like a pretty nice day out there.” Then you get out there and body parts began abandoning you, running back to get into the house’s warmth.
Watching this video of “I Can See for Miles”, I was struck by my cousin’s sliding resemblance to Pete Townsend. Never noticed it before. Cousin is in hospice, thrust in there by cancer. He’s fought it for several years, but it looks like cancer is taking him, just as it took his mother a decade ago and his sister last year. Cancer is a cold asshole.
Well, stay positive, right? Sure. Test negative, wear a mask, and get the vaccine. Here’s the music. Enjoy.
Sunday Sprinkles
- Had an unsettling dream last night. Not a nightmare, but a dream that I didn’t understand. After writing about it, I decided not to share it.
- I watch the NFL. The refs fascinate me. Some of them seem like they’re so disappointed when they announce penalties. “False start, offense, number forty-three.” You can almost see him sigh. “Five year penalty,” is delivered with regret. “Remains first down.” I wonder what they’re like in their non-football lives.
- I said, “Don’t fear the android.” I was making a joke while re-watching Dark Matters on Netflix. My wife said, “Oh, that’d be a good book title.” It has me thinking.
- Several of my wife’s friends encountered her this past week. Always masked and distanced. They emailed her later. One said that she started crying in her car afterward because it’d been so long since she’d enjoyed a friendly, spontaneous conversation with someone outside their pod. Another said that she teared up after dropping off holiday goods on the porch (and picking some up from us, which were awaiting her on the porch). Human contact is so random and remote.
- My cancer-inflicted friend is out of the hospital and back home. Friends are calling him to wish him well. I want to do so but I’m terrible with small talk. Not good with the phone. Terrible with socializing in general. He stays in my thoughts but I should call. I’m probably overthinking it.
- Likewise, the cancer-affected friend across country is out of the hospital and at home, going through treatment there. We exchange messages but I sense his energy is low. He was always such an upbeat, energetic person. He’s my age, too, which amplifies the impact, right?
- It is interesting, maddening, and shocking to witness what friends are doing in other parts of the country. Social distancing and masking isn’t part of their routines. Some have even gone in for elective surgery. One is dating. We respond, WTF? And we worry about them, but they remain blissfully ignorant. Come on, vaccine.
- Meanwhile, two other relatives have been diagnosed with COVID-19. One was intubated on Friday. She’d gone in for elective surgery on a toe earlier in the month.
- My broken left arm continues its recovery process. It sort of becomes entangled and stiff at night as I bend it under my body. But reach, movement, flexibility, and strength are all improving. One frustrating thing: scratching. I still can’t bend my left hand to scratch my back and several other (ahem) places.
- My wife didn’t make us a soup last Sunday, the first time in weeks. Holiday baking occupied her — and the kitchen. I did my part; my role is decorating. I was disappointed with the gels and frosting. It blobbed and sputtered. They were okay, but not great. That’s about half of the batch. They’re PB Rice Krispies bars dipped in white chocolate or chocolate bark, more like a candy bar than a cookie. (That’s them in the photo.) She also made peppermint cookies and my favorite, cranberry cupcakes with drizzled frosting. Today’s soup in progress is a smoky lentil with garbanzo beans. Chilly day, in the forties, diluted sunshine. Looking forward to it with some hot buttered ciabatta bread.
- I thought writing was going well. Then I read a paragraph last night which had me wincing, groaning, and gagging. Press on, finish the draft, then come back, right? Yeah. Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Oh, yeah, and the soup is ready.
Sunday Stewing
- Argued with my muse earlier this week. She told me, “Write this.” I replied, “But why? This is going in an unexpected direction.” Her response: “Just write it.” It was the disdainful tone she employed that precipitated the argument. I was all, “I’m the writer here. I’m in charge.” She loosed mocking laughter in answer. Eventually, she told me that I was obsessing over the novel’s concept to the detriment of the plot, story, and characters. Ouch. Harsh words.
- This kind of novel-writing confusion often happens to me. Wait, what am I doing? Where am I going? What’s supposed to happen? I’m a pantser, not an outliner. I generally want to know where the story goes and leave the details to my muse (or muses) to fill in for me. I’m a person prone to overanalyzing matters, though, why often helps me confuse myself. Sitting down and doing a session to address where I’ve gone awry generally puts me right. I often indulge in several of these sessions while writing a novel’s first draft.
- We were doing the laundry the other day. The dark load finished washing. I transferred it to the dryer. My wife loaded the washer with a load of whites. The dryer finished with the darks. I pulled them out, then put the whites in and went off and folded the darks. My wife was busy reading, so when the whites finished, I pulled them out and started folding them. As I did, I thought, what does she do to these socks? They’re not very clean. My wife, looking up from her reading, said, “Did you do the whites?” Her question confused me. “No, you did. I just put them in the dryer.” “Um, were they wet?” I thought back: actually, no. Sheepishly, chased by her laughter, I put the whites back into the washer. This happened two days ago; she’s still teasing me about it and laughing.
- Cancer strikes again. Another friend in the hospital with some cancer variation. One of those things that elicit a long sigh even as I intellectualize, well, it’s life and death, isn’t it? Where we all end. Yeah.
- My formerly broken arm (the left one) continues improving. Did pushups this week. First was just a half one. Lot of quivering arm with it, some mild pain, greater worry. I think worry was holding me back all along. The arm just remains so thin looking, and the wrist still doesn’t move right. Hence, my worry. But I’ve done more pushups since. This morning, I managed two sets of four. Yeah, baby, progress.
- Wrote this post during the AM hours. Then sat on it while I drank coffee and wrote like crazy. Now time to run to the library. They do a door service. Books are put on hold; we go to the door where a table is set up. They come out, we identify ourselves, and then the librarian goes in to find the books for us, check them out, and return. After the library, drop off some muffins to friends, then back home to eat a late lunch and rake leaves. Stay positive, test negative, and wear a mask.
Michael Seidel, writer 