Knock on wood, I am not superstitious. I’ve owned three wonderful black cats in Crystal, Sam, and Boo. Each gave me nothing but purrs and good company.
Of course, I do respect that others are superstitious. That affects things. So, for them, I throw salt over my shoulder when I spill it. With many affected by Friday the 13th, I know that many people are a little more distracted and nervous, so I’m a little more careful and alert.
Sure, I do have my lucky underwear, but that’s not superstition. I’ve observed the cause and effect of having them on. I only wear them when extra luck is needed these days because the elastic waistband is worn out and its cotton material has grown as sheer as a silk negligee. The light blue boxers also have a couple holes torn in them from getting a toe ripping through the material when I was putting them on. My wife wants me to throw them away but come on, that would surely be temping the gods to do that.
I do wear a pen on my shirt, but that’s not superstition. I’m a writer and the pen is a talisman to enhance my creativity and prevent writer’s block. What fiction writer would turn that down?
Also, I don’t walk under ladders just as a matter of safety and common sense. Someone could be doing something up there, drop it, and bonk me on the head.
Nihfloofism(floofinition) – Viewpoint that existence is senseless and useless without an animal’s companionship. Origins: 1812, Floofman Nihfloofsmus, from the Flooftin.
In Use: “Without recognizing it, nihfloofism creeps into their life as they find a floof friend who becomes their best and most consistent, trusted friend.”
In Use: “Marco soon realized that nihfloofism dominated his mother’s existence, and was slowly overtaking his own life after he rescued a kitten he named Toby.”
Someone must’ve pressed the ‘misty’ button on today’s weather menu. 44 F, cloudy, drizzly, misty, a little sunny, the high will jump to 51, 52 F. Not a bad day, just not particularly inspiring or uplifting, here in Ashlandia.
Fortunately, I experienced uplifting, energizing dreams. Returning from them to here was a rough landing. There, I was supremely happy, eager for the day, embracing the future. Here…everything is knotted with uncertainty, fused with irritation and frustration. I keep telling myself that this too must pass. It presently feels like empty rhetoric.
Papi the ginger blade, aka Butter Butt, is doing fab, busying himself around us, scampering about with tail up, sometimes punctuating the moment with his high pitched meep. That sound gifted him his original name of Meep. My SO ordered a change. Didn’t think Meep conveyed enough gravitas. Now she calls him Butter Butt. Like, that has gravitas?
Today’s song is a product of the news. Joey Molland of Badfinger has joined the gig in the sky. Badfinger was an early rock power guitar group. The Beatles fostered them and the group lent their talents to my teenage years. With Molland’s transition, the original group’s lineage has ended. For their part, The Neurons inserted “Baby Blue” from 1972 into the morning mental music stream. The song was written about a woman who showed up and toured with them for a while, Armstrong. It wasn’t a relationship meant to last, though. I went with a recording that’s a little muddy but it shows the most successful lineup during the glory period when they were young, before things began going to crap for them.
Coffee has made another successful landing in my gullet. Let’s rock and roll. Cheers
Puppycat (floofinition) – Example of a anthifloofria to demonstrate that an animal shares disposition or traits associated with different species. Origins: Ancient Fleek, first noted in writings dated in 12 BC.
In Use: “Introducing Max, Carly said, “This is my puppycat. He’s a dog but he thinks and acts like a cat.” As I bent to greet Max, the puppycat sat and stared at me in an uncanny imitation of a cat’s critical, judging gaze.”
The numbers for Ashlandia on this Sunda morning of March 2, 2025, are 43 F and 50 F, and the word is showers. Were this a jigsaw puzzle, there Twouldn’t be any blue sky pieces. Everything shimmers with a sheen planted by showers that began yesterday just before midights and stayed constant until an hour ago.
Today’s music, brought to me by The Neurons, is “The Long Run” by the Eagles. This easy-going rocker was let loose on the public in 1979 and quickly ascended to a rock classic staple. First, it was by a very successful country-rock-pop group. Second, the era was heavy with disco and punk influence, making rock of this nature more infrequent. Third, it has mellow hooks. Its straightforward lyrics makes it easy to sing along with. Then, its lyrics about relationships reflect what a lot of us wonder: who’s going to make it? What’s going to happen? We’ll find out in the long run.
Which brings us to the Great Undoing of 2025. What’s going to happen? Will the U.S. survive as a democratic republic? Will the ship be righted? We’ll find out in the long run.
“Saturday Night Live” captured the essence of the PINO Trusk White House, especially in regards to Elon Reeve Musk’s behavior, the meeting with President Zelensky, and the announcement about a new PINO Trusk program, DOUCHE. It’s funny but also stirs anger because SNL captures and conveys the vast impression left by this set of idiots.
Butter Butt, aka Papi the ginger blade, is here for a visit and my coffee is chillin’, so movin’ on. Hope your day works out to your advantage. Time to rock. Cheers
Pop, pow, sunshine has laid out winter. Sprinter holds Ashlandia in its palm and leans hard toward spring. Blooms and blossoms and things are cropping up on trees as life feasts on the strong sunshine. Current temperature is 58 F and the weather ‘they’ say we’ll punch in over 68 F by the day’s completion. Cool beans.
Papi the ginger blade, aka Meep and Butter Butt, loves the sunshine but seems a little perplexed by its presence. Circumstances have promoted him to the only floof in the house, meaning he is also number one floof. He’s still adjusting to his duties but has taken to sleeping in every chair and surface he can find. It’s like he’s stating, “This is mine, and this is mine, and that’s mine, too.”
My wife and I were chatting this morning. She was indulging in her ritual doomscrolling and worrying that she’s in a news bubble. share the concern. Trying to ensure I’m not, I chased down online newspapers in Des Moines, Bismark, Santa Fe, and Tempe to peruse their samples. They mostly focused on local news stories. Only one mentioned PINO Trusk and DOGE. Most said little about politics in general. Interesting. They do seem like the sort of newspaper my wife is constantly bucking for in Ashlandia, a local site focused on local issues, just telling us what’s happening in the community, like why the firetrucks raced down the road with sirens screaming. We rarely get that sort of info these days, unless someone in the known takes to social media such as Reddit, Facebook, or NextDoor to tell what happened.
I have a 1981 R.E.M song, “Sitting Still”, rocking the morning mental music stream. I think The Neurons directed its playing because of the sense that we’re sitting still, waiting for the fall out from the Great Shitsorm of 2025 and the Great Undoing. I’m personally searching for validation of how I was taught the world works from A-Z, including the economy and features like supply and demand, inflation, and tariffs, and the Federal government and its systems of checks and balances. News about angry constituents at GOTP townhall meetings keep my interest piqued: many people are pissed off about what they’ve seen happening — or so it’s reported in my bubble. The GOTP response is to not hold meetings to hear what the people are saying. I’m sort of amused and intrigued whether this tactic can and will hold, especially if cuts to Medicaid are initiated. So I’m sitting still, waiting for results.
Meanwhile, the PINO Trusk cuts have reached home with several friends in Ashlandia. They were planning river trips. To use the rivers, passes are required. To limit the number of passes, a lottery system is used. The Federal government runs the lottery. With the PINO Trusk cuts, there is now no one to run the lottery.
Well, coffee has signed a treaty with me to provide energy. I’m going with it while coffee still exists and is affordable. Hope your day is strong in many good ways. Cheers
Floofsciousness(floofinition) – State of awareness regarding an animal’s presence. Origins: first known use in 1605 in northern Europe.
In Use: “Karla had developed a keen floofsciousness from living fifteen years with Sammy. She could feel him enter the bedroom when she settled her head onto the pillow and awaited sleep, anticipating his jump onto the bed and his progress to her side. Now, with him no longer with her, her floofsciousness felt sharper but untethered. She closed her eyes against crying again but tears still put hot paths across her cheeks, and the unstoppable litany, it’s not fair, went through her mind again.”
If we’re rockin’ and rollin’, it must be Saturda. Well, according to the calendar, even if you’re not rockin’ and rollin’, it’s still Saturda.
Sunshine flashes some spirit but we’re mostly under cover of long stretched waves of gray-topped white clouds. Will it rain? Wouldn’t you like to know… Temperature is 42 F. We came close to edging into 60 yesterday. Weird experiencing that much warmth and sunshine for such sustained exposure. Dressed in jeans, shirt, and light jacket, sweat peppered me as I walked around on household business. Nice to have, as this is our expected average for the year. But it’s been so sorely absent that we have to re-adjust to it.
This being February 22, 2025, we expect a high today of 55 F. It’ll be partly sunny and partly cloudy. Rain is expected this afternoon. The wind has punched up, reminding me of that expression about March coming in like a lion. Papi the ginger blade (aka Butter Butt) doesn’t like the wind, mewhining, “Let meeee iiiiinnnnnnnn.”
Today The Neurons have offered a musical suggestion on behalf of Trump supporters. “Use Me” by Bill Withers, from 1972, inhabits the morning mental music stream.
But my answer, yeah to all that use me stuff I want to spread the news That if it feels this good getting used You just keep on using me Until you use me up Until you use me up
I approached coffee with an offer that was eagerly accepted. Now the two of us are almost like one. Hope you have a day worth remembering for all the good reasons. Cheers
I was in the kitchen at midnight. A white flash crossed my vision’s edge.
I knew without doubt that Tucker had just bolted across the rainbow bridge. With some hot fluid boiling out of my eyes, I went in and made confirmation. Another era was over.
He went so quickly, it shocked us. He didn’t respond to any medication. All we could do is take a seat and console him and ourselves as best as we could.
Tucker was another in a long line of BFFs (Best Floof Friends). I’ve been grateful for them all and pleased that each chose to spend their time with me, sharing their secrets, insights, and love. I’m a wealthier person for them all.
And after I ached from my heart out through my chest and my face crumbled and the fluid burned my eyes more and blurred my vision, I squared up to go on. Because this is just part of the fucking roller coaster of life, up and fucking down, again and again. I hurt and will hurt for probably years because that’s just who I am. But I’ll continue moving forward, left foot, right foot, doing what I need to do.
Because all of my BFFs would always do the same. But man, I do still miss them all. Especially that last black and white handsome fellow that had to take his leave.
They say it’s partly sunny in Ashlandia’s valley today Thurzda, Feb. 20, 2025, but I find if fully sunny. The clouds hanging around are rice-paper thin. Wandering aimlessly as a cloud, they break up as easily whipped cream in hot chocolate. 43 F right now, the temperature-measuring thingy is expected to test the fifties before the sun begins its wind down.
A sick cat & personal medical appointments has frayed my routines. Accomodating both — cat (Tucker, the still-handsome black and white floof whose name is pronounced Tuck-ah) and my med appointments are high priorities. So are my twice-daily rituals of self-massaging my bod using the techniques taught me to stimulate my lymphatic system. The wraps and self-massaging seem to be working. My left limb/foot is stabilized and doesn’t swell during the day. I have very minor swelling on the right side, mostly focused on the 3-4-5 toes. As for Tucker, he’s on antibiotics, so we’ll see where it goes. His nocturnal issues diced my sleep into bite-sized chunks, so I was late rolling out of bed. Anyway, the efforts involved in these things cut into my reading/writing/posting/surface hours, and I’m the crankier for it. I know, I am such a whiner.
Today’s song is another odd choice for The Neurons. I have “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” from the 1984 movie, Footloose, with Kevin Bacon. Deniece Williams sings the song,
Folks, this thing was released over 40 years ago. The movie never thrilled my sensibilities but I had plenty o’ younger friends who enjoyed it. Those who liked it were mostly feminine and enticed by Bacon and his dancing. The movie begat several hit songs which seemed perpetually on the radio of the time. Why it’s in my morning mental music stream is beyond my reasoning skills. The Neurons often have their way with me and rarely devote elucidation about it. It’s okay, though, as I’m pleased to not have songs associated with the 2025 PINO Trusk Shitstorm in my head.
Coffee and I made a handshake agreement and I’m gulping like it’s going out of style. Hope you have a solid day. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 