A hearty welcome to all the moonies joining us today. Welcome, welcome, to April 8, 2024, also known a Eclipse Day 2024 in the U.S. Here in Oregonia, this is currently projected as the last eclipse we’ll glimpse until 2044, so you know, we’ve dug out our eclipse glasses and gaze up at the sun as the moon made its way.
Weather wise, we have a decently clear sky, sunshine, and wind. Presently 58, it feels like 63 F and the high will be 68 in Ashlandia, where I reside alongside the deer, breweries, wineries, and bookstores. Lovely out there, really.
Just a sidenote, but our bookstore numbers have declined since I’ve moved here. Hey, but not my fault, so don’t read that into my statement. Outside the college’s bookstore, we’re down to *sigh* three.
Also declining is the school district’s enrollment. Enrollment has dropped by 300 students since 2017. A cutback of 23 staff and teachers is in place for the next school year. Reasons cited for the decline include the COVID-19 pandemic, and fewer families moving here because of the high cost of housing. Fewer students means the state is reducing the funds allotted the Ashland School District by over three million dollars next school year.
As you can imagine, today’s eclipse has me hearing music about the eclipse. The Neurons figured out something else. Viewing videos of people staring at the sun, The Neurons initiated “Planet Claire” by the B52’s in the morning mental music stream. The 1979 song has an out-of-this-world bongo-infused sound overlayed onto the “Peter Gunn” theme music. To me, it fully encapsulates the fascination people are expressing with this eclipse.
Whatever else is happening, the house floofs weren’t interested in the eclipses. They found good cozy spots and napped through it.
Stay positive, remain strong, continue leaning forward, and Vote Blue this November. Coffee has been enjoyed; more is on the way.
Here’s the sky-staring music. It’s a fun song. I know, it’s too late for the eclypso, but we were out on a Food and Friends run. Cheers
Metafloofphosis (floofinition) 1. A person who imitates animal behavior and sounds so often that they give the impression that they’re becoming an animal themselves. Origins: 15th century Fleek.
In Use: “Julie’s habits of barking to her dog in conversation and getting down on her hands and knees to play with him worried her husband, who often began telling others, ‘I think she’s going through a metafloofphosis and wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up as a dog one day.”
2. An animal’s change of attitude, behavior, or looks. Origins: 19th century American Floofish.
In Use: “Mahommes arrived as a young feral cat whose furious strikes and angry expression shouted, ‘Mess with me and I WILL DESTROY YOU.’ But with patience, food, treats, soft words, and time, he went into a metafloofphosis and emerged as a sweet, loving boy who enjoy laps and playing.”
Cumulofloofus(floofinition) 1. A cloud which is thought to resemble an animal. Origins: 1960s, United States; frequently associated with cloud gazing.
In Use: “Whenever Vernon noticed clouds crossing a blue sky, he searched for cumulofloofus, usually finding a cat, rabbit, or galloping horse among the meteorological offerings.”
In Use: “Hearing a voice, Connie looked up in surprise, belatedly realizing a feline-like cumulofloofus had addressed her. The day was about to get interesting.”
In Use: “Novel reading while on a lounger in the backyard, Syra glanced up to the sky. A single, deer-shaped cumulofloofus drifted across the expanse, bringing to mind a poem about a lonely cloud.”
2. A floofy animal which resembles a cloud. Origins: late 1970s United States.
In Use: “Seeing her big ol’ fluffy white dog curled up in his blue bed, Micka privately grinned,. Sampson looked just like cumulofloofus hanging resting in a darkening blue sky.”
In Use: “All five gray long-haired kittens were in a cuddle-muddle, looking for all the world like a cumulofloofus. Before they awoke or moved, she snapped a shot of them with her phone and posted it to the world wide web.”
All things must pass, and so Thursday has passed into Friday, April 5, 2024.
It’s a rainy day. Was a rainy night. Clouds are blockading the sun. That’s April weather in the US, isn’t it? “April showers bring May flowers,” and all that.
Not an American idiom, though, but a British one. I looked it up on the net, so it must be true.
April showers bring May flowers
Adversity is followed by good fortune. An old proverb, it was taken more literally in days gone by, and in fact it appeared in a British book of Weather Lore published in 1893.
So, be optimistic, I tell myself. I hold to hope even though sometimes adversity follows adversity until it’s an absolute train wreck.
It’s 38 F in my slice of Ashlandia. Expected to reach 52 F. Showers are also expected. But sunshine soaks the back yard and soars in through the southern windows. Papi, my ginger house floof, is engaging the sun in the yard. Tucker, the black and white house floof. is luxuriously grooming in sunshine through the eastern living room windows.
After feeding the two floofs earlier, Papi hunted me down in the kitchen. I was preparing my meal. (Floofs eat first. House rule. Not sure who decided…) Papi sat beside me and planted a level gaze on me. “What is it?” I asked. “Are you hungry? Need more to eat?”
Papi responded, “Meow.” I recognized that as, yes. Well, probably yes. It could also mean, no. Or, what? Or, maybe.
Taking it as one of those, I fed him again, since morning pate remained. He ate a thumble’s worth and headed for the back door. I believe I misinterpreted his meow.
We spent last night out with friends. First, food at a Medford restaurant, Tap & Vine. Then we headed to the Craterian Theater to catch a show, “The Simon & Garfunkel Story”. It’s a little story about the American folk rock duo, Art Garfunkel and Paul Simon. The story was interspersed with a cavalcade of their songs over the years.
What a cavalcade. “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, “The Sound of Silence”, “The Boxer”, “Homeward Bound”, “I Am A Rock”, “Cecilia”, “The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine”, “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme”, “A Hazy Shade of Winter”, “Bookends”, “Mrs Robinson”, “Feeling Groovey”. I’m certainly overlooking a few.
Probably not a surprise, but the crowd was a mostly over sixty collection. One companion joked, “Gray hair is required to attend.” There was a significant quantity of gray in the hair among attendees. But Simon & Garfunkel songs peppered our youth. Yet, Mom knew them, too. I remembered her singing “Mrs Robinson” to me when I was trying to ask her some question.
The song that often stays with me is “Richard Cory”. Why not? A 1966 song based on the Edwin Arlington Robinson poem, “Richard Cory”, it’s a tale of envy and jealousy. A man works in a Richard Cory-owned factory. Cory is rich, a man about town, attending the theater, driving fancy cars, having big parties, etc. The worker singing in the song works in the factory, hates his job and despises his poverty. But it’s Richard Cory who ends up killing himself.
Ironic, isn’t it, we mock. The man with everything is the one who takes his life.
Anyway, this is the song which The Neurons planted in the morning mental music stream (Trademark illusive) on this April Friday morning. Hope it brightens your day.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue. I’m into my coffee already, thanks. Used it to wash down a buttered bagel. First course was canteloupe chunks. Fine way to start a Friday. Here’s the music.
Hello, fellow peepers. Today is Wednesday, April 2, 2024.
It’s raining again in Ashlandia. The temperature as dropped back into the forties. Oh, but that day, yesterday, when the temperatures resided in the upper 70s (Fahrenheit — could you imagine what it’d be like if it was 70 degrees Celsius?) was glorious and spirit lifting. I remind myself that the rain will help things grow and continue to nibble away at our drought problem. The rain is a good thing, as long as the rain is kept to a moderation.
The rain displeases my house floofs, Tucker and Papi. I released them to the backyard per their demands. The patio is covered, so they weren’t in danger of melting from the rain. And the rain imbued our air with a lovely, fresh scent. But when I opened the back door fifteen minutes later, they scurried right in and demanded treats, because it’s raining. They made a good case, so I treated them. Then I treated myself with a lemon scone to go with my coffee.
Today’s reading for me included coverage of Senator T. Tuberville. He’s an R out of Alabama, although he might be living in Florida. That’s okay, though; Alabama wrote its laws so people representing their people don’t need to live among the people they represent; they only need be a resident for a day. Seems sensible *snark*.
Sen. Tuberville was campaigning in Utah where he claimed that supernatural forces were undermining the United States. Was he talking about Jesus? Because I agree, those people saying they love and believe in Jesus but then do everything possible to be contrary to Jesus’s teachings are undermining our country. Some — not all — of these GOPers for Jesus stand against the whole ‘love thy brother thing,’ at least in words and actions, if not in thought.
Well, hey, BAI, I claim that I’ve been to the Moon and Mars. Does that make it true? That’s what I’m looking for, BAI. Actual evidence beyond a claim.
See, I don’t trust Tommy T. as a reliable source. He made claims before which didn’t hold up. See the things he said about his father’s military service. Or his foundation for veterans. Check the actual donations made after he declared every dime would go to Alabama vets.
In the end, I’m not overly worried about Sen. Tuberville’s declaration musings “supernatural forces” undermining our government. After all, he once declared the three branches of the US government to be “the House, the Senate, and executive.” I don’t believe he’d know a supernatural force if it bit him in the ass. The way he sometimes appears, I think they might be biting him in the ass. Then again, that could be Trump or one of his sycophants.
Today’s music comes by way of the news. I was thinking about the impact of state abortion laws which deny women the right to control their own health when it comes to pregnancy. The same laws handicap medical staff from helping women who are pregnant, in more than one state. For an example of one of the worst, see Texas.
Besides taking away women’s rights and insisting women carry fetuses to term, these states often do very little to help people their unwanted children are born.
With all that thinking scrambling The Neurons, I wasn’t too surprised when those Neurons posted “Love Child” to the morning mental music stream (Trademark unrealized). The 1968 song was another Motown gem. Performed by Diana Ross and the Supremes, the song lyrically relates the stigma of a girl born in poor circumstances, wearing rags or second-hand clothing, and having an unwed mother. They experience guilt; they feel scorn.
Now, she’s addressing the matter of sex for herself. What if she becomes pregnant? They might ‘end up hating the child they’re creating.‘ The song deftly shows the complexities suffered by someone who is an unwanted who is now forced to address that same situation. Abortion is never mentioned. For my sensibilities, it’s there, waiting to be discussed. Remember, Roe v. Wade didn’t happen until 1973, five years after “Love Child”. Abortions were often dangerous and frequently illegal, depending on the state.
Afternote: even in Texas, back in 1968, abortions were illegal, except when when necessary to save the mother’s life. Now the great Texas legislature has decided that the mother’s life is worthless if she’s pregnant; only the fetus matters now in Texas.
Well, I hope I got that all out of my system. Hope someone is still reading. Had to put it out there to understand what I think.
Remain positive, lean forward, and Vote Blue to put us back on track toward a nation and world where women have the right to control their own body again, and a place where another’s religion or privilege doesn’t dictate everyone else’s rights. Here’s the song. Let’s have a good one, shall we?
Confloofdant(floofinition) – An animal to whom others entrust secrets. Origins: 1646 Middle Floofish
In Use: “The man was a paid killer but the only one who knew this was his cat, Stormy. The little black cat had been saved from the side of the road during a storm. He’d rescued the feline after killing an abusive husband for a woman in need. And that same night was when Stormy became Wilson’s confloofdant.” Excerpt from the novel, Confloofdant: The Cat Who Knew Too Much.
Hello my fellow beings. Following the general trends of reality of which we are aware, we’ve shifted to the next elements in the sequence we’ve been following for centuries. If you’re using a solar calendar, of course. And Gregorian. If so, today is Tuesday, April 2, 2024.
Each morning when I rise, I put it out to the universe, can you slow down time for me? I’m not asking for much, just enough to finish some things on my lists while still being able to chill a little. Instead, I’m often looking at the time and wonder if someone’s pranking me by messing with the clocks and calendars. Maybe I’m being hypnotized for an hour and then awakened and forced to rush. I suspect the cats. They always appear to be sharing a secret that amuses them.
It’s warming up here today. Already at 60 F, we’re expecting the sun and air to take us to 78 F before the day is shuttered. Don’t get overly excited. As we’ve learned, it’s gonna change again. Tomorrow — Wednesday — is promising to be rainy, with a high of 55 F.
These sort of weather patterns always present me with a conundrum. The rain is good for us but I like the sunshine. I suppose, if I’m not going to be selfish, I should cheer the rain and accept it.
My floof boys are appreciating the sunshine, though. They’re airing their fur and soaking up rays, and looking sweet and charming, out there in the green grass and sun.
With Easter, I was thinking about family. Back when I was growing up (I’m now growing down, I think, becoming a little shorter each year), Mom made Easter a big deal. We dyed eggs. They were hidden. We hunted them. She presented us with elaborate baskets. Managing to prepare them in secret, they arrived on Easter morning like magic.
Those baskets were loaded. Sugar and chocolate dominated. She always ensured we each had a huge solid milk chocolate rabbit. We also had a large, lavishly decorated coconut eggs. Marshmallow rabbits and chicks, chocolates shaped like bunnies or eggs wrapped in colorful foil, and jellybeans and colorful marshmallow eggs set in plastic green grass lining the basket’s bottom finished the scene.
Then there were our clothes. My sisters bought new pastel dresses. I was presented with a new little three-piece suit and shoes, and taken for a haircut, so I was freshly groomed. I wore a crew cut then, held in place with Brylcreem. Didn’t need to shave in those days, so that saved time and effort. Dressed like that, we crowded into the packed local Protestant church to hear about Jesus and the Resurrection and sing hymns that I didn’t know.
Next, off to the Grands for a big family Easter dinner. Grandpa was in charge of making a huge Easter ham. That sucker tasted awesome.
Quite a turnout, it was. Dad wasn’t usually there. He and Mom were divorced and he was serving overseas in the military. But his family took Mom and her brood in. Beside us four and the two grandparents were four siblings and their significant others and children, anyway from twenty to twenty-five people.
Later that night, as children gradually retired on our overdoses of food, sugar, and socializing, the adults gathered to drink, smoke, and gamble with cards. Ah, Easter!
I don’t think it was the religion that made it such an awesome day. It was Mom and family, and the effort they put into it. Also, I was a child and had no responsibilities.
My sisters and Mom informed me of their Easter events via social media this year. It’s the new norm. It’s a smaller gathering. One little sister, Grandma Gina, hosted. Her daughters and her grandchildren and their spouses came over, along with another sister and her sons, and Mom and her beau. Not quite the extravaganza it used to be. I don’t think they even bought new clothes. They had plenty of food, though, especially desserts.
With these thoughts of family in my head, The Neurons delivered “Fly, Robin, Fly” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark imploding). Back when I was visiting for Easter one year, that song played on the car radio as I drove her somewhere in my Camaro. I was nineteen and in the military. She was nine, and so cute, with her straight bangs and shoulder-length shiny brown hair. As the song played, she turned to me and said, “This is my favorite song.”
Surprised me. The 1975 Silver Convention song was a disco classic, all about rhythm and dancing. Three words are repeated a few times during the song, and then there’s, “Up up to the sky.” I wasn’t into disco so much. But with my sister’s proclamation about the song, I heard it in a different way.
Stay positive and remain strong. Election day is growing closer. Lean forward and Vote Blue. I’m on my second cup of coffee now, so the day is going well for me. After writing, there’s shopping, and yardwork. Hope your day goes well. Here’s the music. It’s a fun video and will stir disco memories, if you were there. If you weren’t there, you can watch and learn.
Melfloofmene(floofinition) – One of nine Floouses who acts as a patron of arts, music, and creativity. Origins: Floofo-Roman floofthology, circa 8th century Common Floof (CF).
In Use: “When she began writing her novel, Sherman, her big dog, acted like Melfloofmene, going on long walks with her to think through her plot and characters, remaining by her side in her small home office as she wrote and edited, and forcing her to take breaks to feed him.”
Hi there. Today is Monday, April 1, 2024. Watch out for those tricks.
The sun isn’t doing any tricks. Sipping coffee in the living room, I watched through the Eastern windows as the sun rose and shifted. A hearty light bloomed, taking the 38 degree F’s cold off a little. By degrees, the sun pulled our temperatures higher. We’re up to 47 F now. Nothing but blue from horizon to horizon. 69 F is possible, they say.
Guess who is happy that the sun is full and strong today? If you said me, you’re right. But if you said that the sun’s appearance gladden the floofs, you’re also right. Tucker and Papi are on the back patio appreciating the sun, washing on the cement, prancing through the grass, or sitting, gazing, listening, sniffing the air.
Back in 1970, Led Zeppelin released the song playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark floundering). The Neurons ordered up “Celebration Day” today. This song seems to me like the vocalist as a narrator is happy about the day while he also spills a tale about a woman is becoming lost and confused about what’s going on.
Fer instance, the song begins, “Her face is cracked from smiling, all the fears that she’s been hiding, and it seems that pretty soon, everybody’s gonna know.” Pretty damn bleak, isn’t it?
But the chorus is, “My, my, my, I’m so happy, I’m gonna join the band. We gonna dance and sing in celebration. We are in the promised land.”
So my interpretation is that something happens, happened, or is happening which brings despair to some as others celebrate. It’s true in life and really visible in sports, awards, and politics.
Hope you can keep positive and strong, lean forward against the winds of resistance, and Vote Blue. I’m trying to do the same. Here’s the throwback music. Cheers
Floofyophile(floofinition) – An animal lover. Origins: Floofish, 1820s, in France.
“In use: “Born into a family of floofyophiles, it was no surprise that Riley became a floofyophile at a young age, but her industry to save animals by the time she was ten years old was newsworthy.”
Michael Seidel, writer 