Saturday’s Theme Music
Mood: coffeemistic
Good morning to all you fellow solsters, riding Earth as we race around the sun. It’s a fine and blustery sprinter day in Ashlandia, where coffee shops and bookstores are above average. Sunshine is bursting at the seams today, Saturday, February 2, 2024, although I don’t know what seams. Just an expression I picked up from Mom eons ago. I challenged her, what seams, when she used the expression on something without seams. “It’s just an expression for something really big,” she replied. “Use your imagination.”
The cats love the sunshine but dislike the cold and wind. See, despite the sun and an outside temperature of 47 F, that wind changes the feel index, and the cats know it. This is strongly true in the shadows, and both Tucker and Papi ended up declaring, the paw with this. Though, of course, Tucker tried once and knew while Papi had to go out and come back four times to verify it was better outside.
Objective one in selling the house is underway. The house was washed yesterday. Second task is the scrapping and minor repairs. Third is the actual painting. Then we move to objective two, landscaping.
The cats’ reaction to the power washing was interesting. Tucker went to his bed spot, thoroughly washed, and went to sleep. Papi, however, watched and then distanced himself from the house. Impressively, as soon as my wife returned from her exercise class, coincidently when the painting crew left, Papi raced past her into the house when she opened the door. Straight to the food bowl the poor floof went, scarfing down kibble to make up for being food deprived for over two hours.
Today’s song is “Hand Me Down World”, a song released by a Canadian rock band, The Guess Who, back in 1970. Though more known for their hit, “American Woman”, the band had a number of other hits and I enjoyed them. The Neurons plugged this into my morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) today fifty-four years later because I made the mistake of thinking about something that was hand-me-down in the kitchen, a pie server.
I feel the same now about the song and its intentions as I did fifty-four years ago. Basically viewing it as a protest against the way things are, the song argues for change for the better. Remember that this was the cold war era, when the US and USSR and their respective allies stood ready to fire off nukes at one another in the name of deterrence. Remember, too, the pollution filling the skies, turning cities like Pittsburgh into midnight on sunny days. The Civil Rights Movement was storming across the nation, the Vietnam Conflict was still underway, and protests against business as usual in politics was a regular feature of the nightly news. Look up the history of the 1960s and you’ll read about protests in the streets and on campuses. Remember segregation and integration, the Detroit riots, the Chicago 7, police brutality, and the 1968 Democratic National Convention? Then, to cap things off in 1970 were the Kent State National Guard shootings. The 1960s were also when President John F. Kennedy and Senator Bobby Kennedy were assassinated, along with MLK, Jr., and Tricky Dick Nixon was lodged in the White House. This was the era of tune out and turn on as the hippie culture rose.
There was a lot of other things happening in that troubled era of change. All that’s the iceberg’s top. So, yeah, thirteen years old, I was ready for change, and embraced songs like this calling for it. Although we’ve made a lot of progress since then, the GOP is ready to go back to that bullshit. We’re still dominated as a nation by racism, sexism, discrimination, and the patriarchy. We’re still fighting for equality and justice for all, regardless of how they look, their gender or sexual orientation, or the color of their skin. We’re supposed to be a melting pot of different strengths, weaknesses, and differences, which was what made us strong. Progress has been made but a lot more is needed.
Yet so many people’s minds are closed against progress. Many are keeping their minds closed to be spiteful. Others didn’t keep up with change and resent that their way of life has been left behind. Others are apparently so full of hate for those who are not them that they’re ready to destroy the nation in the name of their politics or gods.
Stay positive, stay strong, lean forward, and vote like your rights depend on it. I’m coffeenated but ready for more. Here’s the music. Cheers
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
I walked around Ashland’s Railroad District today, enjoying sunshine, and came across a new plaque. It described that the building behind it was a fire station. Built in 1908, it first had hand-pulled pumper wagons. A horse drawn wagon replaced it a year later. Then, in 1913, the town’s first motorized fire truck was purchased, and the Texaco gas pump at the curb was installed.
That all surprised me. I thought from its glass and metal front, gas pump, and single garage door, that it’d been an early gas station.
The plague went on to explain that besides those things, the station also had a jail.
What?
The jail’s original barred window remained on the building’s alley side.
I walked around and looked at it, confirming, yep, there are bars.
Walking on, I thought about the constance of change. Plaques like these were always fun to find and read, so more of our history is explained and understood. Now the historic building is an artsy consignment shop, as it’s been for over the last ten years.
Just fascinating.
Mom’s House – A Dream
First, this isn’t anything like Mom’s real life house.
I was sleeping in the dream when something awoke me. I stayed in bed listening. Shades were pulled but daylight was growing visible through the slates. I knew I was in Mom’s and I thought I was alone but I was hearing noises downstairs. As I listened, I realized it was one of my younger sisters, so I dressed and went downstairs.
Down there, I found an open door that led to a patio. A man in half-removed black leather clothing was prostrate on the patio. My sister was further out on the patio, busy doing things. We said hello, and then I asked about the man. She said it was my cousin, Rick. (Due to the marriages and divorces, Rick isn’t her cousin.) Rick, half sleep or drunk, said with a grin and eyes barely open, “Yes, it’s me, Rick. I came to see you.” He then went to sleep.
I moved on out onto the patio. I’d need seen this house of Mom’s before, and was amazed. It was a white cement modern design on the ocean’s shore. Sunshine brightly lit the day. The tide was coming in, entertaining me with smells and thunderous cracking sounds. I was pleased and astonished and talked to my sister about this.
But — the house was right on the shore, although there was an elevation down to the sea. The incoming tide was coming closer and closer to the house, slashing the rocks and earth with heavy rolling waves. I worried about the house flooding, and watched until the waves were right at the house’s foundations.
Then something moved on my vision’s edge, flagging my attention: a black and white kitten was cavorting about on a cement piece. It disappeared.
I hustled over to look for it. It was down under white cement bridge trusses, along with another kitten. The second one was playing in the sea water. Horrified, afraid they needed rescued, I leaned further over.
A man and boy were down with the kittens. With me watching, the boy retreated, calling the kittens, who ran after him.
I headed back for Mom’s house. Now I could see more of its exterior broaded slabs of glass and white cement at arty angles, a very modern and interesting design, with several patios, porches, and balconies. I also saw then that the water had completed retreated already. I asked myself, “How did that happen so fast?”
Going over, I spoke with my sister, pointing out the tide threat to the house, because climate change was raising water levels. I showed her where I can see how high the water used to go, and compared it to this latest. My sister was dismissive, answering, “I know, but this is Mom’s house. It’s not my problem.”
I chastised her for that thinking but left. Mom and her partner arrived. We talked about the house but then she mentioned her other house and wanted her partner to go check on it because there’d be a storm early in the week. I volunteered to go with him and we headed for the door. Mom stopped me and said, “Do you need money? I can give you some if you need it.” I graciously turned her down, thanking her as I did.
Her partner and I arrived at another place. Isolated and not nearly as grand as the place which I’d just left, surrounded by mud and puddles, it was also white and modern, although it all looked shabby and dirty. I asked him, “Whose house is this?” When he replied that it belong to him and my mother, I followed up, “You two bought it together?”
“Yes,” he answered.
He and I made our way into the house. There was no furniture. In the kitchen, I discovered warped, damaged cupboards. I pointed these out to him, and he agreed, these needed to be replaced. I found an open window. Showing him, I asked, “Is this always left open?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Well, that’s what’s damaging the inside. That needs to be closed.”
Dream end.
Two Long, Vivid Dreams
Two long and vivid dreams have stayed with me last night. The first intrigued me because of its approach; the second was almost another variation on the many dreams that hook up to my military career.
In the first, we were in a dystopian existence. I’d been hiking along some low mountains by the seashore when I found this huge steel-lined bunker in a mountain side. Calling it huge is an understatement; I walked in and looked up and gaped: it was as large as a football stadium but fully enclosed. After whistling, I said, “We can survive here.” I began making plans for a settlement.
What had happened and who would survive wasn’t fully clear. I seemed to be leading a small group of survivors, and had connected with other groups. Here’s where the approach changed. Instead of experiencing it as myself in the dream, my dream-me began treating it like I was binging on a novel-writing brainstorming session. I was saying, “Now, this happens, and then that.” Then I created or encountered an individual, male, with different ideas, who was going to betray the growing settlement and plotted to kill all dissenters. While it seems like echoes from some things said by Trump during this political season, nothing of those politics were heard or felt by me during the dream. Instead, the guy looked like a character, Murtry, from the fourth season of the TV show, The Expanse.
As part of the whole thing, I found five electric vehicles which flew through the air at my disposal to bring people and supplies in, but no one except me knew how to fly them, which meant I became a defacto flight instructor. That led to some harrowing flights among the mountains where several crashes were imminent. I declared at one point, “If a crash doesn’t kill me, I’m going to die of a heart attack.”
With the second dream, I was employed in some tech start up. One person from my first post-military civilian employment, Cathy, was there. Cathy had been director of ops. She seemed to have the same job but at a company meeting held in a break room, she announced that the company had been stymied in its previous efforts, so the company was going in a new direction. She went on to say that almost everyone would be retained. Looking around as she said that, I supplied the unsaid amendment, “Except marketing.” I was in marketing as a product manager. If there was no product at that point, no marketing or product manager was needed, I’d heard during my corporate life; the engineers would be their own product manager.
Sure enough, Cathy found me and said, “Except marketing,” and apologized to me, saying that they needed to let me go. However, they were giving me a six month severance package and letters of recommendation. I shrugged, accepting, because that’s how it goes.
Now the weird thing. I went back to my space to pack up. I’m not certain if it was a cubicle or an office. Co-workers came by to talk to me, say good-bye, etc. But these co-workers were all from one of my military assignments and were all in flight suits. I was good-natured and unworried about it all, figuring I’d land on my feet because I always did.
I was putting things into my brown leather briefcase. A gift from my wife, I’d used it for years before it fell apart. After putting things in it, my friend left and then I realized I couldn’t find my briefcase. I recalled seeing my friend pick it up but thought he was moving it. Now, looking across the room, I saw him carrying it out the door.
Calling out, I hurried after him. He didn’t stop. I saw him turn the corner and ran down to catch him. But other friends stopped me to say good-bye. I told them I couldn’t stop and explained why as they asked questions, agitated that I was wasting time. Racing after my buddy, I rounded the corner but didn’t see him. I began asking others if they’d just seen him, where he went, etc., and had to answer their queries about why I was looking for him, telling them that he’d taken my briefcase.
And that’s how it ended.
Tuesday’s Wandering Thought
Got a question for y’all: what is this ‘X’ thing I keep seeing? Anyone know?
Also, whatever happened to ‘Twitter’?
Yes, some holiday snark because everyone in the media keeps adding, “X, formerly Twitter.” Like we haven’t gotten it by now. I guess they’re still trying to cope with the change and put it up to remind themselves.
And yes, I did post about X and Twitter before in a similar vein. And no, I’m not obsessed with it. Not officially. Not yet.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Mood: blinky
It’s Tuesday, December 26, 2023. 39 F outside, it’s almost Christmas cold. Clouds and sunshine are rotating through influences. One moment, it’s a bright shiny day and you stand at the window and stare out at blue. Not pretty out there, a little sodden, with faded grasses and bare trees except for the conifers. Then clouds swing back in, dulling it all more in its appearance, and quickly dropping a chill on the space. High will be 54 F. Precipitation isn’t predicted.
Most of the holidays are past but now the herd wheels toward the largest, most universally regarded holiday: New Year. People plan a party, a celebration to last throughout the year. Or they seek a humble day of new beginnings. Resolutions are made, dreams and hopes addressed again, and vows are given, sometimes privately, about how the next year will be different. Thoughts turn to everything pending, and the things on the world agenda, and how they might unfold. Sighs are released like the wind whispering with the first notes of an incoming storm.
The cats stayed in and curled up, sweet as cats can be, and less distrustful and threatening to one another.
Our Christmas was low key. Just my wife and I at home. Very relaxing and enjoyable for me. I mostly read and stayed off net most of the day. Did watch parts of two football games. Also watched “Hogfather” because she said she’d never seen it. We had croissants and fruit for breakfast. I made our roasted root veggies soup in the afternoon and we ate about five. I also texted with little sister #2 several times, tracking activities and the state of things.
Heard from sis, though, that another sister and her hubby’s COVID is terrible and that it has been passed on to two other family members.
Musically, I was thinking about change, and The Neurons offered up David Bowie and “Modern Love” from 1983 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark traded). I thought, why that? Tracing back over my thought pattern, I recognized that I’d used but things don’t really change. Bowie incorporates that: “I catch the paper boy but things don’t really change. I’m standing in the wind.” I always thought the last line there was about standing in the winds of change, but that’s just me.
Stay pos, test neg, be strong, and move forward. The coffee fuel is being loaded; countdown has begun. In three…two…
Here’s the music. Cheers
Sunday’s Theme Music
Mood: spirited
T’was the day before Christmas and all across the land
few people were thinking that everything was grand
those with money to spend had brought presents to no end
while those lacking food and shelter did what they could do
Yes, today is Sunday, December 24, 2023, the day before Christmas in the US. Light rain intermittently douses us in wintery 43 F temps under a dystopian dim sun stuck behind the clouds. It’s today’s high, already achieved, so we have that going for us in Ashlandia, where the Christmas decorations are average and the Kwanza and Hannukah celebrations are muted.
I found myself with the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s 2006 cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark gifted). Those first lyrics that include soldiers keep on warrin’ was in my mind during this holiday month, when so many people talk about peace on Earth and goodwill toward man while doing the opposite so often. Few walk the talk. They’re just depressin’ damn people, especially the faux christians who have emerged.
Let’s just call them faustians, which is really similiar to faustian, isn’t it? Interesting; those faustians (faux christians) focus on themselves, complaining about how overlooked and put upon they are, which, in their words, is terrible because they have the best religion and god. Meanwhile, faustian is an adjective to describe things often done for present gain without any thought about the future, which is exactly what the faustians (faux christians) do; they want to go back to some faux good ol’ days when women knew their place and it was in the house, and there were only two genders and one sexual orientation – male on female – and men were in charge, and all bad things like racism, bigotry, and discrimination were all swept into places where it couldn’t be seen. They didn’t want to hear about women being raped (because they probably deserved it anyway, in their minds, because of how they dressed or acted). Nor did they want to know about people born with a mix of gene sets that creates a spectrum of true and viable genders. God only created two genders, darn it, and science is bad because it teaches otherwise, so don’t trust it.
Factories were in America and all things were made in America, because it was and is and always will be the greatest nation in the world (because, god), and the houses were all the same clean cottages behind fine white picket fences, except for the wealthy but noble and pious people who lived in mansions on the hill, away from the riff raff. To achieve their goals, faustians will lie and pretend their leaders are wonderful people, overlooking or even rationalizing their crimes, and go to war to make peace, because they believe in god, and that makes everything that they do okay. Diversity is not good in the faustian world. Nor is critical thinking.
Anyway, that’s why I’m playing “Higher Ground”.
Stay pos, be strong, and keep leaning forward toward a higher ground. Coffee drinking is underway. Here’s the music. Cheers
Friday’s Theme Music
Mood: transcendant
It’s December 8, 2023, Friday. 37 F outside in Ashlandia, where the women are lovely and the men don’t brood, up from 29 F. We were encased in a gothic novel cover a few hours ago; fog, mist, and diminished gray light set a brooding stage of mysterious shadows and stifled sounds. We brought on the fireplace to help the furnace with the day’s early cold moisture, and it was cozyrama.
Our valley’s high will be 46 F. Snow flurries are in today’s weather blend.
Sis is going home from her operation and all was a success. That encouraged The Neurons to light up the morning mental music stream (Trademark bamboozled) with Ten Years After at Woodstock with “Going Home”. It’s a powerful old-time rocker for an early Friday morning before I’d had coffee and my mind segued to their song, “I’d Love to Change the World”. When I used it back in 2019, I wrote,
Ten Years After released “I’d Love to Change the World” in 1971 as a response to the violence, protests, emerging counter-culture, resistant establishment, and war. Gosh, does any of that have any echos in today’s world? Naw, probably just me.
Like most of TYA’s offerings, the song features some powerful Alvin Lee guitar work, which is always good to hear. Beyond the rock essence of guitar and dream, these lyrics, and how they’re presented in the song, plaintive, accepting, and reflective, spoke to me as a fifteen-year-old when the song came out, but still talks to me as a sixty-three-year-old.
I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do.
So I’ll leave it up to you.
I’ll leave that up there, adding that the other line resonating with me is, “Tax the rich, feed the poor, till there are no rich no more.” Guess I’m getting more revolutionary as I age.
Stay positive, fight injustice, remain strong, help others, and lean forward. Give me more coffee and then I’ll do the same. Here’s the video. Gotta go; cat wants in. Rock on.
Michael Seidel, writer 