Santana and Rob Thomas are performing “Smooth” in my mental music stream (Trademark classified) as I begin to write. Because it’s gonna be a hot one.
Yesterday, my tiny home weather station said it was 100.0 F at 3:38 PM. The temperature eked up to 101.9 from there, and then began sinking. We were down to 83 F by 9. Despite our home AC outage, we kept cool. Didn’t really heat up in the house until after 7 PM, when it went to 84. That’s cause we’d capture and stored cool AM air. Translation: we opened the doors and windows in the morning, got the house cold, and then close it up and turned on a few fans. It worked, knock on wood.
It’s 77 F now. The projections are that we’ll reach 107 F today. As with yesterday, we have a blue, cloudless sky. When I step into the sun’s heat, I can feel body parts became crisping.
BTW, this is Friday, July 5, 2024.
The breakfast buffet yesterday was delicious as memories of past years predicted it would be. But the parade itself was a little flatter. We were set up in a tree’s shadow along the route, and it was only 79 F at that point. But most participants seemed mildly invested. The parade itself petered out, rather than ended with a flourish. So, meh, a 6 on the parade scale that goes to 11.
“Smooth” has been scuttled. “Along Comes Mary” has replaced it in my morning mental music stream. Tucker, my large black and white floof inspired the song. I’d opened a can to feed Papi, who was quite eager for the moment, chirping and purring about it with big eyes and a tall tail, and wondered, where’s Tucker Cat. Well, he was coming at a casual gait, mumbling something about, “Food, at last,” as he came. So I sang, “Along comes Tucker,” and poof, The Neurons had an Association production going in my head. Song came out in 1966, when I was ten. Have you ever listened to these lyrics? Pay attention, cuz they’re fascinating.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee and I have already greeted each other in the traditional manner. Here’s the music. Cheers
Sometimes, I come across something on the net that makes me pause and address my screen. “I’m gonna read this later,” I say. What my brain is telling me when those words leave my mouth is that I need more time and coffee to address whatever it is I’m facing on that screen. “I’m gonna need more time and coffee.”
Tuesday, July 2, 2024, begins with a cool breeze talking to me as quiet coddles the area and black coffee takes my throat. It’s a peaceful and relaxed moment, diametrically opposed to the world exposed on the world wide web.
The cats are fed. They washed themselves and bedded down in outside locations for a while. It’s 70 F as I write but the expectation is for an 88 degrees F high. Sunshine is ruling without much challenge from clouds, and it’s a blue, unscathed sky.
My ankle is improving. Most striking to me is how it felt as I walked. Slightly off-balance and hitched to me, others often said, “You don’t seem to be limping.” Maybe they didn’t see it but I felt it. Yesterday was the first time that I felt like I walked using my usual stride.
Also, received my blood test results, and they all look good. Nothing worried my PCP, so nothing is worrying me.
I have been reading political news, especially concerning the qualified immunity bullshit being ladled on Donald Trump by the Roberts Supreme Court. If the GOP wins in 2024 and Trump is POTUS again, a lot of bad shit will probably go down in the U.S. I mean, much of it already began under his first efforts to undermine progress. Then the SCOTUS issued its Dobbs ruling and stripped women of their right to decide what to do when pregnant. Right wing states piled on. So, if the GOP wins, history will write that the Roberts Supreme Court was a noble instrument in guiding the United States to a benevolent theocracy ruled by a Christian white patriarchy.
But if the Democrats prevail, the Roberts Supreme Court will be called out as corrupt and misguided. Honestly, look at how these self-professed conservative originalists pulled immunity for the POTUS out of their asses. Where in the fucking U.S. Constitution does it say anything about the POTUS enjoying qualified immunity? Nor does it address abortion, but these right-wing miscreants are as hypocritical and unethical as anything ever seen in any nation in the last two hundred years. Yes, I have little faith in them.
I agree with Robert Hubbell’s assessment, that we — progressives, like the progressives who started the nation — will eventually prevail. He wrote, “My only hopeful comment is that the decision is so bad it will not stand. Like Dred Scott (enslaved people are not citizens and not entitled to judicial protections), Plessy v. Ferguson (upholding segregation), Koramatsu v US (upholding the Japanese internment camps), today’s decision will be overturned and remembered as a mark of shame on the Roberts Court.”. Then he opened his comments section for anyone to weigh in. There are some solid, re-affirming comments in there. Some uplifting, motivating comments. If you need a kick of positive energy, as I did, go to his site and read some. They’ll help.
Just as a final aside on that, I’ll mention that besides the three rulings that R. Hubbell listed, I’ll include the 2022 Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization as a decision that will someday be overturned as wrong and another mark of shame on the Roberts Court. May that day come soon.
For today’s music, I’ve turned to the late Tom Petty. “I Won’t Back Down” came out in 1989, while I was stationed and living in Germany with the U.S. Air Force. I immediately took to the song and its declarations.
The world has dropped a Sunday bomb on Ashlandia, emphasis on sun. Little wind stir the heat. We’ll travel from our current relative pleasant found in 69 degrees to the upper eighties. Cooler than yesterday, not as hot as that endured by those under the skillet lid in the eastern U.S. Today is June 23, 2024. Next Sunday will be June’s final day. This means that almost half of 2024 has slipped by the surly calendar.
In bad news, a friend sent me stats on COVID-19, showing that it’s risin’ agin’. He saved me some time. I’d planned to look into it because eight friends reported they had it in June. Their experience was a few days with mild cold symptoms followed by two to three weeks of poor energy of any kind. One reported, she sit down with a book and go right to sleep.
I spent the morning texting with sisters. One is teaching her sixteen-year-old to drive as her newly adult high school grad takes on adulting as he preps for college this fall. She’s going down to Georgia to vacation with our oldest sister tomorrow. Meanwhile, texting me, the older sister tells me she’s had a couple strokes without elaborating on what kind. She’s always had back problems and now there’s stenosis and they want to fuse five of her vertebrae together. She’s also diabetic and has chronic kidney failure, a byproduct of her meds, she tells me.
Then there’s my middle younger sister. She and her family drove down to the Carolina coast yesterday. They’ve rented a beach house with a pool. They’re all hard workers and mo’ def’ deserve and need a vacay. Hope they’re able to relax and chill.
Meanwhile, my mind is floating around calling Dad to get an update on him and calling Mom to get an update on her and pass the update along about Dad. I’m not quite up to that yet. More coffee and some writing, first.
We had a net outage the other night. Actually, two nights in a row. This frequently happens when the heat jumps into the upper nineties. I mean degrees, not years, decade, or period.
With the net out, we read but then I surfed the television offerings. Since I cut the cable back in 2010, we survive on over-the-air digital broadcasts. We receive the big four networks, along with PBS, and the networks’ sub channels. Like NBC is channel 5.1, then there are three other networks broadcasting old shows or documentaries on channels 5.2, 5.3, and 5.4. X-Files,Two and a Half Men, Seinfeld, along with Green Acres and Hogan’s Heros, and several police/hospital/fire department-based dramas from past decades.
Watching Hogan’s Heros and its silliness, my wife and tried remembering what happened to Bob Crane. Was it suicide or murder? Bludgeoned to death, we rather later recalled, and then conneted it. (Yes, conneted is my word for ‘confirmed on the net’.)
My wife follows a tangent, recalling that Naomi Judd ended her own life. It’d shocked her and me; Naomi Judd, a lovely and talented person, seemed to have it all together, resulting in a life of artistic and commercial success. Naomi Judd, though, coped with many mental and physical health issues and decided, enough. Never know what’s happening in another’s skin and what’s passing through minds.
The final piece that evening was a sort of celebration of the Judds’ music, with my wife enthusing about their songs, like “Mama He’s Crazy” and “Girls Night Out”. But the one she particularly relished was “Turn It Loose” from 1988. She played it a few times once the net returned, heavily accenting her favorite lines by loudly singing along to them.
I love the slide of a steel guitar I love the moan of an old blues harp I love the shake of a tambourine I love the bass when it’s low and mean So put on your shoutin’ shoes And turn it loose
It may surprise you that The Neurons in my head then loaded it up and sprang it on me this morning in my morning mental music stream (Trademark loose) as I was wandering around the kitchen, just minding my own business. So that’s today’s theme music.
Stay positive, be strong, and make what you can of the day. Needn’t be perfect. Just tryin’ can help. I’ve downed some coffee — the last gulp was cold as stone. Time to go write and roll.
Today is Saturday, June 22, 2024. Summer had asserted itself with a firm hand. A solidly blue sky gazes down on Ashlandia and bright sunshine blisters our skin and browns the land. Currently 73 F, Ashlandia’s area will experience low to mid 90s for the highs today. The wind has shifted and the smoke has drifted out of our valley to go plague others in another valley, so it’s breathable outside. Take precautions against the heat and outside activities can be pursued. It supposed to get cooler for a few days, with temperatures dipping into the eighties.
It feels like it’s been a long week. Realizing it’s Saturday surprises me. The big Biden-Trump debate looms on the calendar. Personally, I have a physical this week. Slowing down, moderately overweight, I feel like I’m aging by the day — which, yeah, we all are — so I’m not looking forward to the physical.
Mom and I spoke yesterday. She related one of her favorite precautionary tales. Her mother had a thing about smells. She was living alone, in her nineties, as her children discussed putting her into a nursing home or assisted living facility. Those discussions had stalled.
Meanwhile, on a cold December Nebraska night, her mother put on a light jacket and took a banana peel out to put in the outside trash. She slipped and fell, staying on the ground for forty-five minutes before noticed and helped. That was the end of her living alone. She lived for several more years but wasn’t the same.
On her part, Mom’s big fall over a decade ago triggered her long health decline. For my part, when I was immobilized with an obstructed bladder a few years ago, I saw changes quickly emerge. I was suddenly stiffer and less fluid in my movement. My balance felt slightly off. My metabolic rate had changed as I aged, of course, but suddenly I put on weight. Much of my muscle seemed to slack off overnight. Then, boom, my skin all seemed to be sagging.
It’s likely that all those things were happening but I didn’t notice until my routines were changed. Seeing those changes made me more cognizant of my retreating hair line, and the color fleeing my hair and beard. I feel older, slower, and weary. Reading news of the world and its people, and political news, doesn’t seem to help at all. I turn to coffee for energy boosts but I know I shouldn’t be drinking it any longer. Like Grandma and her banana peel, I can’t stop myself.
I read Jill Dennison’s blog as frequently as I can. She and I seem like kindred political spirits, part of the same tribe as many of you who regularly visit my blog and comment. I read one of Jill’s posts and commented yesterday. In her comments back to me, she mentioned that she’s looking for a rainbow.
That was like a set up for The Neurons. As soon as that was read and digested, they began playing Chris Rea’s song, “Looking for A Rainbow” from 1989, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark smoldering). The song starts out slow as it carries forward the album’s theme, The Road to Hell, but becomes jauntier and of course features Rea’s slide guitar work.
Well we come down to the valley Yea we’re looking for the honey I see a rainbow I say that’s the land of milk and honey
Me and my cousin Me and my brother My little sister too Come looking for a rainbow Yea we’re looking for a rainbow
Well we come down to the valley Got our babies in our arms Yea we’re Maggie’s little children And we’re looking for Maggie’s farm
Me and my cousin Me and my brother My little sister too Come looking for a rainbow Yea we’re looking for a rainbow
Yeah, Jill, baby, I think many of us are looking for a rainbow and the land of milk and honey. Some seem to believe the only way there is by holding others back, beating them down, or banishing them. Yes, I’m looking at you, Republicans.
Stay positive – yes, it’s hard – be strong – yes, also hard – and lean forward and Vote Blue in 2024. Maybe we can create a place that attracts rainbows. Here’s the music. Cheers
I encountered two women as I went to enter the coffee shop. They were holding the door for me. That was a surprise; as I’m in my late sixties, I’m ‘young elderly’. I suspect that these two were ‘middle elderly’, between 75 and 84.
One said at my approach, “You go ahead, we’re moving in slow motion today.”
We all laughed. They ended up at the table beside me. As they stood to leave, I called over, “It’s a good thing you got some caffeine in you. You’re moving a lot faster now.”
They laughed. One replied, “You can tell it was needed, huh?”
We’re under one big cloud shield in Ashlandia, presenting us a gray, dim morning. It’s Thursday, June 20, 2024, and the summer equinox. Doesn’t seem it. Seems like spring rushed in for on more jolly. 58 F, though, we’re expecting the temperature measuring devices to show us temperatures in the high 80s.
For now, I’m hitting myself in the head regarding a series of ‘why didn’t I?’
Background: I have a toilet which won’t stop running. I’ve fixed these before so I wasn’t overly worried. That attitude didn’t help. I didn’t provide it the attention I should have. I fiddled with the flush valve and the water ceased flowing. Hurrah, right?
No, fool. I’m the fool. Not you.
I went out and bought replacement parts and I thought all was going well. So I took my time. Decided to address it late in the afternoon. Then I used the toilet and flushed. It started running; wouldn’t stop. Okay, time to fix it.
First move, turn off the water to the toilet.
It wouldn’t go off. I screwed around with that a bit. Then a bit more. And more. In fact, I wasted almost an hour on that. Okay, turn off the water to the house.
Where the hell is my shut off valve?
I walked around the house and looked for it but I’ve lived here a while and have never seen it. I researched on line for all the possibilities and searched them out. Not there, not there, not there, not there, not there. Finally found it where all said it should be, by the water meter, by the street, but it was buried. By now it’s after 8 PM. I tried turning off the water.
Couldn’t do it with my crescent wrench. Not the space to turn a crescent wrench in there, nor any other wrench. You need a special tool.
Of course! This is the age of special tools. (Cue singing, “This is the dawning of the age of special tools, age of special tools,” sung to the tune of The Fifth Dimension’s song, “Age of Aquarius”. My apologies for that. Also add a little snark about Trump and MAGAs being tools. Yeah, shame on me.)
Now this is where I really screwed up.
First, I didn’t think about rushing out and buying the special tool. My wife talked me into waiting until today to take care of it. But I can hear that water running. It’s not just a trickle, either. I can hear that waste.
Why didn’t I go to Home Depot, just a few miles up the road, and buy the tool? Why didn’t I call the city and say, hey, come turn off my water? I’d trapped myself with tunnel vision.
Obsessed with the running water sound, I woke up early and realized those things. Called the city. Asked them to send out someone to shut off the water. ‘Course, that’s not a real emergency, so it’ll take a while. Then I’ll go buy the tool so I have it on hand. And I’ll fix the shut off valve on the toilet and the stupid toilet. But I’m really disappointed in my poor judgement and weak thinking. Must not have had enough coffee.
Turning to the positive side of that, it distracted me from Mom’s situation, Dad’s hospitalization, my ankle, politics, and troubling news from around the world. Always a silver lining, isn’t there?
Finally, though, I harped on myself for not having the special tool on hand and for not knowing where my valve was. What if there had been a burst pipe in the house? I pride myself on being proactive and I was anything but all the way around with this.
People of course, will ask, why didn’t you just call a plumber? And here again, I’m up against myself: I like being self-sufficient. I like DIY. I dislike being ignorant about things and dependent on others. So, yeah, that’s all on the idiot I call me.
The incident of the toilet that won’t stop running inspired The Neurons, of course. They’ve programmed “Urgent” by Foreigner from 1981 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark: stuck).
Update: As I was typing, a worker arrived and shut off the water. I rushed out and spoke with him and learned about the dangers of turning if off myself — like breaking something, you know? A very nice guy, he’d heard the duty call phone ring while he was in a safety meeting and went out to hear the messages. Hearing mine, he left the meeting and came out and addressed my issue. Telling me to call back whenever I went it turned back on, he rushed back to the meeting. So easy; why didn’t I call them last night?
BTW, we did prepare for not having water by filling a water jug, a bucket, the coffee maker, the tea kettle, and the water pitcher in the frig. I hope that this isn’t shut off for long, but you know me, I’m an optimist.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is in me. I have a few things I need to go take care of now, so I’m gonna go. Here’s the music.
When I returned from the coffee shop writing session yesterday, my wife related a story she’d read.
A man began a new habit of going to the coffee shop every Saturday morning. He enjoyed the atmosphere and would surf the net on his phone and text friends while nursing a coffee drink and nibbling a pastry. After a few weeks of this, he discovered he and the owner had once been friends. Then, life happened. This disconnected but now reconnected in a casual way.
One day the guy received an email from the coffee shop owner. The owner said that the barista complained that the man was ogling her on Saturday mornings and that the owner was going to have to bar him. The man refuted what was happening. Through a back and forth series, he convinced the owner that wasn’t the case.
Meanwhile, the barista was moved off Saturday morning to another schedule. Therefore, the owner said, the man would be welcomed back.
Fuck you, the man wrote back.
I wholly understood and agreed. That place would never be the same for him, and other coffee shops would probably be tainted for him as well.
Sad that it came to that. Made me wonder, as I sit in the coffee shop and people watch, what did that barista think she saw?
The numbers are in for today, Sunday, June 9 2024. 55, 65, 83, our low, current, and expected high for Ashlandia, all in F. The numbers show that our sprummer run remains intact.
My cats are doing well. Still lovin’ sprummer. Tucker has been reborn. But that encourages him to think he’s a young ‘un. Now he wants to spend all his time outdoors. “No,” I tell him. “You’re an elderly housefloof. You’re better off indoors.”
“YOOOWWWLLLL!” he shouts back. “YOOOWWWLLLL. MeeeOWWWLLLL.” He’ll do this until my wife or I leap up and open the door, telling Tucker, “Fine, go get eaten by a cougar but don’t complain to us when it happens. We tried to tell you but you won’t listen.”
Tucker usuallly replies with a haughty, “Murpf.” Everyone owned by a cat knows what murpf means.
It’s National Donald Duck Day FYI. I’m not celebrating it, myself. I’m sure it’s a big deal to someone on this world.
No, I’m celebrating Space Appreciation Day. This is not the same as National Space Day, celebrated in May. Space Appreciation Day is not about the region beyond Earth’s atmosphere or all that ‘out there’ in the dark, starry night.
Space Appreciation Day is about private space. Leg room and elbow room during air travel or in movie theaters. Or room in bed to turn over without leaving the mattress. That’s what Space Appreciation Day, often shortened to SAD, is all about.
Take, for example, writing at the coffee shop. SAD comes into its own there. I don’t want to hear others’ phone calls. First, I’m usually only hearing one side of it, forcing me to provide the other end. Like:
“It’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon,” I hear in the coffee shop. Which I fill in to mean, the contract killer is making the hit.
Nor do I want to be a close party to others’ sneezes. Likewise, I don’t want to share my sneezes with others because I see the accusing, wary looks they use afterward. (“What does THAT guy have? He looks like he migh be dying. Maybe I should leave or mask up.”) Ideally, I’ll have a radius of twelve feet between me and anyone else in the coffee shop. And that’s what I pray for when I dance and make sacrifices to the Gods of Space on SAD.
The Neurons wanted to play along but when I thought about space and the distance between me and other objects, they came back with the realm outside of planets’ atmospheres. So I ended up with Muse singing “Starlight” from 2006 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark out there).
Be strong and positive, and enjoy your SAD, however you decide to celebrate it. Vote Blue 2024. I’ve begun the coffee ingestion process, and we have lift off. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 