Tag: coffee

Thurdsay’s Theme Music

Mood: flexible

Thursday, December 28, 2023. Winter remains encamped outside our door, but it’s a skeleton force. Sunshine floods the valley’s narrow eastern edge. Clouds flattened out in thick swatches of blues, grays, and white. We mostly endure some low temperature nights, fog, and rain. Still no snow on the valley floor and little snow on our light brown mountains. The southern firs and pines are spring green. Right now, we’re cresting 49 F on our way to a 54 F high.

2023 is trickling to an end after a reign that’s lasted almost a year. Many are wondering, will 2023 allow a peaceful and traditional year-to-year transfer? Talking heads and keyboard scholars are all talking about what’ll happen if 2023 doesn’t let go of the reins and decides that it’ll remain 2023 and deny 2024 its place. Can there still be an election next year if it’s still 2023, for example? How will the economy be tracked and what will this do to historic records, awards shows, the NFL championship, and other important matters, including copyright dates?

Likewise, we — that’s me and the lint in my pocket — worry about the 2024 POTUS election. What if President Biden loses and decides not to relinquish the office? His decisions might be guided by what’s happening in the courts now with former POTUS Trump. If the judicial branch decides the former POTUS can’t be tried for offenses done while in office even if it has nothing to do with his duties, even if they are illegal, then a new precedent is born for Joe Biden to use to remain in office and contest the results. This will result in Republican claims contrary to their previous claims, because that’s business as usual: one set of standards for others, another for themselves.

Speaking of double standards, what’s going on with that Republican couple in Florida, Christian and Bridget Ziegler? You know them, pushers of moral values, all in for one man-one woman traditional marriages, solid proponents for banning books that contradict their sensibilities, and a strong set against lesbians and homosexuals, except for their own sex life when they enjoy a little female on female action, which they taped. But that’s private, right? Except he’s been accused of rape, and that’s criminal, right?

Since my mind is in Florida, did you see that their high school SAT scores fell again? They’re now ranked 46th in the nation. Sadly, ACT and SAT scores continue on a downward spiral across the nation. I wonder if that’s related to red state (and county) legislatures limiting what children can be taught and read? Just spitballing, ya know?

In the morning mental music stream (Trademark corny), The Neurons have the Indigo Girls singing “Galileo” from 1992. See, I was making the bed and thinking about getting things right, or somewhere in the area code of right. This wasn’t about the bed and was only obliquely about me. No, the mental catalyst was the ongoing relationship problems I watch playing out in a family. The daughters are my age and the matriarch I think is twenty to twenty-five years older. That’d put her in late 80s, early 90s. Yet, they’re experiencing the same relationship merry-go-round they were on twenty years ago. The natural question arrived on my brain’s doorstep, will they ever get it right? The connection to “Galileo” comes from the song’s line, “How long till my soul gets it right?”

Stay positive and be strong, test negative, but lean forward. Easy, right? Coffee helps lube the way for my attempts. Here we go with the video. Cheers

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in my primary coffee shop yesterday, writing away in a corner and deeply involved with what I was doing. Even with that true, I’d followed who arrived and left, where they were and what they were doing. It was a habit or talent I’d developed while young. It’d become bolstered first by military counter-terrorist training and situational awareness, and then fostered more as I leaned in to writing fiction and honed my observational skills.

Left was a man who seemed about five years older than me, putting him in his early seventies. He was a regular at both of my coffee haunts. Striking me as a lonely person, I’d witnessed him start conversations with others. When I overheard them, the topic was usually novels he’d read or novels the other was reading.

Rising from the chair he’d settled into, he approached the early twentyish woman on my right. Another regular but not as frequent as me, she was familiar to me. I’d seen the other man talk to her a few times. He greeted her as a friend and she reacted in kind. They began talking about books and his recent visit to a bookstore.

The coffee house manager went to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but it ended with her escorting him out. After he was gone, I saw the shift lead go talk to the manager. Again, nothing was heard. The shift lead returned to her spot behind the counter, and then the manager approached the young woman the man had been talking with.

After giving her name and explaining her position, the manager asked, “Do you know that man?”

“No, not really. He’s spoken to me before.”

“Well, I came over because we’ve had complaints about men approaching young women such as yourself without being invited. Some feel threatened and believe that the man was trying to groom them or other young women, so we felt we needed to act.”

The woman thanked her and the manager went away.

I sat, reflecting on all sides of this, wondering exactly what was true and real, respecting the coffee shop’s position but understanding the man’s loneliness. Yet, I didn’t know if he was grooming. I don’t know his intentions. And then, there are other men who may have approached young females to groom them. It can be an insidious world.

I mentioned it all to my wife, who reminded me, “Woman are often socialized to be friendly when a man approaches. It’s hard for them to say no to them or rebuff them. That’s just how we’re still taught through movies and television shows, and the things we see. Men are in power and are to be respected is what we’re taught, and it’s hard to break the habits that come from that training.

I understand that, too, and thought of my own position when I go into the coffee shop to write. I’m friendly with staff but not other customers. While I want to be friendly with others, my natural inclination, I decided that I need to not be friendly with other regulars; I’m there to write, and the time that I’ve carved out for that is precious. Despite observing so many who seem desperate or hungry for social interations, I do so with regret but remain firm about it.

We’ve followed long and tortured paths to come to these moments of who we are.

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The Writing Moment

The writing center — known by everyone other than him as a cofffee shop — had a full parking lot. With past experience as a guide, he thought that getting a prime writing table* wouldn’t be possible. Head for number two, he ordered his brain, which delivered the message to his body, which set his car on the required course.

Coffee shop number two was packed. He selected a tertiary choice location with plans to move to a better spot when one opened, and joined the short line to acquire the necessary hot and dark magic water that helped stimulate his writing efforts. As he stood there, movement flickered in his eyes’ left periphery. Leaning a little, he confirmed, people were leaving a prime space. Hustling followed as he relocated his gear and thanked the coffee gods.

The place, he realized as he picked up his coffee, was packed. Every table, prime or not, was in use. Both conversation pits were filled, and almost all the window bar seats were engaged. Five baristas in black outfits worked in mechanical precision behind the wood-encased retail island to restock food and dishware, prepare orders, take, or deliver them. About fifty people filled the small business.

The place’s warm hum keyed his sentimental side. Such a friendly, happening scene. While a few patrons were like him, solitary animals focused on keyboards, staring at phones, or reading books, most people were chatting and laughing in twos and threes as they ate breakfast sandwiches and pastries and sipped coffee drinks, chai, or tea. The scene made his heart swell three times its normal size.

Then he sipped his coffee twice — once to sample it, the second time to more fully appreciate its warm, bitter flavor, put his head down and started typing. An hour later, he looked up and smiled as he gazed across the quiet, almost empty place. Music unheard over the previous rattle and hum was audible. The baristas were reduced to two, and plenty of seats and tables were available. Take your pick.

How quickly things could change.

*The prime writing space is a table or counter with space for a laptop, mouse, and coffee, a chair, and an outlet, and is located two to three feet away from others for privacy and isolation.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: under baked

It’s foggy in Ashlandia again. Fog closed in on our fair town, where the mountains are low and the valley is narrow, yesterday afternoon. The for went away for the night and returned this morning, along with a doughnut sprinkle of rain that’s expected to keep up intermittently for the day. It’s all part of the season called aunter, which falls in the last third of fall, bringing dampness, dark days, and cold air, and winter, when the snow is summoned.

But look out. It’s 45 F now but we’re gonna get warmer, even broaching the sixties, maybe, they say, maybe getting as warm as 66F. Not bad for a aunter day.

This is Wednesday, December 26, 2023.

I was in a Dollar Store with my wife yesterday. She’s planning a holiday gift for her exercise class instructor. My spouse has been going to this class since 2005. The instructor is 78 and has been telling people what to do to music since the early 1980s. She’s quite popular. My wife became friends with her over exercising and books. My wife and two others, who were then known as the Woo-Woo girls, started talking about books they were reading as they warmed up before class. Soon the instructor joined, and then a few others, giving rise to the Ladies’ Most Excellent Book Club, which became the book club. They limit it by vote to ten people, and they’re serious readers. We’ll be going to the instructors’ house for a traditional Swedish smorgasborg later this month.

Anyway, as part of the holidays, my wife has started a new tradition of collecting money and signing a card for the instructor. The instructor rarely keeps the money, either donating it to families who need it, or to local causes with the food bank. My wife likes going to the Dollar Store for supplies. It might be a Dollar Tree store; I don’t pay attention. I know they’re no longer a store where things are a dollar or less. But yesterday surprised me.

The dollar store has restaurant and big box store gift cards, along with iTunes gift cards. Many were for $25 or $50. I didn’t bother asking the busy staff it the cards sold for a dollar. They’ve probably heard that joke, and nothing on that end cap display said, “Olive Garden $50 Gift Card: One Dollar”.

It’s just more evolution for the dollar store trio who combined into one business entity a few years ago. I remember first going to one of them thirty years ago after moving back to the United States. I was like, everything in the store is for sale for a dollar? Why, yes, that was exactly the premise: a dollar or less. Being in the military, not getting paid much, and liking a bargain, we went frequently to the Dollar Tree or Dollar Store to get household cleaning supplies, notebooks and paper supplies — including greeting cards — and whatever little bargains we found.

Sad that the stores have changed their philosophy, but that’s how progress works. I guess. At least we’ll someday be able to tell future generations that there used to businesses which sold things for a dollar. They’ll probably ask us, “What’s a dollar?”

An apartment building neighbors us not too far away. With the leaves out of the trees, I can see some of their upper windows from my backyard. Yesterday, I saw a cat in one of the windows. It’s not the first cat I’ve seen in the building, so it’s not that remarkable. This was a fine looking cat, young and slender-appearing, sitting erect as a statue in that graceful cat manner we so often see. White with calico spots, it was intently watching me. I wondered if the cat was lonely and I hoped that it was’t.

That tiny reflection invited The Neurons to offer a song to the mental music stream, where it continues in the morning mental music stream (Trademark nutty). “Only the Lonely” by The Motels, not to be confused with “Only the Lonely” by Roy Orbison, came out in 1982. So it’s for that cat and the other floofs alone and watching that this song is offered as Wednesday’s theme music.

Stay pos and strong, and lean in. Coffee has arrived at the brain center, exciting The Neurons. Here we go, off to start the day. And here’s the music. Cheers

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A Fine List

Thankfulness A-Z

Jill made a great list of things which she is thankful for. I didn’t change it, but I’d add some personal names under the letters: Keri, Dee, Frank, Lisa, Gina, Pat, Amy, Sharon, Debby, Jonathan, Jessica, Cynthia, David, Andrea, Michael, Barb, Jon, Becky, Brenden, Landon, Colten, Lauren, Audrey, Rhea, Matt, Vince, and many other nieces and nephews. Beer was added under B, and wine is found under W. Knowledge is added to k, and L is amended with learning.

Oh, yeah, you’ll find pizza and pie under P. Can’t forget them, along with writing. You know where it goes.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: lightly festive

With Tuesday, November 21, 2023, here in Ashlandia, where the restaurants are good and the service is above average, we have another weather shift. 58 F, the sun is shining like summer now as late morning rotates through. We’re expecting highs in the low to mid-sixties today. Only problem is the air stagnation advisory. It ends this evening today but we’ve honestly been little affected by it in our valley this time, knock wood.

Les Neurons are messing with me again. Experiencing sound sleep and multiple dreams last night, I was remembering the latter this morning while putzing through the breakfast routine of feeding the cats and making my breakfast when The Neurons delivered a song to the morning mental music stream (Trademark dated).

I’m detouring here to mention that feeding the cats breakfast includes giving Tucker his hip and joint supplement. He’s an elderly cat now, with a few teeth gone after dealing with gingivostomatitis most of his life. When he first arrived on our porch, hungry, matted, and crying, he had serious mouth infections. We had those treated and some teeth removed and have since kept him on a grain-free diet, which works well in keeping the gingivostomatitis at bay.

But now, being older, he’s stiff with arthritis. His supplement helps, lubricating his movement, stimulating his appetite, and increasing his energy levels, but he doesn’t have the teeth to chew it right, so he often tries and then leaves the wet chew on the floor. So, to give it to him, I crumble the chew into boiling water and mix it with his morning and evening wet food, and he’s lapped it down.

Now, I don’t know if you know cats, but many of them want whatever the other is having. I’ve caught Papi, who is much younger, sniffing Tucker’s treated food with interest. He’s decided he wants a little hot water mixed in with his wet food, too. His thinking, I think, is, another cat is getting it, and if it’s good enough for another cat, he deserves to get it as well. Second, hot water helps keep him hydrated, and enhances the food’s smell and flavor, right? I suppose, because he licks his bowl clean.

Anyway, as I’m doing these things this AM, The Neurons begin playing “Young Folks” by Peter Bjorn and John with Victoria Bergsman from 2006 in the morning mental music stream. I’m not privy to why The Neurons brought that song up. They often don’t share with me, treating my requests with disdain. Maybe they just remembered the whistling or the voices or the song’s message and lyrics, and thought this a good day to hear it again. Honestly, I don’t know, but it’s earned its place as today’s theme music.

Stay positive, be strong, and lean forward with growing optimism that we’ll get over the Trump threat and everything he does to encourage others to come forward as hateful, hypocritical, racist, sexist, homophobic, warmongering, privilege-seeking neanderthals. My coffee is going down smooth and tasty. Think I’ll have some more.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: committed

Thursday, October 19, 2023, slid into its slot. Indian summer has re-commenced in Ashlandia, where the battles over how to help the homeless still rage.

With a sky full of sunshine and a wind full of promise, it’s 72 F right now. Forecasters assure us that our temperature will achieve the low to mid 80s today, a solid complement to the blue sky and fall foliage.

Had a stray cat encounter at home last night. I saw something wink past the front door windows. Investigation was demanded.

I opened the portal to see. In trotted a white and gray cat. An orange splash marked their back like an island in that white sea while its thick, bushy white tail waved like a friendly neighbor.

The cat seemed healthy and friendly. Without a mew, it worked through the house, exploring everything. Some nibbles of kibble were taken. A lengthy investigation of the kitty litter zone followed.

We were concerned. Was this cat lost or cast off? I’d never seen the cat in our neighborhood. That’s limited in how meaningful that is, because I have a limited view of the street and general area. It’s also possible that the cat lived in one of the nearby residences and never got out, but now had, and was confused.

Anyway, we couldn’t keep them. Our male cats barely tolerate one another. They never tolerate any outside cats. The sole exception to that was the late Pepper. A dark tortie, she carried herself with a majesty that asserted royal privilege. She also didn’t hesitate to hiss and swat, should any other feline venture too close. Pepper seemed to make peace with all, eventually; I used to find her and Tucker sleeping side by side on the front porch. I’ve never seen Tucker do that with another floof.

It’s odd to me that Tucker and Papi don’t get along. After all, they actually co-existed with three other cats for several years. When Tucker came, Scheckter was approaching the Rainbow Bridge. We still had Lady and Quinn. Sweet Boo, an onyx shorthair with a white star on his chest, then came along, a stray in need. I searched for his home and people without success, so he joined as a stray in residence.

Papi next joined, and that’s how the family stood for a while until Lady, Quinn, and Boo were each taken. So, I thought that Papi and Tucker were okay and even hoped that they would become friendlier.

Well, flooftente was achieved but they still issue threats and warnings to each other. Happened just the day before yesterday; Papi stepped up behind Tucker and leisurely sniffed over Tucker’s tail and rear. Tucker turned to reciprocate, sending Papi into a yowling, hissing frenzy, like, “Oh, no, he’s going to sniff me.”

So the sweet stray couldn’t be put up. We did set up a bed for them on the front porch and fed it again. The food needed to be brought in because outside pet food invites other creatures: skunks, raccoons, coyotes, foxes. The smell of food might attract one of the bears or cougars who roam our neighborhood. So, very, very reluctantly, we let the cat stay out, hating it all the way.

I posted about the cat on social media last evening but haven’t had a response. They haven’t been spied today. I hope they’re alright; I hope they’re safely home. I put food and water out for them on the front porch, in case they return, and let the boys out into the backyard.

I will also note that Papi returned from his morning patrol at about eight AM. He may have encountered the stray and chased them away. That’s Papi’s style.

While tending the stray last night, I picked up Tucker after he started after the stray. Hugging, kissing, stroking him, reassuring him that he wasn’t being replace, I told Tucker, “You need to stay calm.”

Picking up on that, The Neurons began playing Taylor Swift’s 2019 song, “You Need To Calm Down”. Without surprise, I can report that it’s continued playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark disputable). That’s how the MMMS generally works: once a song is in there, if stays until another song displaces it.

I do like the message out of “You Need to Calm Down”. The song’s message of people acting out in hate because of others’ genders when they’re not binary, or their choices of pronouns, or sexual orientation is exactly as needed. Too many people — many who seem to be right-wing — have gone over the top in their need and eagerness to deny others the freedom and right to be who they are. Right-wingers blast anyone who is not cisgender with surreal claims about how children are prey, or how the emergence of people who identify themselves under the umbrella of LGBTQ+ are destroying the world.

Witness, as a prominent example, Florida, led by Ron Desantis, and their absurd “Don’t Say Gay” law.

‘The bill’s sponsors have emphatically stated that the bill would not prohibit students from talking about their LGBTQ families or bar classroom discussions about LGBTQ history, including events like the 2016 deadly attack on the Pulse nightclub, a gay club in Orlando. Instead, they argue that the bill would bar the “instruction” of sexual orientation or gender identity.

‘But the text says both.’

Stay pos, be strong, and remain calm. I’m having coffee, which should sustain my efforts to do the same. Here’s the music. Carpe Thursday. Cheers

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Perspectives

My wife shared a friend’s anecdote.

She hadn’t seen the friend in a while. They have a regular gang that meet for coffee at Growlers after exercises classes each M-W-F morning.

Converted from an old gas station, Growlers, nominally a purveyor of beers, is in downtown Ashland. It actually shares its space with a small coffee shop. It’s normally not busy in the morning. That allows the coffee gang to pull together tables and make noise as they please. Outdoor seating with firepits is available, and that’s where they’ll typically be.

The gang is a flexible group with active lives, so the group meeting ranges from four to fifteen people. They’re mostly women. Grandmothers and great-grandmothers, retired teachers, programmers, nurses, musicians, accountants, architects, artists, firefighters, college professors, and so on. They’re characters, and have been coming to the same exercise class, with the same instructor, Mary, for over thirty years. My wife, in her mid-sixties, is the youngest. She started the coffee gant back when she began taking the class after we moved here in 2006. Always pursuing fitness, when she arrived here, she began looking for a new exercise routine, and heard about Mary’s Y class. That’s where she was told this tale this morning.

Weirdly, my wife doesn’t like the coffee at Growler’s, so she has tea.

“We’ve downsized,” L said. L is the friend. “I’m 76 and my husband is 82. We had a 3,000 foot home and five and half acres just outside of Ashland. We were talking and agreed, we don’t need all this property. So we sold our place and bought a smaller one here in town.

“Well, after we’d sold our property, the new owners called us. They wondered if we could meet at our old house and walk the property line with them so they can learn about their new land. Naturally, we agreed, so a time and place was set.

“We’d never met them. Well, we got out of the car to wait, and then they arrived. Well, they were older than us! Both had walkers.

“Then they told us, they were downsizing, too. We were speechless.”

I laughed when I was told the story and wondered, moving into a 3000 square foot home with some land while downsizing, just how big was their last place?

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Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: unenthusiastic

Monday came in for me like a snail runnin’ the hundred meters. It’s October 16, 2023.

53 F now in Ashlandia, where the wine is local and the Pinot Noir is pretty damn good. An unrelenting, unhappy wind is assailing us under a dull gray sky. Rain is due. Fall is assuming its familiar form. Leaves changed color and now they’re dropping off trees, piling up again curbs and in yards, and zipping past windows on a zephyr motor.

Birthdays are pending. Cards and gifts must be purchased and sent. October is our family’s heaviest birthday month, with one past and eight due.

Mom’s birthday is one of them. I’m not sure what to get her. Sitting and conversing at Empty Bowls on Friday, someone mentioned something. I said, “Maybe I should get that for Mom for her birthday.”

Beside me, my wife brightned. “That’s a great idea.”

Neither can remember what ‘it’ was. We’re still working on pulling it out of memory. Sometimes it takes two minds to remember things. LOL.

Still sick. Stayed in from writing yesterday. Mostly read and napped, watched some NFL football.

Sore throat is gone; yea. Energy, though, is really tanked. Like someone siphoned it away. Headache was there and ears were hurting this morning. But I drank coffee to kick start my energy. Surprise, the head and ear pains fled. So hurray for coffee, once again.

Locking into my mood, The Neurons have positioned “Ridin’ the Storm Out” by REO Speedwagon into the morning mental music stream (Trademark ignored). The 1981 song emerged when I was stationed with the Air Force on Okinawa, Japan.

Okinawa is a narrow island and subject to typhoons/tropical cyclones. These were often endured with ‘Phoon Parties’. You tape over and board over the windows with what you can find. Then you raid the booze store on base and the Commissary to buy provisions. While the aircraft were evacuated, we prepared to survive a few days, possibly without electricity.

My wife and I were fortunate in our first three years. We had a tiny off-base apartment in a tiny apartment building. The landlords lived on the bottom floor, and a dozen US couples lived in the apartments. During a ‘phoon, we could visit each other via the inside hallways, so we’d play games like Uno, or Trivial Pursuit, or visit to chat and borrows stuff.

Time to light this Monday. Stay pos, be strong, and keep well. Here’s the music. More coffee, stat. Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: coffee-ized bubbly

Greetings to Saturday, October 14, 2023.

Although it’s only 49 F now, they point us toward a high in the mid to upper seventies.

It’s a pleasant morning. No wind. Light clouds blemish the blue sky. I’d checked early; here in southern Oregon, just above he California border, in Oregon’s southwestern corner, we’re on the edge of the eclipse path. We wanted to see that sucker.

Awaiting the annular eclipse, which was expected in Ashlandia (where the soups are hot and the desserts are delicious) at 9:18 AM. Sitting in my office, which is on the house’s west side, I noticed a darkening. Leaping up, I grabbed my eclipse classes and dashed out to check the eclipse.

Yes! It had begun.

I ran back in and yelled the news to my wife and scurried back out. The viewing spot was on the sidewalk in front of my house. Peering east by southeast between trees and houses gave us a satisfying view. At first, the moon rendered the sun into a fat but bright bottom heavy crescent moon. The moon’s journey over the sun kept thinning the sun crescent. Simultaneously, the sun began darkening, acquiring a burnt orange glaze.

As the eclipse progressed, my wife said, “That reminds me of the eye of Sauron.” She shifted into her best Golem voice. “My precious. Where is my precious coffee?”

We developed a routine. Watch for a few minutes, dash inside, sip some coffee, return. I modified my path, setting coffee over on the sidewalk, out of the way by the house, so no one would kick it over.

We didn’t notice any changes in birds or anything. Oddly, two trios of people walking dogs paid no attention to the eclipse as this all transpired. Both were younger middle age (the people, not the dogs). I wondered, did they not know, or did they not care? Were they anti-science people?

More questions which will never be answered for me.

Finally, at 9:18, we had the ring of fire, or seventy percent of it, as that’s what science declared we’d see here. The eclipse at this point reminded us of a black button with an illuminated ring around it. What would happen it we pressed it?

Throwing caution into the trash, we pressed it several times. Nothing was noted as different, but in some other part of the world, the sun could be blinking in and out. Or a fuse was blown or a circuit breaker thrown and nothing was happening. We couldn’t tell.

At its fullest point, we said, “Hello sun, hello moon.” Nice to address them as a couple.

As for the cats, they took opposite approaches to the eclipse, just as they do everything. They’re always a study in opposites. Papi, our sleek, short haired orange tabby, wants little to do with people and doesn’t show much interest in our food or activities. He doesn’t like loud noises and despises the wind.

Tucker, the black and white long-haired elder beast enjoys being with us and wants to be in on everything. If we’re eating, he wants to know how it smells and tastes.

While we were checking the eclipse, Papi shied away safe place in backyard sun. Drawing his legs in and curling his tail around his bod, he posed in a perfect loaf position.

Tucker stayed with us. If we went in for coffee, he came with us, going back out when we did, walking around by us as we looked up at the sun. He didn’t care anything for the sun; his focus was on his people.

The eclipse is dwinding now as the sun and moon say their farewells and part. We’ve come back into the house. One of us goes out every few minutes and comes back in to update the other. But it’s anti-climatic at this point, like a blow-out in a football game. We’re just waiting for the end.

The Neurons have come up with “Eclipse” from the 1973 Pink Floyd album, Dark Side of the Moon to mark the day. A terrific climax to a favorite album, it’s quite welcomed in the morning mental music stream (Trademark deteriorating).

And everything under the sun is in tune

But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

Clouds have covered the sun and dulls the sky. Time to press on. Stay pos, be safe, and be strong. Coffee has been drunk, thanks. Here’s the music. Cheer

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