Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Employees at a local grocery store wear shirts with “Look for the food you love” on the back.
I got caught up thinking about what food I love. Pie jumped into mind. I didn’t look for pie that day. Nor did I look for fruits and veggies, which I also love, or nuts and seeds. Nor cheese. Sandwiches. Didn’t look for them, either. Or pizza, another food I love.
I just looked for yogurt that day. It was on sale. A good price.
That’d be on my tee’s back: “Look for food you love with a good price.“
Do you know that they still sell packages of cookies that don’t reseal? I’m not talkin’ of one or two cookies; these are packages of twenty-four cookies. It’s like they expect us to eat all the cookies at once so they’d don’t bother with a resealable package. It’d be uncivilized for us to eat a few and then set aside an open package of cookies. The cookies’ freshness must be preserved.
Those manufacturers not providing resealable packages are really cruel. Mean. Barbaric. I’m looking at you, Trader Joe’s.
Sunshine blazed down from a cloudless blue sky. I was arriving at a busy site ensconced in a valley’s flat green floor, either a fair or festival, I realized. Laughing and happy folks were everywhere. Waving to me, my wife and her sister called me over to their group, introducing me to others and then explaining in turns, “This is the Father Festival. You’ve never been to one? It’s put on every year. Free food, games, and prizes. There’s music and dancing later. Have a drink.”
Taking this in, I looked around and saw fathers of childhood friends and male teachers circulating, instructing, ordering. No, I’d never heard of this, but I participated.
Then, dream shift. The festival was nearing its end. A mountain hid the sun. Though the sky seemed clear, it was much suddenly much colder as shadows cloaked us and the light faded.
I’d been traveling and decided I wanted to change clothes. A group of us found a motel and got rooms. Entering one, I asked the others to leave the room so I could wash up and change. Talking and laughing forced me to raise my voice. “Will you all get out so I can change?” Laughing, mocking me, they finally acquiesced.
I found my long-sleeved blue shirt. That’s the one I wanted to wear. Just as I stepped toward the bathroom, the building shook. In another second, people yelled in shrill voices, “Earthquake.” Sirens rose.
A man broke into the room. “There’s a tsunami warning. We need to leave and get up the mountain.”
Dressing in my blue shirt as I left the room, I joined my wife, her sister, and a small group of people. “Come on, we need to go,” I said. “This way. We’re going up the mountain.”
We fell in with a queue of people also trying to get up the mountain. Peering ahead, I saw fire up on the mountain’s upper side. Pulling my group aside, I said, “It’s on fire up there. Come on. Follow me. This way. Don’t tell the others yet. There’s going to be a panic, and then getting away will be a problem.”
I led the rest along a narrow mountainside path that was going up. I heard them yelling behind us as they discovered the fire. People were re-directed to follow me.
Stinging black smoke descended down on us. Bending low, covering my mouth and nose with a mask, I told everyone else to do the same. We hurried on along the path.
Then I came up short as I rounded a curve. The quake had opened a wide and deep crevice, and our path was gone, along with a chunk of mountainside. There was nowhere to go but back, but back wasn’t safe because the fire was engulfing where we’d been.
Dream end.
One woman at the table beside me in the coffee shop said to her companion, “I wish the Dairy Queen would re-open soon. I’ve been eating healthy all year, and I need a break.”
* Our local DQ closed after a kitchen fire in September of 2023.
Came home yesterday after my writing session with a few grocery purchases, including a sandwich for lunch. When I entered the kitchen, my wife said, “The dishwasher isn’t working.”
The dishwasher is a GE Profile. I think we bought it about six years ago. “Okay let me eat and research and I’ll get on it.”
So I did those things and then ran the dishwasher on my own, studying the symptoms. Which were:
I pull and clean the fine and macro filters. That’s an easy first step and one I’ve done several times before. Neither are blocked or very dirty because I just cleaned them at the first of the month. They’re usually the culprits because unhindered water circulation and solid water pressure is needed for the dishwasher to properly operate and clean.
The manual is read. Nothing useful emerges. To the net!
The net suggests the overflow valve might be stuck. Just lightly tapping it with a wooden spoon might free it. Or it might be the recirculating pump.
I spend time looking for the overflow valve and can’t find it. I search for more information on the net but nothing helpful is found. I finally reverse my thinking and search, “Do all dishwashers have overflow valves?” No, more modern dishwashers don’t have ’em. Great; that was a lot of wasted time.
I put the machine into its diagnostic mode and run through those, confirming the dw isn’t filling with water.
More searching leads me to the inlet valve and how to reach, remove, and test it. The water feed to the dishwasher is turned off, as is the power via the circuit breaker. The pieces I need to access are behind the kick panel. It comes off easy enough but tight clearances and sharp edges make removing the inlet valve a tedious and time-consuming process. Some bleeding is involved but I get it off. The valve coil is tested for continuity and is good. They don’t recommend cleaning the inlet valve because of seals and tolerances. I resign myself to ordering a new one but on a whim, I gently shake the valve, thinking the valve is stuck and maybe shaking it will release it. Why not, right?
After replacing the inlet valve, turning on the water and powering up, I now have trickle of water. WTAF? I listen. The dishwasher stops and tells me on the panel, H2O.
Well, heck, it wasn’t showing that before. I confirm the water is on and no lines got kinked while I was messing around in the underside and try again. Same-oh.
Following nebulous thoughts, return to the net to search for other problems and find a video which suggests, pressure sensor. Attached to the recirculating pump, it’s easily accessible since I already have the kick panel removed. I pull the sensor, follow the cleaning instructions and re-install it, power back up, etc.
Works like a charm.
I’m astonished. I’m not mechanical, so I’m always pleased when I can find the instructions and guidance from wherever I can and repair something. It’s like a small victory in a big universe when I can declare something ‘fixed’.
Especially when I’m the one who did the fixin’.
My brain let slip to my stomach, “He brought a boatload of food home,” ‘he’ being me.
My stomach immediately began berating me to go eat things. “The Neurons told me you have dark chocolate coconut cups. Let’s eat a couple of those.”
“No.”
“They said there was a sandwich in there. Let’s eat that.”
“No.”
“What about the canteloupe?”
“No.”
“Come on, man, let us eat something. We’re starving here.”
“You’re not starving. You had a large breakfast. What’s the matter with you?”
My stomach groaned. “Fooooddd.”
Honestly, you’d think I haven’t eaten in a year, the way my stomach is going on.
I was at a family gathering. Big family, large spread of food, all set up on a large piece of empty land. The celebration was taking place under a sprawling wooded pavilion. Painted brown, it was loaded with grills and picnic tables, and all were in use. Music was playing, and people were talking, laughing, and dancing.
This wasn’t my family, though, at least not my real-life family, or a family I know from this time and place. But they were my dream family.
Anyway, food had been consumed. Having eaten and feeling full, I was just out strolling on my own on a field adjacent to the pavilion. Mostly level, covered with gold tinged green grasses, the field rose in a lengthy and leisurely uneven slope to a sun bathed crest. I was out several hundred yards from the pavilion when I saw three critters come over the crest and pause, looking around. In those seconds, I realized they were wolves.
I thought about heading back to the pavilion but saw I was now closer to the wolves than the pavilion. The wolves headed down the slope, pausing to sniff and look around on their journey. I began a slow and careful walk back toward the pavilion. The wolves hadn’t noticed me and I wanted to keep it that way.
But their progress was faster. Breaking into an easy lope, they’d put themselves between me and the pavilion. No one in the pavilion seemed aware of them. I didn’t think the wolves would come after me but deciding to be ready, I found a pile of black rocks. I picked up one to throw and discovered that I could break the rock up into smaller pieces. I did that until I had a pile of hand-sized missiles by my foot.
The wolves were about seventy feet away. They still weren’t looking at me. I had a rock in each hand, ready to throw with my right arm and then reload.
Then – presto – the wolves are large German Shepherds. I keep the rocks because German Shepherds can also attack but watching the dogs gambol, tails wagging, I’m less worried. On some signal invisible to me the three dogs turn and head back up the hill. I was never noticed or threatened. Dropping the rocks, I watch them go. As they’re halfway up the hill, they seem to change again, and were wolves. That left me wondering, were they wolves or dogs?
Dream end.
There are so many elements of my life in there about isolation, separation, and fears that seem to be there, but never materialize into threats. Yet, I always prepare for them.
That’s life.
Mood: Sunlow (Sunday mellow)
This is Sunday, January 7, 2024. It was a wintry day this morning after a 24 hours of competing precipitation. We cycled through various snow forms, slush, and pellets with fog smearing the background optics. The sun would prairie dog in to see what was happening on the ground but the air stayed chill. Looking out and seeing the situation, my wife said, “It’s good to be retired.”
Today brought us light snow in some places layered over 32 F air temp. My partner had a birthday party to attend. I’d been excused to do my thing but that plan collapsed when she saw the roads and asked if I’d go to the party. You know, so I could drive. Thus is why I’m posting late.
Good party, and worth attending, a friend, Barb, celebrating number 80. She did it right with champagne and mimosas and tables starting to splinter under the weight of food. While Barb made most, people also brought food (my wife took her five minute almond tarts, an Ashlandia favorite). (Ashlandia, where the food is above average.) To complement those food offerings, Barb also hired a crepe truck. We had choices of caprese, lemon, cinammon, or chocolate crepes made to order. With a house packed full with friends, and people coming and going from ten AM until the planned end, seven PM, how could you not but have a good time?
I went walking yesterday afternoon, enjoying the wintry ambiance. Reminded me of young years in the places where I lived where climate invited snow and ice on a regular basis — Ohio, Iowa, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Illinois, West Virginia. Breathing in cold air, same cold air scolding my skin, a little dribble out of my nostrils. Snow changes sound and light. When you’re out there alone, a sense of isolation descends. I could hear my breathing, feel my heartbeat, and entertained new thinking.
The Neurons unleashed “Good Feeling” into the mental music stream, and it carried over into today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark frozen). “Good Feeling” is by Flo Rida and was released waaayyy back in 2011. It’s good music for me for today because despite what reality might push into my face, I remain optmistic and I have a feeling things will get better. Fingers crossed. Knock on wood.
Before I close, I want to offer this for reflection: the ‘sound’ of the solar wind. Because everything isn’t about the privilge and deprivation of this world’s people. There’s something out there beyond ourselves. This ‘sound’ comes to us unnoticed every second of every minute, hour, day, month, year. Pausing to consider it offers perspective that existence is more than this planet and what we see and hear. Yes, many reply, but this is our home, and the only place where we are — well, as far as we know with our limited understanding.
Mood: holidayish
Happy holidays and merry Christmas, world. It’s Monday, December 25, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the weather doesn’t resemble winter today. 51 F with strong winds kicking the trees around and fog keeping the sun socked in makes it less than merry out there. It disappoints the cats who are like, “This isn’t what we ordered. We ordered sunshine and warm weather. Turn off the winds or someone will pay.”
Been exchanging texts with family today. Mom has some potential DVT issues. Her doctor wanted her in for tests today but she rejected that, heading to her daughter’s house to celebrate the day and eat. Almost veryone gravitated toward little sister number two’s house for a holiday meal. It was a small spread.
She and my other sisters take after Mom and are good cooks. Dessert is off in another area.
COVID is rising, judging anecdotally. Another friend reported positive, with sneezing, coughing, body aches, and a fever. He’s the fifth in our circle in the last three weeks. A sister and her hubby are down with COVID back in the home zone, and it’s reported to be bad. Hope they all fully recovered.
Today’s holiday music comes by way of my spouse. She heard Duke Ellington and His Orchestra doing a jazz interpretation of The Nutcracker Suite. Here they are with “Sugar Rum Cherry (Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy)”.
Stay pos, move forward, be strong, and test negative. Wishing you all the best for the rest of this year and many more years to come. Off we go, coffee in hand, ho, ho, ho.
Here’s the music. Cheers
I’ve been experiencing many messy dreams lately, just full of chaos, a far cry from my normally orderly dream sequences.
A remembered dream from last night flowed from chasing kittens to distractions about flowers and weather to examining hair on my face. Then more lucid sequences jumped in.
I was given a brown bag of sandwiches. Hungry, pleased, I thanked the individual giving them to me (unseen off dream), went off a few steps and opened the bag to eat. First sandwich was egg salad on wheat bread — delicious. I scarfed the food down. Still hungry, I opened the bag and discovered three sandwiches were inside. One was hot meatballs with melted cheese which smelled amazing. Someone came by. They looked hungry, so I offered them a sandwich, which they accepted. Overhearing the transaction, another person hurried over, told me that they were hungry, and asked if I had another sandwich to spare.
I did, I answered, and opened the bag. Five sandwiches were inside. Flabbergasted, I thought that I must have miscounted. I realized one was an egg salad on wheat and another was another meatball with melted cheese. Another person had come up, hoping to get a sandwich, so I gave them one and saw that I had more sandwiches. Though incredulous and suspicious, that made me laugh. I told the others about how the bag seemed to be magic, because every time I took sandwich out, several more appeared in it. We all talked about this and how it seemed impossible because the bag was small, but I showed them that there were five sandwiches in the bag. Then I took two sandwiches out and now had seven sandwiches in the bag.
Taking two sandwiches out for myself for later, I gave them the bag and told them to share the sandwiches with others. But after they removed sandwiches, they told me that it wasn’t working any longer. I took the bag back, put one of my sandwiches in, and pulled it out. Voila, more sandwiches. It was only working for me, we all agreed, so I would keep the bag.
Though that decision was easily made, we talked about why the bag worked for me, and how it worked. I didn’t want to claim any special talents or anything and held firm that I didn’t know why, and rebuked them for suggesting gods or fates were rewarding me. The suggestion made me cringe. After passing out more sandwiches, I walked away and stood on a dusty hill in sunshine.
While I was there, I was told that I didn’t need to eat. The speaker was unseen but to my left. I laughed and mocked them. They told me that I had two receptacles installed in my body. Under questioning and searching I learned that two black receptacles were installed on the underside of my right upper arm. I didn’t know how they got there, so I was pretty amazed.
One was about four inches in diameter and fully black, with a flap on it. The other was smaller, about an inch wide, with a blue plug sticking up out of it. I knew without being told that the large one was for being fed knowledge and the tiny one was for taking in food.
Two children arrived with hoses to fill me. I warned them, “Don’t put the wrong hoses in,” which made me laugh because of the receptacles’ size difference.
Dream end
Michael Seidel, writer 