Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

We slipped out of the house into the cool morning with a ladder and a few pint containers. Our objective is unchanged since 2007, our first spring and summer in this house: cherries!

Our neighbor has a cherry tree. At their insistence, the yield from any branch on our side of the fence belongs to us. Most years, the cherries are ready around July 1st. But blessed with the right weather, the neighbors picked their side earlier this week. We did our picking today. Cool and pleasant air, warming sunshine, a quiet neighborhood, and sweet, fresh, dark red cherries.

It was a morning to savor. Cherry scone, anyone?

New Camaro Dream

Dreamed my wife and I went car shopping. I found a sleek new silver sports car. Turned out that it was a Chevy Camaro but it was completely unlike any Camaro previously produced. This car was low, wide, and fast. I didn’t see much of the exterior in the dream except that it was so brightly polished, its silver surface hurt my eyes.

I instantly like it and wanted to sell my wife on it. “Here, babe,” I said. “Take it for a drive.” I had to coax her because she doesn’t trust her driving skills. Finally relenting, she entered the car and got behind the wheel. The car was electric and made little sound. She was amazed. Then she began driving it. After a bit, she said through a big grin, “I really like this.” So we bought the car with dreamlike ease. The whole time, she remained behind the wheel. When I asked if she wanted to keep driving, she replied, “Yes. This is fun.” That pleased me.

We went to a parking garage. As she pulled the car into a slot, a group of young men came up and began hassling us. Annoyed, I told them to go away. At that point, I discovered that my wife had the car’s roof retracted. As I told her to put it up, one of the young men reached into the back and took out a brown folder of papers. I asked him to give them back. He mocked me and walked away with his friends. They began throwing the folder around as they would in a game of keep away. Getting angrier, I found a large orange and a large green papaya. I wrestled with what to do with them. As the man who first took the folder caught it, I hurtled the orange at him, hitting him in his ankle. He went down with a cry, complaining of pain. The rest didn’t know what had happened.

I went over and picked up the folder. A second man threatened me. I threatened him back with the papaya. Another guy laughed and said, “That’s just a papaya.” I hit him in the face with it, knocking him over. As he sat on his ass in pain and astonishment, I returned to the Camaro and my wife drove us away.

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Fridastic

The air has cleared for us again. Looking at the models of wind currents, the swirling brings us some smoke from the north, like the Diamond Lake complex. Then the wind shifts and the smoke travels up along the mountain valleys from California’s monstrous Parks fire by Chico. A new wind change, and we have a reprieve for a while, like today, well, like now. Because those shifts can come with the suddenless of a cat snapping its paw out.

It will get hot today. Although it’s just 73 F now, we expect the digits to stop climbing at 99 F. Yesterday was supposed to see 104 F but I’m not certain we got that high at my house. That’s because we did a shopping run down the highway in Medford.

Breakfast bore the fruits of that shopping. A bagel was consumed alongside a fresh juicy, sweet peach, wonderfully plump, ripe cherries, and fat, flavorful blueberries.

It’s First Friday in Ashlandia. The art galleries will be flinging their doors open. Like coffee shops, book stores, and bakeries, we don’t have as many art galleries as we used to. The number of places that fell into the categories of that quartet — coffee shops, book stores, bakeries, and art galleries — was a big pull to Ashlandia for us. As those places fell away, replaced by fancy restaurants and ‘vintage’ clothing stores, and odd things like lavendar shops, the town lost its shine in our eyes. This is life, right?

Manwhile, friends have a project up, 1000museums at one of the art galleries today, so we’ll be pointing our feet to it and then progressing left right left right (cue Homer Simpson and Randy Newman) until we’re there.

Oh and we’re going blackberry picking at a friend’s place tomorrow morning.

As it’s Friday, Friday music is in my head. That’s how The Neurons work. There’s a large collection of songs about Friday. Like “Friday On My Mind”, “Black Friday”, “I Gotta Feeling”, “Friday I’m in Love”, and several songs just called “Friday”. The Neurons planted Blink 182 and “What’s My Name Again” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark next week) though, so that’s the music for the day.

Hope your Friday goes well. Stay pos, be strong, leeean forward, and Vote Blue this year. Coffee and I have reached an agreement and it’s being sipped. Here’s the music. Quite elemental. Cheers

Saturday’s Wandering Thought

My wife asked in irritation, “Name some citrus fruits.”

My first thought was, huh? Second came, why? But we’ve been married almost fifty years, so I played the game. “Lemon, lime, orange, grapefruit, citron, kumquat, tangerine, tangelo…what are you looking for?”

“Is a peach a citrus fruit?”

“No.”

“Is a necterine a citrus fruit?”

I laughed. “No. Why are you asking this?”

“There was some story on the radio about how eating too much citrus fruit can be dangerous for you, and one of the people, the DJs, I guess, said, ‘Oh, no, I love eating peaches and nectarines. I’m in real trouble.’ And nobody called her on it! I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe they’d changed their classification since I learned what a citrus fruit was when I was young. But, no, they haven’t changed it.”

She was shaking her head. “No wonder people are so stupid these days, if this is what they’re listening to.”

Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

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.

The Best Years Dream

Totally different environment for me. A young man, I didn’t look anything like the me from RL, except of the commonalities of being a white male with brown hair. I’d joined a household. I’m not sure what my status. I was given tasks and expected to get them done. I was working alone.

I was working alone, going in and out of the kitchen to the outside, as others came but mostly went. They ignored me so I only glanced at them, seeing who they were and so on. My job was to select fruit, mostly pears, to throw away. The pears were large, of the Bartlett or Bosc varieties often found in grocery stores, but larger than you’d find. Some were almost as large as my head.

As I worked this, transferring them from one location to another, I thought, why are we throwing these pears away? After examining them, I questioned what was going on and concluded they would be perfectly good to eat. Changing my process, I removed the tossed pears to a kitchen location and moved the rest of the pears there.

Then, on a whim, I made lunch for everyone. I wasn’t certain what to do and learned on the fly but made and baked a square pizza. Without planning to, I ended up with a house on it. As I did this, I encountered a bearded man with curly hair leaving the bathroom. Saying, “Excuse me,” I pushed past him, but thought, who is he?

I turned back and introduced myself, sticking out my hand as I did. “Michael,” I said.

We shook as he said, “Patrick.” But he didn’t call me Michael at any point in the dream. The name he called me was something like Metcalf.

Most of the people, including the head man, had returned. Seeing the pears, he said, “What are those?”

I explained what I’d done and asked him, “Do you think you can eat these?”

I cut one up for his inspection. As he looked at it, he said, “Where did these come from?”

“There were grown here, in your garden,” I replied.

He looked at a woman beside him and asked, “Is this true?”

“Yes,” she answered.

I gathered that he didn’t know what he was growing here.

Next, I showed them my house pizza. Patrick and others declared that they wouldn’t eat it. They thought it inedible. I defended the pizza but they refused. Shrugging that off, I cut some off and ate it myself, finding it delicious.

We’d moved outside. There were sixteen or seventeen of us on a sloping green lawn. As a sort of outside, I was on the edge and alone. A tiger approached me. Patrick said, “Don’t worry [some name], I’ll take care of him.”

Annoyed, I answered, “That’s not my name, and I’m not worried.”

They began talking. I asked, “What are you talking about?” None replied to me, feeding my irritation.

Finally Patrick said, “You haven’t said what you think, [some name].”

I said, “Why can’t you get my name right? I introduced myself to you. I’m Michael. And I can’t say what I think because none of you would tell me what you’re talking about.”

The head guy said, “We’re talking about how we would summarize 2022. What would you say about it?”

After a second of thought, I said, “I’d call it one of the best years in the last fifty years.” I was saying that to get a rise out of them because they’d been saying that it was a bad year. Then, doing the math, because ‘fifty’ was an impulse, I realized that fifty years ago was when I turned sixteen.

Dream end.

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