Fleece Me Up,Scottie

My oldest item on me would usually be my underwear or socks. My wife shamed me into buying new underwear.

“What would your mother say about this?” My wife was holding up a pair of my boxers.

“I always wear clean underwear,” I answered. “That’s all Mom worried about.”

My wife put fingers through holes. “She wouldn’t be bothered by these holes?”

“It’s enough material. Come on, it’s underwear.”

After pressure like that, I examined my undies with a more critical eye. Sure the elastic wouldn’t hold them up any longer. And parts of them were as sheer as honeymoon negligee. Yes, my wife had a point. The underwear was purchased before we moved here. That was in 2005. I think I had them before we moved to Half Moon Bay, in 1999. So new boxers were purchased. It wasn’t easy. Materials have changed, etc. That’s a whole different tale.

As for my socks, I now wear *shudder* compression socks. Every friggin’ day. They are not old.

We come at last to the oldest thing on me: my gray pullover fleece. It’s a quarter zip. I purchased it for $20 in May of 2001 at the Stanford Shopping Center. I know these details because Mom was visiting and I was starting a new job at another startup, Internet Security Systems.

My wife and I had been married over 25 years then. Mom had never visited us at any of our homes. True, she lived in Pittsburgh, PA, and we’d never lived closer than 300 miles. That was with our first duty assignment at Wright-Patterson AFB, just outside of Dayton, Ohio. For eight of those years of marriage, we were outside of the United States. And on three more years, I was alone overseas.

So, I bought a ticket for Mom, and she was there. She took a photo of our black cat, a long-haired rescue we’d named Sammy. Sammy had been left behind on military base housing. We took him in and discovered that he was a beautiful, sweet, intelligent kitty. Mom happened to take a photo of him while he was on the patio enjoying sunshine. She spent a week with us and then went home. Two days later, we rushed Sammy to the vet, where he died, cause unknown. I was wearing my gray fleece that day.

That big old cat loved that fleece. He liked to climb inside it while I was wearing it. Nestling against my belly and completely out of sight, he’d purr himself to sleep. Then he’d start snoring. My wife always laughed because it was like my belly was snoring. In an aside, a few years later, we moved again. Another rescue cat joined our household. Like Sammy, she liked crawling up under the fleece, curling up against me to nap inside my garment, while it was on me. I think Sammy would have approved.

I always remember Sammy when I don this old fleece. Even if it’s for doing yard work, as it was today. And when I do, I always smile.

Just A Dream

Daily writing prompt
Write about your dream home.

I’ve almost lived in my dream home a few times. That whole personal paradigm of what a dream home is changes with time.

Living in Germany off base in a little town called Waldorf, I was quite happy. Up on the fifth floor, we had nice views and were short walks to some sweet cafes, bakeries, and gasthauses. The drive to the base was short. Not much traffic was encountered on a typical day until I reached the gate, so there was no frustrations or irritations associated with driving. Frankfurt itself, with all that it offered was just down the autobahn. The train or the autobahn easily took us other places, not just in Germany, but across Europe. It was wonderful.

But I rotated ‘home’, to the United States. Home was now Onizuka Air Station, previously known as Sunnyvale Air Station, in Sunnyvale, California. After living in an apartment in Sunnyvale, I moved to base housing. Then I retired from the military and lived in a Mountain View duplex on a cul-de-sac. But my wife and I noticed that we often spent time when we weren’t working in Half Moon Bay, California. So we found a place there, a beautiful townhome just a mile from the beach.

Half Moon Bay was a wonderful town. Our place was just a six minute walk from downtown and its plethora of restaurants, shops, cafes, and stores. We were in heaven for a while there.

But it’s Half Moon Bay, a small place. We still worked in San Mateo, Redwood City, Mountain View. Besides work, we needed to venture up Highway 92 and ‘over the hill’ to do shopping. The traffic there was bad and getting worse.

Then our housing association started going crazo. They began more stringent with the rules while increasing the HOA dues. We were soon paying almost a thousand a month for that and climbing.

So we moved here, to Ashland, in southern Oregon. The town initially offered a lot of promise but the promise has faded. We also know that, gosh, we miss that ocean. So, we want to move again.

To where? Well, probably the east coast in the U.S. Maybe to Europe. Perhaps Canada. Or South America. I want a small town with interesting stores and cafes, good food, and a sense of community. It’s a place where I can walk for coffee, food, beer, books. I’d also like to be by the sea and the churning, interesting facets it throws at my mind and senses. Will I find my dream home?

I don’t know. I think I’m still trying to dream it up.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Woke up hot at three-ish. As I reviewed dreams, got up and drank water, and then opened the back door to entertain cool night air, my mind began streaming Blue Oyster Cult and “Burnin’ for You” (1981).

My mind seems to have a song ready for any moment. I imagine a team of people up there. Males and females are armed with servers loaded with music. Sitting on swivel chairs, they stay poised to begin songs for each sight, sound, thought, emotion, and memory.

“Burnin’ for You” works on multiple levels. Fer instance, It addresses homes in a major way. That’s fittin’ for ‘merica, where Homeland Security and police battle protesters as jobs and savings dwindle and eviction notices fly, leaving folks without homes. BOC catches that:

Home in the valley
Home in the city
Home isn’t pretty
Ain’t no home for me

Yet, priorities: save the businesses! Protect the billionaires! Grow the military!

Sorry. Jumped onto my anti-GOP train as led by 45 hisself. I’ll’ stop now. Here’s the music.

A Turbulent Dream

Wow, what a dream.

Featuring swollen brown rivers, hill people, and my wife and I as we search for a new house, the dream was very strange.

Brown swollen rivers flowed everywhere. I had the sense that they surrounded us. When I looked in some directions, the rivers seemed higher than the land and moved like fat, sinuous dragons. While they never overflowed, they hampered and guided our movement by their presence.

Meanwhile, my wife and I sought a new house. We had pages of listings, seventeen in all. But as I visited the houses, I discovered they vastly over-promised, were overpriced, and underwhelmed. After seeing the first one (alone), I found my wife and told her, “Don’t go to it. It’s a waste.” Then, talking almost to myself, I said, “I hope the others are better.” My doubts were high that they were.

I kept losing my wife and finding her. This was against a backdrop of lurking, spying, menacing mountain people out of Deliverance. If you’re not familiar with the reference, read the James Dickey novel, or see the movie starring Jon Voight, Burt Reynolds, Ned Beatty, and Ronny Cox.

Eventually, concerned with the rivers and the people I’m encountering, who are growing more aggressive and belligerent, and disappointed with the houses, I look for my wife and develop plans to get us out of there. Extricating ourselves isn’t easy, and drains my energy and concentration, but eventually, we put the land behind us.

It was an intense dream.

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