Saturday’s Wandering Thought
He met three visitors to the town, here for a conference. What’s your specialties, he asked, being polite, making conversation.
They study flies on dead things, they told him.
“Really,” he replied. “What’s the buzz?” He felt that it had to be said.
He didn’t win any laughs. Not even a smile. They’d heard it all before.
Friday’s Wandering Thought
When something in his home breaks, his first step in his troubleshooting and fixing process is to turn it off. He allows it to stay off for a few minutes before turning it back on. It’s surprising how often that works.
Friday’s Theme Music
Cats woke me up before sunrise. “I want cat food,” they cried. Sleepfeeding, I did their bidding.
It’s Friday, November 4, 2022, the last Friday with Daylight Savings Time in the U.S. That requires an asterisk to note that it’s not so everywhere. Nevertheless, it’s true in my little reality slice. Reality seems to be like pizza, a little different for everyone, even though it may look the same.
The sun skimmed into our southern Oregon valley at 7:46 this morning, limning dark clouds, autumn trees, and dark green pines on snowy mountains before climbing clear of them and claiming the day. It’s 41 degrees F now but air currents, sunshine, and fronts will take us to 18 C.
The Neurons are playing “I Want Candy” in the morning mental music stream. This is a floofmage to the cats’ early morning demands for food. Mind, they made this demand with three bowls of kibble available. “It’s not the same as fresh food from the can given by your loving hands,” they purred.
Well, I know BS when I smell it, even when it’s coming from a smiling black and white furry face, and a sweet ginger and cream furred visage. Still, doing their bidding bought another hour of sleep.
“I Want Candy” has been around for sixty years. I went with a later version, by Bow Wow Wow, released in the early 1980s. A female friend of mine loved dancing to this version. Part of our gang, she’d jump up and run off to the dance floor when it came on, if we were out clubbing. If it came on at someone’s home, she curtailed whatever she was doing to dance and sing. Fun when someone enjoys a song so much. I haven’t seen her since 1984. Wonder how she’s doing?
Stay positive, test negative, get vaccines when you can. Here’s the music. The magic brewing magic has stopped its gurgling sound; coffee is ready. Interesting that in a world of pinging, beeping, buzzing, and ringing devices to notify us of important and trivial matters, something as critical as the coffee is done brewing is not announced.
Cheers
Thursday’s Wandering Thought
He got out his free weights today. They were the ‘Jack Lelane’ brand, given to him as a gift in another dimension. He theorized they would make a perfect material to fence the Roomba in and out of where he wanted it to clean.
He was right.
TMFF
TMFF (floofinition) [pronounced ‘timfuf] – Shorthand or slang which means Too Much Floof Fur.
In use: “He looked at the sweater he wanted to wear and mentally noted, TMFF. It’d take time and effort to get all that cat and dog fur off it. The sources watched with smiles at his feet, as if saying, ‘See what we gave you? You’re welcome.'”
Sathursday’s Theme Music
Welcome to Sathursday! As sometimes happens, you come across a day which is supposed to be one, say Thursday, but feels like another, say, Saturday. Does this happen to you? Scientists and philosophers can’t quite account for this entanglement yet. Artists have a better feel for it, chiding people for thinking or even needing every day to be specific and exact. Why can’t hybrid days exist? Well, they do, sayeth the artists and poets. When they come, use them as you would any other.
Today is November 3, 2022, according to my cosmic sources. Sunshine dazzles the day in every way wherever you look. This is much different than yesterday. Yesterday’s weather declared, be ready for anything but hot and dry. Snow fell. Rain, sleet, hail. Just keep your head up, your coat on, your gloves nearby.
But now, the clouds have thinned and relaxed. Pine trees on the heights wear snow hats. Snow capes swath the mountains. Blue skies peek out past wispy dingy white and charcoal veils. Yet red flames and gold tiaras still crown many trees.
It’s 32 now, that’s degrees in Fahrenheit, and we’re looking for 46 F as the high. But the sunshine streaming through those windows, lighting up the rooms, delights my mind and causes a world of difference. Sunrise overruled the night at 7:46 AM. The sun’s presence will lord over the skies until 6:02 PM.
Now, for music. After another tumultuous night of dreams, I awoke with “Mr Bojangles” in the morning mental music stream. Don’t know if you’re familiar with the tune. It’s over fifty years old. Even though it’s been in movies, was a hit, beloved my many, and performed by several notables, I don’t hear it on radio or television these days. But since it’s in my mind, The Neurons pulled it out and put it on play. Exactly why is as clear as the clouds.
The Neurons went with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band edition, which I fully understand. This was the one which marked me when I was a young teenager. Such matters aren’t easily displaced.
Stay pozzo, test nego, protect yourself as need be. If not for yourself, do it for others. Coffee has entered the cup and is steaming by my side. That doesn’t sound as poetic in typed words as it did within my mind, but we will go with it. It is Sathursday.
Here’s the music. Sing along, even dance to it, if it moves you. Cheers
DSSF
DSSF (floofinition) – [Pronounced] dissif. Slang, text shorthand for ‘Didn’t sleep, sick floof’.
In use: “When she didn’t show at coffee, everyone wondered what had happened to her. Then Judy received a text, “DSSF – Bounce”. Judy translated for the others, “K didn’t get any sleep because her dog, Bounce, is sick.” K was always so devoted to everyone, but especially animals.”
Tucker Claws
Up on the table
Tucker claws
Sits on a mat
And washes his paws
Looks around without a care
Though he knows he shouldn’t be there
Ho, ho, ho
Who is surprised?
Ho, ho, ho
Not I, not I.
Up on the table
Click, click, click
The scratches he leaves makes me sick.
Michael Seidel, writer 