Monday’s Wandering Thoughts
Beware of what I say and do. I’m frequently an optimist who is often wrong.
Doesn’t stop me from trying to learn and trying to do better. As I said, I’m frequently an optimist.
Floofogony
Floofogony (floofinition) – 1. An account of floofs’ origins on Earth. Origins: Poem of 1022 lines by Floofsiod, written about 1026 BCE.
In Use: “Few humans have been granted access to the Floofogony, a document which is precious to animals and kept in the Fortress of Floofitude in an undisclosed place which is said to exist in an area of Earth inaccessible to humans.”
Recent Use: “Although many societies offer greater recognition that animals are not dumb and do have feelings and are capable of more intelligence than previously credited, the idea of a document such as the Floofogony is usually roundly mocked.”
2. Anguish of any sort felt about the loss of an animal or an animal’s situation. Origins: middle-english, first known use in fourteenth century.
In Use: “When their dog raced out of the yard after his bath, immediate floofogony was felt by all the family members even as they scrambled to put on their shoes, get in the car and find her.”
Recent Use: “With the Internet showing more about animals across the spectrum helping one another or asking humans for help, more people experience floofogony as they read stories or watch videos about animals being dumped, abused, or in need of medical intervention after accidents.
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
Here we go. Thursday ends in a y, so it must be time for me to rant.
Subject: Are more people running red lights?
It seemed like that was rare for me to witness anywhere outside of Japan, which was over thirty years ago. I’d see one sometimes in the Bay area, especially in San Jose.
Now, here in little Ashland, I typically witness two cars or more a day running red lights. I rarely if ever saw them before the COVID era began. Now they’re increasing. While some are people turning left across traffic and waiting for an opening that doesn’t come until the light changes, the huge percentage are going straight, speeding up to hurtle through an intersection before the light goes red.
They often don’t make it. People get the green light and begin to go and then, here comes the red light runner, forcing everyone with the green light and right of way to slam on their brakes. I often witness very close calls between vehicles, or the speeding vehicle and cyclists or passengers.
It reminds me of the one crash I saw when someone ran the redlight.
This was around 1997. We were living in Mountain View, California, and had decided to go to the Mall of America in Milpitas. Stopped at a traffic light, I realized I needed to be in the lane to the right. Only one car inhabited it, so I thought I’d delay until they went and then shift over.
The light changed. The car in the next lane started off. I followed.
Suddenly, here comes a Cadillac sedan. Running the light from my left, they slammed into the driver’s side of the first car.
That could’ve easily been me.
We went right, around the block, coming back to check on the cars. Took a few minutes and by the time we arrived, the cops were there and the people from the crash were in a parking lot. But my wife and I stopped anyway, to share what we witnessed, and to check on the people.
As we approached, we heard the young female driver whose car was hit say with heavy sobbing, “I thought the light had changed.” On the parking lot’s other side, an old man paced while an elderly woman fumed beside him, arms crossed, lips tight.
I immediately said to the young driver, “It had changed. I was there. It was green when you went.”
The cops looked at me and asked who I was. I explained it all. My wife and I verified, the light was absolutely green when the woman went forward.
I heard the fuming woman say, “You’re always doing this. I knew this was going to happen.” As I looked her way, she finished to the old man, “You’re lucky you haven’t killed someone yet, but you will, if you don’t change.”
Watching these people taking greater and greater risk, I often now think the same thing which that woman said that day.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Mood: cheery
Greetings to all Earthbound beings. It’s Tuesday, October 10, 2023 — 10/10 — in Ashlandia, where the rain is welcomed and the temperature is chilly. Autumn has swiped brushes over the window’s vistas. Overnight, plums and burgundies have been delivered to compete with green, amber, lemon, and red. Quite a splash for the eyes.
Rain plays metal notes on the roof’s vents. It’s 53 F now and will advance ten degrees up the thermometer before the sun’s retreat.
With this ambience underway, I’ve not checked the news. I’m saving myself for a few minutes more to just ensure my safe little bubble of existence.
I’m eager to continue writing. On the other hand, chords loaded with guilt on sometimes struck. I feel I should be doing more about the house. Part of this is that my wife has a busy week: Food & Friends deliveries yesterday, exercise classes every other morning, and book club Wednesday night, in which she’s the moderator. She takes moderating very seriously.
Besides those pretty standard things, Empty Bowls is on Friday. This is a fundraising effort to fund the city’s charities to help fed, cloth, and shelter the less fortunate and homeless. Local artists and art classes provide bowls. You basically buy a bowl for $25 and fill it with soup. Local restaurants and politicians provide the soups, along with breads.
An annual event, my wife has been preparing the table centerpieces for a decade. The pursuit has become more involved; Peace House, the hosting organization, has less and less resources for the centerpieces. That moves the burden to my wife’s shoulders, so she’s been scrounging for flowers and vases. The ‘vases’ are pint bottling jars. Thanks to one of my friends, we managed to procure enough of those.
All that puts her on edge. But in addition, the Empty Bowls commit also asked her to make some vegan cookies for the event.
Well, my wife isn’t one to refuse such a request. Agreeing added anxiety, though. She went through recipes and made a decision about what to make. We bought the supplies last Friday. The baking will be done Thursday. I wish I could do more to help her, and that’s why I feel guilty for going off and writing.
The cloud-heavy sky has me thinking about the upcoming ring of fire eclipse. Due on Saturday, we’re right on the path’s edge as the eclipse traverses North America but wonder whether the weather will clear enough for us to enjoy a view. Stores and businesses have been selling eclipse glasses for several weeks, but Scienceworks gives them out free. We’ll get them free and then give them a donation, LOL.
I was listening to Papi singing this morning. Papi is my ginger gentlefloof, a slender blade of a feline who exhibits a standoffish air. I’m the only one permitted to properly visit with him, although my wife is making progress with him. He’s skittish and wary to the extreme, a complete 180 from Tucker (our black and white long-haired fellow), who deeply enjoys human company. Papi avoids people and animals.
So, growing cold weather induced me to close the pet door. Papi loves the night and enjoy popping in and out. Coming in to eat kibble, going back out to witness the world. The pet door’s closure forces him to convince me to let him out. He knows I don’t like breaking out of sleep and slipping out of bed to do this, so he now sings the “I Want Out” blues.
The song starts soft and slow, just one gentle note every other minute. Gently the notes build in volume and then begin to come more frequently. Finally, a wail invested with the power of all unfairly imprisoned entities breaks the dark. I usually get up and do as bid with the first few notes. I thought that I’d let Papi sing a while before letting him out, as he has such a beautiful voice.
Naturally, rain and Papi’s blues inspired Les Neurons to conjure blues about rain in my morning mental music stream (Trademark possible). Well, first there was Tina Turner singing about rain on the windows. Then John Fogerty broke in to ask me if I’ve ever seen the rain.
Slipping into the blues, Stevie Ray Vaughn apprised of flooding in Texas. Finally, though, we had Buddy Guy singing “Feels Like Rain”. Buddy’s song struck the right balance of feeling and being so it won honors as today’s theme music. It’s a song I’ve used before as my theme music, basically for the same reasons.
Stay pos, be strong, and keep chill. Coffee has landed; here’s the music. Cheers
Sediflooftary
Sediflooftary (floofinition) – Locations, habits, or practices relating to, formed by, or containing animals. First used in 1760 in Italy, in A Roman’s Guide to Floofs (translated). One chapter was devoted to sediflooftary issues, with insights about how house animals become protective of their favortite sleeping locations and how people often honor these sediflooftary spots.
In use: “A sediflooftary dip revealed Tucker’s favorite sleeping location atop the back of the living room sofa.”
In use: “Upon investigating sounds arising from a small cardboard box, four sets of puppy eyes revealed the soaked container was sediflooftary.”
The Writing Moment
I’ve just returned from vacation. We went east, from Oregon to Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania (PIP to my brain’s shorthand) primarily for a wedding (the #3 nephew in terms of age) but also to visit family, like Mom. This took about ten days out of our usual existence. While traveling and there, I planned to write, but it didn’t work out. First, my body and mind weren’t in agreement that I should get up early. Nor was my wife (something about sleeping in while on vacation). I didn’t want to sneak out, didn’t want to abandon her on vacation while she was with me for my side of the family.
Our schedule in PIP was erratic. Some writing and editing was managed around snatches of escape. Like, on the return flight. Sometimes while at Mom’s home; a few times in the hotels.
But Mom has limited mobility these days. She’s mostly confined to her house with her partner, Frank. And everyone has a lot of that stuff called life happening to them, so my sisters and their offspring can’t visit her often, and Mom gets lonely. My presence with my wife alleviated that. Naturally, once I realized it was so, I had to live up to Mom’s hopes. Definitely opinionated, she slips into conversational ruts, especially when venting about the men of her life, past and present, politics, and the ongoing feud between several sisters.
The gist of the sisters’ feud is one felt omitted in the vacation planning. Years ago, littlest sis — we’ll call her L –and her hubby ventured to the Outer Banks on vacation and included Mom and Frank. I think that was so because they lived in the same house. The four enjoyed it so much, they went the next year, and the next. Second little sister — coded G — heard about it and invited herself, spouse, and her at-home daughter, A. They went again the next year; then G also took her other daughter — J — and J’s family. Like ants finding some good stuff and spreading the word, more family invited themselves and descended on the vacation. Planning, communications, and coordination was done to include everyone who invited themselves. That’s one key to the mess: all the subsequent people outside of the first four invited themselves.
Well, the other sister — S, the oldest of the three youngest — always claimed she and her husband weren’t invited or even told about it. This has been a continuing problem in the three younger sisters’ life: who invented or included who in what party-holiday-vacation planning and participation. Finger pointing and accusations are the standard weapons in this battle. Now it’s reached the point that G and S are not speaking to one another, which goes back to early 2022. What exacerbates the situation is that S has NEVER included anyone else in any of her vacation planning. She doesn’t tell anyone where she is going or when, and will frequently keep it a secret after the event. While L’s Outer Banks vacations began around thirteen or fourteen years ago — Mom can tell you exactly when — S’s secret vacations began in at least 1991. So, boom, G responds to S. J’accuse!
This is what I heard about in 2022 when I went back to help Mom recover from her extended COVID and heart issues. My wife wasn’t with me in 2022, so SHE needed to be brought up to date about the battle this year, at least in Mom’s opinion.
It’s part of my excuse for why I managed little writing and editing. Listening to the feud saga, not just from Mom’s POV because L, G, and S also talked to my wife and I about it, was good insight into family dynamics as well as character arcs. I mean, people arcs. Observing these disagreements and how they escalate and dictate stories and relationships is terrific for my writer side.
I did try. Mom has small house. Built in 1942 by the previous owners — Mom is the house’s second owner — the rooms are small. The kitchen abuts the living room area. The living room is where Mom sets up for the day. I set up on a breakfast bar which Mom installed in the kitchen. From there, I can see and hear what’s going on in the living room.
One of Mom’s habits should be inserted her. She’s sort of a news junkie. When she comes down and sets up her living camp, she turns the television on and tunes it to MSNBC. As her hearing has declined, she keeps it LOUD. Meanwhile, in the kitchen is a radio which is tuned to a local talk radio station. It’s on at the same time. Yes, the television and radio are on at the same time, in different rooms, even when nobody is in them. Just for fun, when Mom goes into the bathroom on that level, she’ll often turn on a radio in there, too.
And while all of these are on, she’s talking with guests and getting on her phone. It’s madness, and disruptive as a quake to me. So I’ll slip into the kitchen to get a little writing in, only to be hailed from the living room to clarify some point. Is the scene developing? It’s another point in the frustrating challenge to write while in PIP.
Now I’m back in my coffee shop, returned to my place behind my walls of routines. I think part of the issues with writing when away this time was that I’ve created this writing structure as part of my temporal order of memory and episodic memories. Going for a walk alone or being in a coffee shop has long been my methodology for inviting the muses in and triggering the writing process. I think now, minus that standard structure, the muses and writing neurons just take time off.
I missed writing while I was away from it. I had to tell myself, just breathe. This will pass. And it has. Now, I resume writing, picking up right where I detoured, entertaining myself in the world of my creation. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Ah, it feels so good, like a coffee addict getting their first swallow.
Automotive Issues
I had car problems this week. They look like they’re now resolved, but a comment by a friend reminded me of a surprising recent trend, at least locally.
Three friends all had cars with a cracked windshield this year: Ford, Subaru, Toyota. None knew how the windshields broke, they just noticed cracks which were getting bigger. For each, it meant getting the windshield replaced, which was a high price and lengthy time, especially for the Toyota. Windshields are infrequently just a glass piece these days. They often have electronics and sensors embedded in them, or they’re linked to systems. Replacement requires a special machine and a specially trained individual to take out the old and put in the new and connect and calibrate everything. The machine required to replace the Toyota windshield was broken and required specialized repairs, which took months. In the case of the Ford, the specialist was out for a few weeks for reasons unknown.
I remember the old days, when a guy came to our house and replaced the windshield in an hour in the garage. My, how times have changed.
Military Dreams Again
The dreams flowed together. All were of a military sort but had nothing to do with my military career.
The first found me with others outside, beside parked cars outside of apartment and business complexes. My wife was with me and the others. All the folk were dream acquaintances, no one from real life.
My wife said with alarm, “I just heard that they’re going to set off a nuke.”
Disbelief coursed around the group. Several said, “They wouldn’t.”
A muted boom froze us. Turning like one being, we looked across and over trees. A bright white light flashed.
“They did it,” someone said, a comment echoed by others.
“We’d better get away,” people said, “get to shelter. Run, hurry.”
The rest ran. I stayed by a car. I wanted to see what would happen to me when the nuke’s energy struck. Seeing it coming as a red light, I closed my eyes and ducked my head, then flattened against the car’s side. Red radiation painted my skin. As I rose, looking at my skin, I thought, I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.
But it was done.
Next, I was with an army in place outside. We were all in woody camo gear. Thin, steady drizzle dampened our spirits, clothing and equipment. Across the valley was a like enemy encampment. We were waiting for them to attack.
The waiting was so tedious. Boredom overtook me. And I was cold, wet, and underdressed. From this, I decided to sneak away to get a outerwear. With continuing glances to ensure I wasn’t observed but also that the attack wasn’t imminent, I stole away from the woodsy front. Behind it was a village with widely spaced dwellings. Free of tension, relaxed, it was a wholly different state. I found the cottage where I’d been staying, went in and found my gear. After changing, I added the coat and headed back out.
Outside, I saw our commanders talking, heads down, close together, strolling. I slipped in behind them, following them, to see what I could learn. Eventually, they went to a place where a whiteboard had a map drawn on it. They wrote on it. Continuing to spy, I realized that the two men were in love with one another but wouldn’t address their relationship, and that was paralyzing their abilities to think, plan, and lead. Dismayed, I headed back to the front.
Back there, I settled back in. Nothing had changed. I stayed for a while, watching, drizzle falling, chill air kissing me, until someone came by and told me I was relieved so I can sleep and eat. Fully dressed, I settled into a bed. Someone else was on my left side. As I slept, others would join me and I’d wake up. Typically a woman, they would curl up against me for warmth, slept for a time, and then leave. Waking to return to duty, I knew that had happened nineteen times. One had been my sister, who came by, laughing, confessing that she’d heard I was warm and comforting.
I returned to duty. Looking through the drizzle across the valley, I saw a smiling white woman with frizzy brown hair and glasses appear. The enemy commander, I knew. I passed the word that she was there and warned others to be ready because she was working her way down through her troops, and I thought they might be preparing to launch their attack. We got ready to fight but the commander went down and disappeared from sight.
Suspecting subterfuge, I began watching our flanks. In a moment, I saw her appear, coming to us from the left. “There she is,” I told the rest, rising to go and confront her. As I went out, though, she transformed into another person who looked almost the same.
Surprise surmounted me. Had I been wrong, or was this a trick? I divided my time between watching her and surveilling the enemy across the valley, waiting for something to happen.
Dream end.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts
I find myself part of a new breed, one that looks at the activity tracker on their wrist and then taps it to reach a specific piece of desired information or function. I think I’ll call folks like me ‘wrist-tappers’. Maybe just tappers.
Michael Seidel, writer 