Tag: just goofing around

Retrofloof

Retrofloof (catfinition) – a time-traveling cat who insists on living in the past.

In use:

Lady, the little gray tabby with a tawny belly, was a retrofloof, disappearing as suddenly as she’d arrived, with as little explanation to it.

He didn’t worry; another retrofloof would soon show up. Other people thought retrofloofs were strays, but he knew that cats liked time-traveling, and preferred (from his experience and perspective, at least) to go into the past to relive their past lives.

How did he know the cats traveled into the past? They’d informed him that it was what they did. Not all who disappeared were retrofloofs, of course; some were alterfloofs, choosing to live in alternative dimensions. But Lady, she had told him, was a retrofloof.

 

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The Memory

Billy got hit by a truck, he says.

He thinks, a truck hit Billy, but he doesn’t say anything. The other is still speaking in slow, backwoods twangs and drawls.

Boy, do I remember that day. We were standing on one side of the road, by the school entrance. Billy was on the other side. He saw us and got this big grin. One of them big-ass coal trucks was hauling ass toward us, but Billy started running across the road. It was all so fast, I didn’t even have time to shout or think. The truck driver slammed on his brakes. The tires locked up in screaming smoke, and the brakes were grinding and squealing in what seemed like forever. I swear to God, I saw Billy turn and look at the truck at the last second, like he’d just realized it was there. Then the truck took Billy down the road.

His shoe flew off. I saw it fly away, like a damn bird. It landed off the side of the road. Then the truck was stopped, and it was all quiet for, I don’t know, it seemed like forever, but it wasn’t. Then someone shouted, Billy, and we all started running for the truck.

His blue eyes get still and wide, staring far off across time and space. Man, I remember that day like it was yesterday, he says.

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Steps

He’s thinking about the day. He needs to dress, which means walking to the bedroom, fifty-eight steps. He’ll walk around downtown. It’s eight hundred steps from the plaza to the library.

Do you want to see a movie? she asks.

I don’t know, he answers. What’s playing?

She reads him a list with the playing times.

I don’t know, he says. Let me think about it.

Instead, he thinks walking to the movies, thirty-two hundred steps. He thinks about getting a drink of water in the kitchen, twenty-one steps.

Something is wrong, he thinks, getting up. Something has gone awry. Counting steps, he goes into the other room. He was supposed to do something there, but it fades away under the count. He walks around the room for a quarter mile, four hundred and fifty steps, and then returns to the other room.

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A Time Pause

Walking around Ashland, especially in the commercial area downtown along Main Street and the Plaza, I encounter buildings constructed between one hundred and one hundred ten years ago. Their construction date is easily known because the year is on the building, which I like. But seeing such a proliferation of construction, I wonder what the town was then like, and the people’s vision of the future, and then consider what this town might look like one hundred years from now.

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Her Memory

She’d found herself forgetting everything. It was, she explained to friends and families (who didn’t seem interested), like a wall or chasm existed between the answer and the question. She knew the answer was on the other side, but she couldn’t reach it.

This infuriated her. She’d been a five-time champion on Jeopardy! Ask her anything about culture, politics, arts and literature, physics and chemistry, or geography and history, and she could give you a quick, correct answer. Or could. Now it was changing.

She would not accept this. She adapted, because that was her nature, first keeping copious notes on calendars and notebooks about everything that happened. Nothing was too mundane. Updating her calendars and notebooks took from fifteen minutes to an hour every day, and was done as part of her ritual of preparing to retire for the night. Memories of more personal matters were augmented via recordings. The first recordings were done with a small Sony tape recorder. She switched to digital as the technology matured and became cheaper and more reliable. Eventually, she started making digital video recordings and storing them on the cloud. Then she could see and hear herself, reassuring herself of who she was and who she’d been.

By then, she’d retired. By then, her hair was wispy and white, and she wore wigs, out of vanity. By then, she’d buried her third husband and second child, and her parents and siblings. By then, she’d gone through cancer in her cervix and successful treatment, and had a hip replaced after a fall, and was treated for glaucoma, and celebrated her ninetieth birthday. By then, many friends had died or moved away, or were in hospice, or couldn’t remember her. By then, new technology emerged for an augmented digital memory, something like Keanu Reeves’ character had in Johnny Mnemonic. She’d enjoyed the book (by William Gibson) (because she loved science fiction and fantasy), but didn’t like the movie. But then, she’d never been a huge Keanu Reeves fan, outside of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, although he wasn’t bad in the first Matrix film.

Technology improved. She gave her memory a name, George, after her first husband. George would chat with her about what she needed to know and do, and what had happened, who said what when.

A new product, “Your Best Friend,” emerged. Using smart technology embedded in phones, computers, cars, houses, and businesses, her memory could have a holographic presence and a voice outside her head, almost everywhere, almost all the time.

She loved this aspect. She named her new memory Jean, after a friend she’d lost in her past. She and Jean had shared many good times together, and she thought it would be better to have a dead girlfriend as a faux companion rather than a dead husband.

She and Jean went everywhere together. It was initially a little strange to others and she was self-conscious about it, because it was all new, and others didn’t have virtual holographic friends. Others thought it odd, or that she was weird, or demented, you know, delusional. She was on the cutting edge. If her husband(s) could see her now. Hah!

Technology improved and became cheaper and more prevalent. Soon, many people had such companions, nannies, guards, and mentors. Eventually, she forgot that this was her memory.

Her memory had become her best friend, which, if she thought about it, was how it should be.

 

2

Here It Comes

Here it comes,

the daily screed,

the morning sun,

the cat and the first cup,

here it comes,

here it comes.

 

Here comes the parade,

here comes the day,

here comes the moment,

here comes your chance,

here it comes,

here it comes.

 

Here comes the hopes and dreams,

here comes the losses and tears,

here comes the beginning,

here comes the end,

here comes the realization,

here comes the rest.

 

Here it comes,

here it comes.

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Pie Connection

You ever think about the genetic connections, moments of thought and experience, and the actions taken and not taken, the words said and heard, that allow you to arrive at the moment that a piece of pie comes, and you sit up with excitement and anticipation, and say, “Oh, boy, pie!”?

Naw, me neither.

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Disaster Mind

Does an early morning telephone call kick a worried hiss into your mind, “Oh, no, what’s gone wrong? Who died?” Do you sit and think, if there’s a disaster here, how will we survive? Do you ever wonder if you left something on, such as the oven, after you departed the house, or if you closed the garage door, or locked the doors after leaving?

If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, you might be suffering from disaster mind.

Disaster mind is a chronic condition that afflicts millions of Americans. It can strike at any time. Recent studies conducted on the Internet estimate over ninety-nine percent of Americans suffer disaster mind. Although the middle-aged and elderly suffer disaster mind more often, students, professional athletes, sales managers, single people, married couples and parents are frequently prone to disaster mind.

Disaster mind affects more women then men, except during football season. Symptoms include worrying, anxiety, and eating comfort food to cope with worries. Extreme cases of disaster mind cause some people to drink more than one glass of wine or beer a night, complain, and wish for the “good old days.” People suffering from disaster mind tend to dawdle, read a great deal, and watch television and movies. Disaster mind sufferers often follow politics, and self-label as “political junkies.”

If you think you might be suffering from disaster mind, doctors suggest you try not to think about it. If that doesn’t work, indulge in wine or beer with pizza, followed by ice cream or pie, and lose yourself in a good book or movie. Chips with guacamole and cheesy foods also work well.

That’s what works for me.

1

Recommendations

Does it sadden you when you think you know someone, and you recommend a book, movie, restaurant, or something, and then ask them about it later, and they say, “Well, it was okay?”

Yes, bums me. The converse is true, too, when someone recommends something to me because they think I’ll really like it, and I don’t .

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