Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
He sipped his beer, a locally brewed IPA, and then set the mug down. “I came to Ashland for love in 1972. I’d met this woman in Ohio. She lived here. So I followed her here.”
“Did you marry her?”
“No. We were together for ten years. Then she moved out and we moved on. She lives in Tacoma now. Married, with children.” He smiled toward the wall. “We remain on good terms. We talk to one another on the phone. Once in a while.”
I had to go out for a greeting card for my Uncle this weekend. Somehow, I’d overlooked getting him a card. Receiving his in the mail was an ‘oh, shit,’ moment.
We have some on hand but none work for him. My father is the oldest. This uncle is one of Dad’s younger brothers, the older of the two younger brothers. There are also two sisters, all still alive and in their seventies and eighties. Uncle P was in the Air Force at the same time as I was, stationed in the San Antonio area when I went through basic training there. I was eighteen. He and his family treated me to Thanksgiving (Detroit and Dallas played) and took me out to do things when I earned free time and passes. Later, now married, I was stationed in the area on permanent assignment. Uncle P and his family again gave us a place to go, a family to connect with thousands of miles from home.
He’s endured the usual life movements. Children grew and married. Grandchildren were born. He had three children, two daughters and a son, ranging in age from one to six years younger than me.
Uncle P’s wife died of breast cancer four years ago. His youngest daughter died in 2020. His son died in 2021. Cancer for both. One daughter remains, but she’s a gem.
So, finding the right card for him was challenging. The cards were picked over, of course. Several stores were visited. Eventually the right card was found to help tell this man how much he’s meant to me and my wife, how sorry we are for his losses, how we hope that 2022 is a brighter year for him.
It’s a lot for a card to carry.
It’s either the start or the end but it seems like the middle, too, because there’s never a pause. The days keep coming and going.
Today’s visitor is Sunday, December 19, 2021. Weather here is blustery, my friends, with bloated clouds puffing up their white chests and declaring, “Maybe I’ll rain. Who knows? Depends on how I feel.” The temperature is climbing the incline toward a high of 47 F. After trudging since sunup at 7:35 AM, it’s reached 46. Should manage 47 by sunset at 4:41 PM, donchathink?
That holds one of the period’s more interesting aspects for me. Sunrise continues getting later, minute by minute. But sunset had a pause, and now is slowly scaling back. Of course, we’re coming to that symbolic day when it’s the shortest of the year up north and longest of the year down south. Call it symbolic because your days may vary.
I’m in a funk again. Never a merry person at the yearly holidays — they want to socialize, and I’m not adept at the s thing — it adds stress, you know? — and I like my routines — a myriad of minor issues has sprouted to layer more stress and frustration. Lay this all on top of COVID restrictions and I’m as happy as a clam on warm cement road: not where I desire to be. So, today’s morning music mental stream occupant — the MMMSO, pronounced meso, if you’re tracking at home — is a 1966 Cream song, “I Feel Free”. Yes, this is a redundant theme song offering. Was just used on a Friday in March of 2021, when the sun rose at 7:06 AM and set at 7:30 PM. So, sue me. Or turn the page. Swipe right. Click away. (“Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and click away…”) But it’s special circumstances, innit? Motivation music to break out of the encumbrances levied on us by season, situation, and strife.
Stay positive, test negative, and be circumspect, as Doctor Fauci suggests — weigh the risks, wear masks as needed, and get the vaccine and booster when ye can. I’m off on a coffee quest. It’ll take me far away from here, all the way into the kitchen, almost twenty-two feet as the cats jog. Here’s the music. Cheers
He sits in a chair and closes his eyes
With the space of a breath
He becomes another guy
Living in another place and time
Where he sits in a chair and closes his eyes
Ever becoming another guy
Living in another space and time
Nothing is done
Everything’s changed
And all is the same
Never rearranged
Except he sits in his chair
And closes his eyes
And becomes another guy
In another space and time
Saturday falls on us like a time-released drug. So much to do! Or not to do. Depends on your point of view. I speak of Saturday but for some, Saturday comes on a Wednesday. That’s how their work or school week flows.
Today is October 2, 2021. October 4, 1974 is when I enlisted in the USAF, so back on October 2, 1974, I was readying myself to leave. First airplane flight; until then, it’d been buses or cars. Now here was the big jet, carrying me across the country to Texas. My girlfriend, who became my wife a year later, was more nervous than me. I was just going away. My childhood would officially end. Eighteen years old, a few months removed from high school graduation, I was ready.
Sunrise today was at 7:09 AM. Sunset will arrive at 6:51 PM. Temperatures again, cool this morning, 50 F, will rise into the seventies. The world keeps on turning.
With that, I go to the mental music stream, where Fleetwood Mac is performing “World Turning” from 1975. I heard it when I was on leave, readying myself to go on my first overseas tour, fifteen months without my wife. We’ve done a lot together since then. Have had many disagreements. Separated with plans to end it. But here we are, still together. World keeps turning. Shit happens but the world keeps turning. Probably sums up my general approach to existence.
I like this live recording (love that paradox of modern terminology) of the song. Had not heard this version before now. It works.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax and boosters. Also get coffee. That’s where I’m going. Peace out.
Michael Seidel, writer 