Tag: memories

Friday’s Theme Music

I began the day by asking GPT4 via Bing to write about Ashland, Oregon today. Here is the response.

Ashland is a city in southern Oregon that is known for its cultural and natural attractions. Today, the weather was cloudy and cold, with a high of 45°F and a low of 27°F1. Some of the things that people could do today in Ashland were visiting the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, hiking in Lithia Park, exploring the ScienceWorks Hands-On Museum, or enjoying the local cuisine and art2. Today was also a day of news for Ashland, as some Starbucks workers continued their fight to unionize3, the Mail Tribune announced its closure after 115 years of operation4, and a bill to create a guaranteed income program for Oregon sparked debate5.

It’s interesting, like a school paper. Doesn’t tell me the day or my favorites, sunrise and sunset. Told me a news summary and the weather.

A number of things prompted my choice. I’ve been using GPT4 via Bing for about two weeks. Getting into dialogues with it is interesting. Meanwhile, Creativindie.com used GPT4 to write some science fiction. Here’s a sample.

Beneath the cathedral of indigo heavens, where constellations danced like divine jewels, a solitary figure traversed the twilight realm. The forest, an intricate tapestry of shadows and whispers, bore witness to his journey. His gait, a melody of steps whispered into the hallowed earth, carried him onward like a specter of dreams.

The air, heavy with the scent of ancient secrets and verdant life, caressed the wanderer’s face. Gossamer strands of otherworldly mist, entwined in the tresses of nocturnal blooms, played with the edges of his cloak. Above, the moon, a luminous pearl suspended amidst the cosmos, bathed the world in ethereal opalescence.

The wanderer’s eyes, twin oceans of liquid azure, were imbued with a tale of a time long forgotten, and his heart resonated with an unyielding determination. He bore the weight of an untold legacy upon his shoulders, a mantle woven from the threads of fate and chance. His destination shimmered like a mirage on the horizon, a promise, a whisper of hope as ephemeral as the morning dew.

End GPT4

Any thoughts?

Let the record establish that this is Friday, March 17, 2023. Sol spread sunny wealth across the winting land at 7:20 and twelves hours later, sunset takes place at 7:20. It’s an Ashlandia equinox. It’s St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t celebrate it as I once did. Not even wearing green…yet. I’ll don green fleece, I suppose.

Personally, in another sign of life and progress, my niece’s 38th birthday is today. She has three boys of her own now. It’s one of those holy-cow moments.

I have Harry Nilsson and “Jump Into the Fire” from 1971 in the morning mental music stream. This is because the drummer on the song, Jim Gordon, passed away this week, 77 years old. Suffering some issues, he’d murdered his mother and died in a medical and psychiatric prison.

I feel like a good day has begun. Stay pos. Coffee has been tested and approved for my consumption this morning. Of course, I’m self-regulated – inspector, tester, approver. Now strong checks and balances built into this system.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Light and shadows tangoed on the bedroom walls. The wind had come up and at 7:24 AM, the sun showed it. Working together, they had the trees dancing.

It’s Thursday, March 16, 2023. A Sunday pizza party is on for a few friends. One of them likes organizing this about every five to six months. Just a get-together to eat, chat, and see faces. Three couples, six faces.

It’s 42 degrees F at my Ashlandia place. Blue skies. Sunset will be at 7:16 this evening. Till then, the temperature will go up the numbers until finding 44 F.

Just finished reading a couple books — We Are Legion (We Are Bob), The Chalk Circle Man — and am starting The Thursday Murder Club and Full. Contacting contractors is in the to-do list for various house improvements and repairs, since it’s March and the weather should become acceptable for these things to be done, like painting the house and repairing a window. And isn’t it interesting that ‘contractor’ is one of those words that end in ‘-or’ instead of ‘er’?

The cats are out. They like the sunshine and warmer temps but dislike the wind. Neither are wind fans. I expect one to start beating on the door at any moment.

“Nowhere Man” by the Beatles (1965) is stuck in the morning mental music stream. I don’t know if The Neurons desposited them or some other agency. No clue as to the why it’s playing. I’ve used it as theme music before and wrote about it then so I’ll not re-state all that. Just seems to fit some mode today. Maybe I feel like I’m nine again on some level. I chose this video they took about doing the song and then perform it in a ‘live’ setting, comparing it to the notes ingrained in my head. I’ve always been intrigued by the differences between studio recordings and how the band play it live.

Some of the catalyst for “Nowhere Man” might be the text exchanges with Mom. I’m asking her about the inspiration for her children’s names and the story behind my own. Michael wasn’t first choice. Anyway, I’d known a few of those stories and was surprised that the story was different this time. Did I mis-remember or is she telling it differently? I go with the latter. Either way, it’s a little bummer that what I recall isn’t what I hear now, because one of us is changing their tale.

Here’s the music. Hope you enjoy it. I’m off to let the cats in and get coffee. Stay pos, and carpes Thursday. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

White billows of clouds push and pull across the blue sky. Sunshine bullies the southern and eastern views. “Gorgeous,” the cats say.

I agree with them. This Friday, March 10, 2023, it’s 39 F outside but sunny, with a high of 50 expected. Showers for the next five days, the weather minions tell me with a wink. Highs about 50 F, low of 36. Ashlandia’s weather is sliding closer to its norm. The winds have settled into an infrequent light breeze, but they gave us a rainy tussle yesterday, shoving people around, fighting against car doors being shut, trying to rip hats and clothes off, and mangling umbrellas.

Today’s sun presence began at dawn, a little before 6:32 AM, and will continue for almost twelve hours. All that changes on Sunday. We’re springing ahead. Sunrise won’t be until 7:30 then, but we’ll have more shine on the day’s tail end. Of course, it means less sleep because if I get up at my usual time, it’ll be an hour later.

I have the song, “Magic”, by Pilot (1973) in my head. Dream stuff. In the dream, I was going through an almost empty city looking for magic. While it was a modern city, I wore dusty old white robes, bit torn, with sandals, and had been walking for a long time. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking for but then, in the dream, it came to me, I’m looking for magic. With that, I started the air for magic, following my nose, letting it lead me, and then looking. I came across others and spoke to them about it, and sometimes cars would drive by, but no one was helping me. I stayed on my own. Then, voila, walked around a corner. There was a aluminum briefcase against the wall. With some surprise, I knew it was mine. I thought I’d lost it years before. Opening it, I found magic.

Thinking about the dream later, I kept wondering what did I see in the briefcase that I knew it was magic? But, like the movie Pulp Fiction, I never saw the briefcase’s contents. Gold didn’t come out of my briefcase, though, and I never thought or said it was beautiful. Then, though, The Neurons came through with Pilo out of my childhood.

Stay pos. This is Friday. Pretty exciting, huh? Well, all kinds of approaches can be employed for Friday. Me, it’s Friday, time to write again, woo-hoo. That just might be my coffee shouting. I’ve had a cup already.

Here’s the song. Cheers

1

Thursday’s Theme Music

Windy is the weather word for today. Windy, as in lots of wind, and it’s gonna get intense. Not hurricane, cyclone, tornado, or typhoon level, no. But hold onto your hats. Or tie them on tight.

Today is Thursday, 3/9/2023. Temperature is 42. We lack snow, fog, and rain at the moment. We offer blue sky, white clouds, and sunshine on this Ashlandia morning. The sun was coming up at 6:33 AM, when Papi did his seal bark to demand exit number three. The window beating to come back in was at 7:05. Ashlandia’s sunset comes at 6:10. We’ll be up to 42 F by then.

Papi is back out now, sitting on the porch, glaring at the wind, very dismayed with the weather. He’ll be wanting back in soon, and then will rest so that he’s fresh for his nightly needs. He is off, victimized by the book club visitors last night. Papi is not one to socialize with people or animals. He’s a loner. When they arrived, he retreated to the master BR and sulked on the bed, listening for one of them attempting to sneak up on him. He’s knockin’ to get back in now. Excuse me.

Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to be gone so long. Had to pay the floof tax and tell him how smart and handsome he is until he said, “Enough,” and dashed off. Those of you with floofs will understand.

Papi is a neat and clean cat, though. Not a fur out of place. Any out of place furs are immediately shed. It’s quite a system.

I dreamed I was trying to remember who sang “Baby Blue”, a song which came out in 1971. As part of my dream effort, I kept watching a black and white static-filled TV screen while older me shouted at younger me, “Bad Finger. It’s Bad Finger.” Younger me would not listen, but kept muttering, “Bad Company?” Arrgh.

It’s a walking song in the morning mental music stream today. Out yesterday, walking today. Winting is back and the sun and cold wind medley was enhanced by things trying to figure out if they should bloom now. All very pleasant, however. Reminded me of youthful moments. The Neurons tossed a Grand Funk song, “I’m Your Captain (Closer to Home)” from 1970 into the mix. It’s a song I often recalled when walking or driving and getting close to home. I often traveled in my youth, and then again in the military, and then again in marketing.

That’s enough of that, I’m sure. Stay pos. Treat Thursday like a golden opportunity and do your thang. Peace out.

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Monday’s Theme Music

They told us it would be snowing again on Monday morning, but wow. Sunshine is splashing the land like champagne at a championship celebration. I’m digging it. So are the purr beasts.

Temperature, we’re looking at 42 F, up from overnight stays at 26. 42, the weather theorists say, will be our high today. This glorious sun entered the scene at 6:38 and sunset will come at 6:07 on the PM end. Not bad for Monday, March 6, 2023.

I’ve been reading/writing, assisting spouse with house-cleaning needs. She’s hosting her book club this month. Originally known as ‘The Number One Ladies’ Book Club’, inspired by the set of novels they were reading at that time, they don’t go by that name any longer. They’re just the book club.

Everything presented to the public has been cleaned for the book gathering. I am not permitted to be present. Standard rule across all the households. Members only, and they’ve decided, for purposes of dynamics, to keep it female only. New members ask to join and that’s thoroughly debated as the candidate is vetted. They’ve been doing this for fifteen years, I think. They rotate roles. Each month, one serves as host, another is moderator, and a third selected the book. These roles are established by requests, volunteering, discussing, and voting in December. Several original members have dropped out or moved away. One member passed away. Cancer. Don’t know what their median age is, but the cast includes retired accountants, teachers, nurses, administrators, and fitness instructors. The book club cooking phase will commence tomorrow. The meeting is Wednesday. They meet once a month.

I do get to participate vicariously through discussions with my wife as she reads and thinks about the books and researches the authors. I’ll read many of the books as well as the discussions draw me in.

An off-the-cuff remark to my spouse excited The Neurons. They responded with thoughts and music about Pandora’s Box. With a little mental dithering, I addressed the two different pop songs I know by that name. They’re wholly different. The Aerosmith version was released in 1974, and it’s a raunchy rocker. Procol Harum’s piece followed a year later, and as expected, takes a little more cerebral approach. I’ll include both today, and you can decide works as your Monday theme music.

Coffee is being enjoyed as I type. Stay positive and use your day as best as you can. Don’t be one of those who sit back at the end and say, “Well, I wasted that day.” Never a good feeling. Sometimes happens, but I try to avoid it if I can.

Here are the tunes. Cheers

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Flooformation

Flooformation (floofinition) – 1. Animal’s ability to change its look, attitude, or behavior.

In use: “Crystal was a sweet little Bombay black with a softly questioning meow, a deeply happy purr, and the most gorgeous black velvet fur. She loved sleeping on laps, but the first sound of an animal fight brought a flooformation into baleful-eyed ninja cat, terrifying other animals — and humans who got in her way.”

2. A change to an animal brought about by care, patience, and/or medical assistance.

In use: “His first years in the neighborhood, Tucker was identified as a black and white terror, a beast unwilling to back down and eager to bring it on. Dental work, patient words, and a home to call his, and his flooformation into a doting lap cat began.”

3. The standard pecking order or line up shared by animals.

In use: “When Michael took the cats for a walk at night — his three, with the neighbor’s big orange cat joining them — they always used the same flooformation, Jade on point, Rocky and Sammy flanking her, and the neighbor cat finishing the diamond as a rear guard. With Michael setting the pace and direction, the five moved as one.”

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Fursday Theme Music

Sunshine beamed in on gray rays at 6:45 Ashlandia morning time. As the hours scurry past, snow fields lose their battle against heat. Their edges draw in with softer roundness. Reinforcement flurries are flying in later today. Will it be enough? Will it arrive in time? It’s dire for the snow. Caught in the situation, icicles cling to gutters and drainpipes. Crystallized snow falls off branches and leaves with tinkling hisses.

It’s 31 F, on its way to 44 F, according to the weather mongers.

It’s Thursday, March 2, 2023, a hazy wintry shade. Spring has temporarily slid its intentions back into the Ashlandia shadows. But fresh stocks of doughnuts are in stores and bakeries. Sunset arrives in the evening, 6:03.

Les chats aren’t pleased with the weather situation, particularly Papi. His energy boils up. Sunshine reinvigorates him. Tthere he goes, dashing through the snow…well, not dashing, but employing small steps, bean-toeing on his tiny paws — such small murder mittens, he has — back to the house’s inside warmth for distraction. We have things to do, we explain to him, around petting and playing with him. More, he begs with sweet eyes and voice. What are we to do against such a power but obey?

I cleaned our carpetting the other day. As I drifted through that mechanical process, my freed mind contemplated me, my life, my writing. Cleaning house is always a meditative function for me. As thoughts joined and fragmented, I drifted through the usual shallows of who I am, where I’m at, and where I’m hiding. Out of this, The Neurons pulled a song up, dusted it off, and put into into the mental music stream where it still plays this morning. “Holly Holy” by Neil Diamond” when I was a young teenager. Looking it up, records show it was 1969. It wasn’t a popular song among my friends. Too slow and most said, “I don’t understand it.” Nor did I. It’s buildup hooked me, and I sat, listening to the words, trying to get them right, baffled by what I heard. But I heard and understood some of the first lines, “Where I am, what I am, what I believe in,” had me. This is an exploration and a declaration. I identified with it.

Coffee’s aromatic steam rises from my cup, enticing my lips. Stay pos, and own this Thursday like it’s a gift you didn’t expect. Here’s the tune. Cheers

8

Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

They were reading anecdotes about children mentioning previous life experiences.

“Did you ever have something like that?” his wife asked.

He nodded. “When I was a child, less than five years old, I told people that I’d been in the civil war. I called myself a rebel, and always wanted CSA hats and flags and wore them, carrying a bugle, and was really proud of being born in Virginia because that’s where our capitol was. Adults were always correcting me about the capitol being Washington D.C. and not in Virginia, so it was confusing and frustrating for a while.”

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Saturday in Ashlandia. February 25, 2023. Plenty of sunshine heading our way. People walk dogs by the house. A few tightly encased joggers take the hill. A robin patrols the backyard. Scrub jaws hop the front lawn. Cats lap up sunshine in living room pools.

It’s 37 F now, up from sunrise’s 29 F. The sun’s entrance was 6:53 AM. Exit from Ashlandia is expected at 5:52 this evening, after we’ve gone into the fifties. About 97 percent of our local snow is melted. Icy pockets remain in hollows, dips, and shadowy places where the sun don’t shine.

The Neurons are playing “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by the Verve in the morning mental music stream. My wife and I heard it in the car while running errands yesterday. The song came out in 1997, after I’d been retired from the military for over a year, after I’d bought a new car, and was basically living a new life. The song was right for the time, which found my circumstances improving. When we listened yesterday, K asked about part of the song. “It songs like he’s singing ‘moan’ to me.” No, it’s mold, as in this is how I’m molded.

Papi wants out to scout the terrain and inspect his environment. Stay pos. I’m off for coffee and breakfast. I’m thinking about making savory oatmeal. Here’s the Verve. Cheers

2

Saturday’s Theme Music

A whitewashed sky met the sun as it hopped the horizon at 7:05 this morning. 36 F now, the weather goons says to us, they say it’s gonna be 49 F before the sun’s sojourn over Ashlandia ends on this Saturday, Feb. 18, 2023.

I’ve found that feeding Papi the ginger wunderfloof at 5:30 slows his roll. Yes, that’s AM. I can do it in my sleep. He gets so happy about having a little tin of something opened and spooned out. Amazing that he only nibbles five bites before declaring that it was enough and heads to the kibble. He enjoys the pomp and ceremony of wet food twice a day but he’s a kibbler at heart. Tucker eats it all. The wet food is attacked with low purrs and gusto. Very sweet and funny to watch. Specially at 5:30 AM. He reasons, if the other boy is getting some, he’s getting some, too. Then it’s back to the bed beside me for Tucker, wearing a cat food fragrance, washing himself with such rigor that the bed shakes me awake, and I think, earthquake. Naw, just a floofquake.

The Neurons are singing “(Absolutely) Story of A Girl” by Nine Days (2000). All started with a cat. Whole story begins back in the eighties and my main floof of the period, Rocky, sole survivor of his litter and a hoarding situation. He and I became acquainted in Germany when he fit in my palm and his eyes weren’t open. His mom wanted nothing to do with him but he was a true sweetfloof, total playhead. When “(Absolutely) Story of A Girl” was on the air as part of the rotations, I naturally sang “This is the story of a cat” to hijm. I mean, who wouldn’t, right? Decades later, the song was revived for Papi this morning. “This is the story of a cat, who woke me up to go out and come back.” Time after time, as Lauper would say.

Stay pos, catch the light and tame the day. I’ll get right on that as soon as my brain has more coffee. Here’s the tune. Know it? Cheers

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