Out for a break from writing, I was walking up Walker Street in front of SOU’s derelict houses. A doe just finished giving birth to a fawn in one of the yards. Hearing me, Mom turned attention my way, and then sniffed and licked her newborn. Standing, the tiny creature took a few tentative steps. Then Mom gave me another long look. I called out, “Be smart, stay safe, my friends.” Big ears coming my way, Mom and baby turned together and watched me continue my walk.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Mood: Coffeefied
Tuesday, June 4, 2024, has crept in. Sun and clouds play keep away. Air feels cool but humid. A sense of a storm is sneaking in. None is projected. Sunshine is expected to crack through and send the high to 84 F. We’re told it’s a heat wave starting but I don’t believe them. That’s science and facts, which is cover for made-up bullshit. Yeah, that’s some low-grade early morning snark.
Ashlandia is quiet and still this morning. Saw my first fawn of the year two hours ago. No bigger than Papi, my ginger flooft, the fawn was prancing up the street alongside momma. Love those little miniatures.
There’s all manner of news out there around the world. Most of it seems to fall in the ‘not-so-good’ bucket, like large and venomous invasive flying spiders and invasive snake-head fish which can stay on land for several days. The spiders aren’t flying like birds with wings. I would like to see spiders with wings, who also maybe sing. Then they’d start landing on our trees, singing us awake. Singing, flying spiders.
These flying spiders are actually ballooning. If they’re like ballooning humans, expect some festivals and an increase in wine sales.
I’m staying in Ashland for a comment about our newly paved Ashland Street. One of two main drags — the other is Siskiyou Boulevard — it’s actually half-paved at this point. No matter. It’s a vast improvement. I’m hoping the rest is paved before this re-paved piece begins crumbling. That’s the nature of our streets. We’re not the Romans, you know.
With the new pavement has come bold and vibrant street markings. But there’s new green lines, too. No locals I spoke with knew what they were, forcing me to investigate via the net. These green lines are apparently ‘bike boxes’.
“When the traffic signal is yellow or red, motorists must stop behind the white stop line behind the green bike box. Don’t stop on top of the bike box. Keep it clear for cyclists to use. No right turns on red at these intersections.” h/t to Marty Smith @ Williamette Week.
Well, wait then. These are now no-right turn on red intersections? That makes a huge impact on our driving habits.
My morning mental music stream (Trademark chillin’) features Smash Mouth performing “Then the Morning Comes” from 1999. “Why that song?” I coolly asked Les Neurons.
“That’s how it is with some people,” they replied. “Some just say and do shit out of the blue. They walk by and drop a bomb like it ain’t no thing. Just like the song implies.”
“Anyone in particular?” I inquired.
The Neurons snickered. “You probably have some ideas.”
I think these are the lyrics The Neurons are talking about:
[Pre-Chorus 1]
And the world’s a stage(And the world’s a faze)
And the end is near
So push rewind, just in time, thank anybody
You’re gonna do it again
h/t to Genius.com
Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Time for some clickety-click. Here’s the music. Cheers
We Got It All
First came a blind cane tapping, tentative, sporadic, all over. Rain.
Studying the morass of oncoming darkening clouds, I stepped out and waited. Rain drops pecked my cheek, patted my hair, skipped off my arm. I waited.
A wind rushed through the trees like an animal unleashed back to the wilderness and scurried past me. The storm cleared the high distant hills with a ragged announcement of thunder. I waited.
More urgent drops approached They were serious about maintaining a constant dispersal rate and issued warning I was going to get wet. I waited.
The full regiment of rain galloped toward me. Thunder burst loose of its binds. Lightning ripped across the clouds. More thunder chased it with heavy energy. And the rain and wind came with a howling spirit, striking my clothes and skin, posting goosebumps on my flesh.
And I stayed.
It was a classic Pittsburgh thunderstorm.
A Threefer: The Alligators, Awards, and Colrng Dream
After an era of dreaming where episodic and movie dreams that didn’t feature me dominated, dreams about me have punched back. Last night delivered a dream in three parts.
Part One began with me visiting with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend in Florida. Nice evening, etc, as we strolled along a via after enjoying a meal.
Two small alligators ran toward me. Each was about three feet long. I dodged them while warning others about the alligators’ presence. My SIL said something like, “Oh, those are my pets.”
They could be her pets but that didn’t stop the two from attacking me. As I danced and dodged them, one somehow leaped up and latched onto my back. The one chomping on me had hold of my shirt and a little of my muscle and skin.
I didn’t feel any pain, but I was terrified and wanted it gone. Whirling in circles and shouting for help, I tried getting free. The dinosaur-like beast budging.
I saw its partner still on the cement walk. “Oh, that one is dead,” someone said.
Retrieving the stiff dead ‘gator, I used it as a weapon, swinging over my shoulders to bludgeon the one hanging on. The tenacious reptile hung on. I finally shoved myself backwards into a wall as hard as I can. Crushing the alligator between me and the wall with enough force, it released me but then lunged for my neck. Twisting and ducking, I thwacked it with the dead gator and evaded its teeth. Then I ran away.
Slowing up, I found myself inside a sort of strip mall. Someone who I recognized as a brother (but not my RL brother), a large guy with black hair, was in there sitting at a white folding table.
He said, “Hey, they came out with the awards. I won.”
I said, “Congratulations, well done.”
Picking up the paper, he replied, “Wow, it says that you won, and that’s your ninth time in a row. That’s a new record.”
“Let me see.” I peered over his shoulder and read the news as he gushed on about how proud he was of me. He had a carrying voice. Others were soon crowding around, congratulating me. Disliking all the attention, I thanked them all, said good-byes, and hurried away.
Trying to avoid further attention, I ducked inside a darkened auditorium. Letters lit up in amber light on the far end. COLRNG. With a flicker of thought, I said, “Coloring.”
A man in a tux and top hat, carrying a cane, said, “Very good. Would you like to try another?”
Confusion settled on me. Seeing that word wasn’t hard, which I told him. He replied that most people couldn’t and urged me to try another. Try another? There wasn’t any trying in it. It seemed liked the weirdest game I’d ever heard of, but I agreed because I wanted to see this out.
Letters came up in blue neon. COLRNG. “Coloring,” I said. The man gushed about how brilliant I was. It must be a scam, I decided.
We moved on through green, yellow, and orange. It was COLRNG every time. After the orange letters, he informed me that I’d won a first level prize. Would I like to try for more?
“Sure.”
We went into another room. Letters in blue came up. COLRING. “Coloring,” I said.
The master of ceremonies boomed out, “You won! Would you like to go for the grand prize?”
“Yes. Sure, why not?”
He led me to another room. There, in big red neon letters, was COLRNG. “Coloring,” I said.
“That’s right! Congratulations.” The man in the top hat went on about how I’d won.
“What exactly have I won?” I asked. I expected some small and cheap offering.
“Fame, fortune,” the man in the tux cried.
“Right,” I responded, and left.
Entering a narrow hallway, I moved on. People coming the other way gasped and pointed at me in excitement. Bewildered, I asked, “What is it? What’s going on?”
They bubbled on about being big fans of mind, asking for autographs and selfies. Remaining bewildered, I signed and posed, sure that it was mistaken identity. More people rushed up, forming a queue around me. Security arrived to install order.
Dream end.
Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
I came around a corner on my walk today. Deep in thought, I was in moving fast and not paying much attention when a sudden noise and motion to my left froze me.
A deer was on the other side of a knee-high white picket fence. I’d apparently startled her. Then she’d startled me
She was about three feet away. We stayed still. Then I softly said, “Hey, good looking. How’s your Saturday going?”
Leaning forward, the doe sniffed in my direction. This lasted for about ten seconds in my guesstimate. Then, satisfied, I guess, she resumed eating and I moved on.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
Mood: snowgo
Snow dilutes the light through the windows and blocks the solar tube and skylights, wholly changing the house’s ambiance. Yes, we’re part of the snowstorm holding the Pacific Northwest hostage on Wednesday, January 10, 2024, which is today. It’s 32 F now, as it has been for the last five hours. Snow continuously fell during that period, alternating the flakes’ speed, size, or density, but it falls nontheless. The road has been plowed a few times. I’ve seen one bird and no other animals out there. I hope the homeless are okay; the emergency shelters have been opened.
The snow is expected to yield to rain later. Looking out as a tow truck motors down the hill past my house, it looks like the snow is more sleetish. Snow is falling off tree branches, wires, and fences, so something is going on.
I’m happy, though, because the snowbank is climbing, part of the complicated, multi-faceted process for delivering us summer water.
My eyes yelp against the white-sheeted landscape’s intensity whenever I look out, like the snow is sucking up the light and then firing it back with a tenfold intensity. Sunglasses help but it feels odd wearing sunglasses in the house while looking out the window.
Les Neurons have loaded “Snowblind” by Black Sabbath from 1972 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark stuck). Lyrics easily return from when I listened to the album, Black Sabbath Vol 4 back in high school. Scott — a high school peer — gave it to me because he didn’t like it because it was too dark and brooding. “Kills my buzz,” he laughed with that light in his eyes. He was such a trip.
I understood what he meant, though. This song in particular felt like a downer with its plodding sound and semi-screeched lyrics. Still, they come back to mind with little problem: “My eyes are blind, but I can see. The snowflakes glisten on the trees. The sun no longer sets me free. I feel the snowflakes freezing me.” I sometimes sang them to myself countless times since learning them when walking in the snow in Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Korea, Germany, Oregon, and other places.
Stay positive, test negative, be strong, and lean forward. Coffee has come my way. Snow still falls, delivering fatter flakes to the four inches on the ground. Here’s the music. Cheers
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Mood: it’s a Wordle kind of day
Today is Tuesday, Dec 19, 2023. Just two days till December 21, when winter solstice in the north and summer solstice down below the equator, arrives. Up here we’re counting down to the ‘shortest day of the year’ as so many glibly phrase it. It means we’ll have the shortest period of sun exposure. But solstice is a few days later in Ashlandia; December 21 is an average. Our shortest day lands seven about a week later.
It’s been a really mild winter so far. Today it’s 55 F and rainy. Although indicators say this will continue, weather can change faster than a floof runs to get a treat. But no snow is bad news for the summer, as we depend on our melting mountain snow packs to keep filling our cisterns and reservoirs. So, fingers crossed, snow will come.
Been thinking about inflation. I’m a Paul Krugman fan. Been reading him for decades. But he’s insisting that inflation has gone down but mentions that people like me think it hasn’t because we’re paying more for things than we used to. Paul says the economy is actually good, and President Biden is getting a bad rap over it.
I won’t go into the variations of inflation that exist or how they track it. For me, it comes down to paying much more for car and house insurance than before, higher rates for my water, service fees, home gas and electricity, cat food, and much more for gas for my car. We buy organic and jeez have those prices jumped. Eating out gives me sticker shock almost every time, and beer, wine, and coffee also all cost more, definitely discretionary purchases but, hey, it’s all part of my life style.
Then, housing. Wow. I’ve been considering a move to another part of the nation. Housing is part of the equation to learn where we’ll drop. They’ve always talked about how expensive California housing is, and some parts of Oregon, but looking through New England prices has me reaching for sedatives to calm my nerves. Pennsylvania and Ohio prices are lower than Ashlandia, and more house can be acquired there, but not in New England. There’s also a huge rise in the number of condos and town homes being built. I don’t want to live in either of those because I’ve done it before and I dislike dealing with management over what I can or can’t do with my domicile. There are enough layers or law that I don’t need another layer, especially one that I pay for through things like HOAs. No thanks.
Had to get that off my chest.
Shifting gears to music, I had “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead” pinging around the morning mental music stream (Trademark unverified) for a while this morning. That’s ‘cuz we saw The Wizard of Oz on Sunday and my wife decided to walk around the house singing about the witch’s death this morning. With less than an eyeblink, The Neurons had it playing over and over and over in my head. I think that kind of thing can drive one insane.
But then I began reading the news and something, something, once again, said or done in the name of god and Jesus to justify being cruel or empty headed was read. I don’t know if it was about the hypocritical Zieglers in Florida, or Trump and the Evanges, or Ohio’s Attorney General, or the Pope, or the AG of Texas or some crap out of the Moms of Liberty. They all stay in the news with their twisted logic about God, religion, and our nation and laws.
Out of that morass of misinformation and misogyny, The Neurons came up with Joan Osborne’s hit song of 1992, “One of Us”. This is a song about god being a slob like one of us, living a life like average humans, riding the bus, going home.
An enticing, intriguing idea. What if the crazy dude talking to himself in the corner is god? Or that women behind the counter with all the piercings is god? What if all these people that go around, trying and struggling, or at home, baking for a holiday, or drinking alone in a house at night while watching some rerun are god? No magic or power, no all-knowing, no one any more or less special than a person walking by you? Strong medicine for the mind to contemplate.
Stay pos, be strong, lean forward, and press on. Coffee is being consumed by the cup here. Here’s the music. Cheers
Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts
Bit behind schedule today. Arriving in my office with a fresh cup of coffee this morning, I peered out the window. The sun was highlighting blue skies over green, yellow, gold, and scarlet autumn leaves. Under it all across the street was an enormous, beautiful light brown buck, blacktail, with a large set of antlers. He was standing in the neighbor’s front yard across the street, not stirring much except to flip his tail or to look one way or another.
It’s rutting season, though, so I knew what was up. Expanding my watch (in other words, lowering blinds, leaning forward, and turning my head), I spotted a doe busy eating in dense foliage beneath a giant old oak tree. She was about twenty-two feet from the buck. After a few minutes, she drifted out of her spot and across the yard, sometimes nibbling, passing seven feet from the buck. He paid little attention, so I wondered if he was standing guard against an intruder. I didn’t see one, though.
The doe crossed the driveway and into another blind of bushes and trees. I saw her turn and go between two houses, heading towards the Talent irrigation ditch. Only then did the buck turn and stroll after her.
Show wasn’t over folks, just taken to the next scene. All told, I watched for fifteen minutes, just enjoying nature on a sunny, fall day.
The Best 3 Things of the Gold Beach Vacay
We went west to the Pacific Ocean, enjoying its presence from the shores of a little town called Gold Beach in southern Oregon (population: 2241). Highway 101 runs through it from California, serving as the main way in and out. We stayed there three nights and four days, making and taking terrific memories. Here are my top three worthies from bottom to top.
3. Jet Mail Boat to Agness. First, the boat doesn’t have propellers, which allows it to travel in water as shallow as twelve inches. Using three 6.2 liter Chevy marine engines to steer and propel it along, the boat delivers the mail to Agness six days a week during the summer. Besides the boat ride and the history of the USPS run from Gold Beach to Agness up the Lower Rogue River, we saw a bear eating blackberries, a few river otters swimming around, deer, Roosevelt elk, beavers, osprey and their nests and young, and a couple bald eagle nests. We were also told about the stunning 1964 flood. We were about fifty feet below a bridge. That flood crested three feet above that bridge deck. Like, mind blowing. Besides it, we learned about the now departed Lowry fishing camp. Clark Gable used to fish there, among many celebrities and politicians, but Cable always asked for our boat pilot’s grandfather as his fishing guide. So we had water, boating, nature, and history, along with a dinner at a lodge.
2. Chapter One – yes, it’s a coffee shop. I enjoy coffee shops, even have a passion for them. First, I like a good brew. Second, I look for the ambiance. Third, I consider the food offerings. Like my other favorites — the lamented Li Di Da in Half Moon Bay and the long departed original Beanery of Ashland — Chapter One offers these things. They almost displaced The Green Salmon as the best coffee house. The Green Salmon’s fabulous gluten free baked goods keeps the competition level, but Chapter One’s maple scone was OMG excellent. What keeps the Green Salmon (Yachats, OR) at number one is their gluten free vegan breakfast sandwiches. Oh, yeah.
- The Pacific Ocean. We had a beautiful stretch of little used public which was a few miles long. It was so little used, it felt private. Wonderful to breathe fresh ocean air, gaze out over the sun splashed waves, and hear the crash and roar. Walking the beach was done several times a day. Great place for contemplating existence and discarding worries. I left a lot there in the beach’s sand.
Just want to note that the numbering is another WP thing. It insisted on indenting #1, at the bottom of the list, identifying it as ‘list’ and indenting it. Why? Only WordPress knows for sure.
Naturally, to make this a complete WP experience, it dropped again while I wrote this. Couldn’t save the draft, couldn’t publish. Had to work around by copying it and pasting it to a doc and then creating a new post.
Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts
He encountered someone driving out of the in exit. Third day in a row this had happened. Not the same people or car, but…
They had to be given some latitude and space to let them finish driving out, annoying him, because it was his nature to get annoyed by others. He wondered how they’d managed to miss seeing the one way signs and arrows, along with the DO-NOT-ENTER sign. Surely, they hadn’t ‘missed’ them, but had decided to ignore them. Three drivers, three days in a row.
Such a small matter but it was the kind of thing that fed his growing disenchantment with society.
Michael Seidel, writer 