We share our house with two floofs. Both are cats, strays that decided to call our place home. One is Papi, the ginger blade, also referred to as Meep and Butter Butt. The alpha cat is Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), a black and white mixed fur cat with shades of Maine Coon. He’s older by several years.
Tucker has recently taken to not responding to me. Not responding, that is, until I mention Papi’s name. I can and do say, “What’s up, Tucker, are you hungry, what do you want,” etc., and get nothing. But if I say, “What is it, Papi?” Whoa, Tucker turns and marches over.
In my mind, I attribute this whole thing to Tucker trying to trick me into thinking he’s Papi. When I call Tucker by Papi’s name, Tucker is thinking, “I did it! He thinks I’m the other cat.”
As anyone who lives with an animal knows, this is basic flooflighting.
Sunshine and blue owned the morning sky. The afternoon’s start delivered winds and smotherin’ gray clouds. That mornin’ sunshine feels like a mirage. It’s 43 F. High will be 44 F. Dropped into the cold zone overnight, 29 F at our house. Decidin’ that he preferred warmth over being a free animal, Papi nested in the house until 5:50 AM. That’s when he did his bangin’ to be freed.
BTW, today is Sunda, January 12, 2025.
I’ve been car watching from the coffee shop. We used to have an expression in the US Air Force for B52 bombers. We called them BUFs. Big Ugly F*ckers. I think the term should be revised for some of those vehicles roamin’ the streets. The Tesla Cybertruck certainly qualifies as a BUF. As does the Telluride SUV. My opinion, of course. Others might call them the epitomy of technologic beauty. Some segment probably sees no beauty in any vehicle, dubbin’ them all monstrosities of the modern landscape. And that’s also a reasonable response.
I’ve been watching The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey on Apple. Created by Walter Mosley and based on his novel, the main actor is Samuel L. Jackson. That’s a double win for me, as I’m fans of both. Also features Walton Goggins, another personal preference when I’m watching shows and movies, and has a strong cast. No misfires among any of them, with respect and appreciation for Dominique Fishback in her role increasing. I also admire the way the show ages and de-ages Jackson’s character, Ptolemy, aka Pity. However, when they de-aged him in some episodes, his mustache looked like a glued-on fake to me. Bit distracting for me cuz of that. I recommend the series, though. Came out a few years ago.
Today’s song was gifted to The Neurons by my wife. Al Jarreau is one of her favorite performers, and one of her favorite songs is “Mornin'” from 1983. It’s one of her go-to songs when she’s cleanin’, cookin’, and exercisin’. As she resolved to make some New Year changes, she’s been playin’ this tune several times this week. Not surprisin’, The Neurons locked onto it and have it going in the morning mental music stream (Trademark waitin’). Jarreau is a helluva performer and singer. He sings with such joy. We’ve seen in concert a few times and wouldn’t hesitate to plunk down bucks and do it again, except we can’t because he passed away. This is another of those times when technology works in our favor to help us remember wonderful people. Hope you enjoy it.
Meanwhile, watching the news continuing to come out about the devastating California fires is just soul-killing. To think that someone may have deliberately started any of them is just friggin’ horrifyin’. Yet that possibility seems to have legs. In this age of Trump, I’m stirred to worry that his hateful diatribes triggered someone to actually start fires in California just to own the libs. That’s unfortunately the sort of mentality that seems possible among that cult.
Coffee and I have again embraced one another, observing the Sunday tradition set upon by myself about half a century ago. Hope you have a solid day. Here’s the music for you. Cheers
We’ve slipped into foggy bottom or foggy bottom slipped over us. Fogda, Jan. 6, 2025. 40 degrees F, sunshine has taken some time away, apparently, giving us over to clouds and rain. 56 F is the projected high. An air stagnation advisory has been slapped on us.
Yesterday turned into fine, sunshiny day. Of course, we were slightly out of town for most of the afternoon, and in a slighter higher elevation, visiting our friends for a party. Good cast of characters, and the house is beautiful. The owner joked that it was a two-bedroom five two hundred square foot home with five fireplaces. Main house had a beautiful small living room and a large living room which used to be the original owner’s home movie theater. That was a natural for that original owner as he owned a chain of movie theaters. Finances crashed and he quit using the house during COVID. The owner related that everything had quit working and they needed to repair and replace multiple things when they bought the home. But they did the job and it showed. There’s also a .5 acre fishing pond, heated pool, a separate artist studio, two-bedroom guest house with a two-car garage, and an RV parking garage with space for three RVs, which cracks up the current owner. “Definitely something we don’t need,” he said. It’s about eight minutes out of Ashlandia. A hallway off the foyer has his and hers coat closets, along with a guest closet.
Papi continues losing fur at a startling rate. He’s not going bald or anything; fur keeps growing in to replace it. We don’t know what’s going on. His appetite is good, he’s as perky and conversant as ever, and he looks good. We keep thinking, must be the weather, but he’s never done this before. We eye him for signs of things going amiss. If it’s there, we’re missing it.
Today’s song was born out of texts swapped between Mom, me, and a sis in the Pittsburgh, PA, region. They had snow coming down, impeding traffic, limiting outdoor options. The Neurons took the opportunity to start “Snow (Hey Oh)” by Red Hot Chili Peppers in the morning mental music stream (Trademark blizzard). The 2005 song is about getting a fresh start. Hey, it’s kinda still a new year, new month, new day, and a new government administration in the U.S. Okay, I kind of choked on that last one. I’ve always enjoyed this hard rocker. Easy to follow and sing along. And hey, it’s also about surviving, so there we go.
Be chill and don’t thrill. Coffee and I ran into each in the kitchen and swapped some spit. Hey ho, listen to what I say yo, it’s a fresh new day. Here’s the music. Cheers
It’s a day of firsts. First day of bloated rain drops clunking down on us. First day of gray fog tongue lapping around everything, licking up the sunshine. First day that it’s 38 degrees F with light rain and a high of 46 F on the afternoon’s horizon. First day of Butter Butt (aka Papi the ginger blade) whining for freedom and first day of Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) begging to see what I’m eating. Yes, it’s Jan. 1, 2024. A new year.
Today’s music was heard in the car yesterday. Hooking a few loose Neurons with its vocals, they began whispering and humming it throughout the evening. By this morning, they’d swayed other Neurons into joining them. Now they’re all singing it together in the morning mental music stream (Trademark first).
I knew little of the song or the performer. Looked both up when I came home yesterday. The song, “Lose Control”, was released by Teddy Swims in 2023. June. It peaked at number 1 on the Billboard’s Hot 100 in March of 2024. News to me; it was relatively fresh to my ears but my wife knew it. Guess I wasn’t tuning into the right stations. I’d not heard much of Swims and the net tells me that he didn’t get much recognition until this song made it. Well, I’m happy he’s achieved success with it. Hope you enjoy.
Continuing my day of firsts, I must finish my first cuppa coffee, take my first shower, do my first shave and my first exercises. We’re not really ones for celebrating a new year. The shadows cast from 2024 shave our hopes for the new one. Today’s festivities won’t be about welcoming 2025. We’re instead taking an ice cream cake to a friend’s house to celebrate her birthday. I will echo what a friend passed on to me: courage.
Today is Thursday, December 26, 2024. Five more days to the year. A year stamped with historic and personal significance. Wonder how 2025 will compare at this time next year.
Gray. Rainy. Chilly. Call it 44 F. Light rain. This is winter in Ashlandia. Snow hugs things above three or four thousand feet, looks like at a glance. Down here, we’re stuck in the gray. Sunshine muted through gray clouds from mountain to mountain to mountain. Gray clouds as far as I can see, looking down into the valley. And rain.
Yes, I’m complaining.
The cats are not, however. After a night of howling wind and incessant rain, Papi dragged in his wet Butter Butt and found a warm space to sleep off the day. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) had already set the example, staying in, finding a comfy zone, nodding into slumber.
Late post as I spent the morning writing. One of those days when the muses arrived early. The house was quiet and the coffee was hot, so. Seated myself at the laptop and added 2,500 words. Excited by the twist added. See if it stands revision, editing, and further thinking.
Today’s music selection was made by The Neurons after a friend’s comment yesterday. A decade older than moi, she’s not known for her colorful language. But there she was making a risque, off-color comment at the Christmas bash. As we reacted and laughed, she turned as red as Santa’s outfit. Net result: The Neurons have “Dirty Mind” by the brilliant Prince playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark filthy).
Well, deep breath. Dredge up some positive energy. Here we go again. Let’s start with the music. Cheers
December 24, 2024 has claimed Twosda in Ashlandia, where the beer is local and cold. Rain fell in clunk drops all night, yielding to an un-Christmasy morning fog. Rain and sunshine have since warred around 43 degrees. Low will be 36 F and the high will be 46 F, cutting a narrow band through the day.
While Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) has shrugged off the weather and remains inside, Butter Butt (previously known as Papi the ginger blade, but also once known as Meep) continues his rigorous testing to verify that better weather is not available through a different door. Several times when he was left in through the front door, he immediately galloped to the back door for egress, as if time was now some critical aspect of his testing.
Beer with friends was done last night as we slid our weekly greet and drink up from Wednesday to Monday due to some holiday happening on Wednesday. Small gathering of the faithful but family members augmented our numbers. A fun time was experienced, as it always is. We raised our glasses in salute of new possible states, Canada, Greenland, and Panama, the latest things PINO-elect Trump has floated. TBS, except for Canada, he hasn’t actually proposed these places be states. As always, he vaguely intones what might happen, suggesting anything is possible. Anything except sanity, sure. Someone suggested Trump has generated more weirdness-based statements because other world events drew the news media’s attention; he thus issued ideas to get the spotlight back on hisself.
I took it on myself to walk the .75 miles down to the watering hole and back. I’ve done the walk many times and know that it used to take me fourteen minutes. Going wasn’t too far of a challenge, as it’s a slight downhill slope all the way, and it was early-ish, and the weather was almost balmy. Returning up the hill, buffeting by wind, spit on by rain, a few pints sloshing around inside me, consumed twenty-two minutes. By the end, my foot was a flaming riot of irritation. Some tender care and soothing words made it right in a while.
In accordance with the rules and customs, I would now air my grievances, as it’s part of that holiday, Festivus. But I’ve pretty much aired my grievances all year, not holding back to wait for one day to spout off. With that out of the way, I turn attention to the music. Staying with the whole X-mas idea, The Noel Neurons brought Eric Clapton singing and playing “Cryin’ Christmas Tears” to the morning mental music stream (Trademark wrapped). Hope you enjoy it.
Hope your days are comfy and joyous no matter what holiday you celebrate, or if you celebrate none at all. Here’s the music. Back to my regularly scheduled coffee and writnig. Cheers
Hey, it’s Munday, December 23, 2024. A surly northern wind is snapping at us and messin’ with the trees. Clouds have rolled over the sun, rendering it a weak incandescent bulb. Temperature is 46 F but that wind cuts a few degrees off the top end.
Butter Butt. That’s my wife’s new nickname for Papi the ginger blade. I asked her what caused her to give Papi that floofonym. She shrugged. “No real reason. I looked at him and it came to mind.” But it somehow fits him.
Today’s song is a celebration of winter solstice. Except it isn’t. A line hooked The Dear Neurons’ attention: “We so tired of all the darkness in our lives.” That came to me while looking out the window and thinking about the short day & the right wing. Both deliver darkness to our lives. Just after that, Der Neurons lowered “Steppin’ Out” by Joe Jackson into the morning mental music stream (Trademark high steppin’).
We’ve turned the annual corner on the short days of daylight but who knows when we’ll shift away from the right wing darkness? Started with the ‘Tea Party’ stuff, which into MAGA, Proud Boys, Oathkeeps, and other militia. Add to it the general craziness and willful ignorance permeating the GOP in Congress, and PINO-elect Trump stuffing his cabinet with billionaires who long ago sold their sold, and the darkness is worse than a black hole. (Which suddenly makes Les Neurons go, “Hold on, maybe we should go with ‘Black Hole Sun’ today.”) Naw, going with Jackson. “Steppin’ Out” is a lighter, happier, you know?
Here we go, another day from 2024 going into the books. Just a few more left to savor. Cheers
I slept in today. Three aspects drove it. One, my foot was cranky for rest, two, the night’s weather, and three, my bed was seductively warm and comfortable.
Foot/ankle continues getting better but I press to improve. That sometimes backfires. It’s a two-step, you know, step forward, step back, step forward, step back.
The night weather, though, holy stormy, Batman. Wind was busy when we went to bed. Rain was dumping. Few hours later, I awoke to distinctive moaning and a freight train sound. My youthful tornado experiences mumbled to my sleepy mind, “That sounds like tornado.” I checked the time – 5:05 – and rumbled out of bed and to the outside doors. Looking for tornado funnels, of course. In the dark. Hello.
Papi was out. That dumbfounded me. I checked his back patio condo. His usual refuge, it was disconcertinhly empty. Rain was spraying through the covered patio, because the wind was shoving it sideways. So it wasn’t the safe harbor that it normally was. Given that, I pelted back to the front door. See if Papi was cowering around there. Nope. I did some calling and whistling. No Papi. Repeated that in the back. Watched, waited, wondered.
Back to bed. The wind dropped the moan and its freigh train imitation. Serenity settled over the darkness. Whap, whap, whap. Papi’s familiar rap carried from the front door. I hustled out there to bring him in.
His fur was dry.
To end the tale, I fed Papi and returned to be ’bout 6:25. Settling in, I elevated my foot. Tucker found my hand and rested his head on it. Sleep hit me over the head. When my awareness next resurfaced, the timepiece’s digit were showing 9:45.
Pretty out there today, Saturday, December 21, 2024. Everything is wet but drying. Nothing in my vision’s field is wind-disturbed. Sunshine and a cloud-marbled blue sky rocks the valley. Temp of 46 with a few degrees left until we touch the high. That might be deceptive; I just watched an elderly-appearing guy making his way up the hill past my house. Wearing a light jacket with bare hands, he yanked the zipper up as far it would go and pulled his hands up into his jacket sleeves.
Today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark snoozing) occupant is Willie Williams with “Armagedeon Time”. Came ’bout from mind mutterings while listening to the wind and hoping the homeless and animals were all safe. But with lyrics like, “Lot of people won’t get no justice tonight” and “lots of people won’t get no supper tonight”, the song is a fitting tune to herald the coming year and concerns about GOP willingness cut up the nation’s social safety net.
BTW, this is it, shortest day of the year in the northern hemy. Take a few days but the days will cease their early sunsets and begin curving toward more hours of sunshine. Feels really needed as we end the tumultuous 2024.
Got coffee, had brekkie, and ready to boogie. Here’s the music. Merry solstice, ya’ll. Cheers
Yeah, it’s Munday, December 2, 2024. Just a couple notes on it. Temp is rising and falling between 26 and 28 F. Sun is kicking in. First strokes can be witnessed in the dining room’s southern window, which catches the sun’s approach from the southeast as it jabs through and around trees branches. Fog is doing a swirling veil dance. Alexa said it’ll be 56 F today. Same claim made yesterday and we barely topped 43, so I know where I’m putting my money.
Many people don’t realize the Monday as a day of the week comes from Middle English mondeyne which itself is derived from Late Latin, mundanus. It all means ‘common place’ as in ‘nothing special’. Boring. Routine. Mundane. Monday. Munday.
Trump continues with his authoritarian cabinet o’ clowns. Mockpaperscissors shares a scope outta the New Yorker about the dishonorable Pete Hegseth. True grrrspiring stuff about his drunken leadership and how he sexualizes women. Nice note about his drunken chants, “Kill all Muslims!” Bet those Muslims who clamored for Trump over Harris are creaming their pants with pleasure over that. Who coulda known that Trump woulda picked such a piece of meat for a high-rankin’ gubment position. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
My wife asked me last night how old I thought Papi was. We reminisced about his interactions with us. He first showed up on a fence back when Scheckter, one of the original Orange Boiz, was still alive. Papi, then called Meep for his tiny meow (yeah, he’s grown outta that), showed up on the backyard fence like a little Scheckter mini me.
Scheckter
Meep aka Papi
Records show Meep has lived with us since May of 2017. While Schecter was warm and sweet, Meep, I mean Papi, remains guarded and wary. When I informed my wife of my research, she remarked the same about the two floofs. Scheckter was a cuddler and lap dweller; Papi has been on my lap once for three pico seconds.
Dreams inspired The Neurons’ music choice today. I was reflecting about a dream of a levitating train I was driving through an apocalyptic ‘Merica. Thinking about the dream highights, I noted that it was a simple life of travel in the flying train with a small group of people. The Neurons shook my head. Out came No Doubt with “Simple Kind of Life”. “And all I wanted was a simple thing, a simple kind of life” keeps circulating the morning mental music stream (Trademark freeze-dried).
Sunshine owns all the living and dining rooms’ windows now. Blue sky speckled with withdrawn clouds rule the view. It’s 30 F. Coffee and I have found common ground again.Look up and open your eyes. Take a deep breath. Inhale; exhale. Here we go, December’s first Munday. Hope it’s a wonderful one for you. Cheers
It’s an autner morning with winter impression holding a slight edge. A freezing cold night was had with temperatures lowering to 18 F around my place. I know that’s not so cold in many places; I’ve lived in a few of them. But that’s chill for us.
Since dawn, the sun put the hammer to the temps. We’re into the low thirties now. The splash dab white crystals decorating the greenery is giving way as the sun’s fingers stroke the land into warmth. A high of 56 F is contemplated, with clouds, blue skies, and sunshine.
This is Sa’day, November 30, 2024, the last day of the year’s eleventh month. Just one more for the historic records and we’ll put 2024 to bed.
Keeping Papi the ginger blade in and safe from icy temperatures was a big challenge for us. He gave me his patented cheetah stare whenever I told him no.
Note: this is not Papi. Papi looks nothing like this, except for that staring, judging expression.
But we were successful without too much floofma. Now he is up and up, patrolling and sniffing to see who floofpassed on his realm while he was suffering the indignation of being kept warm and safe.
Been thinking about the Trump presidency and how it’s going down. He and his teams have not signed the transition docs. Therefore, no transition can begin. But, he’ll be sworn in on 1/20/25, won’t he? And then he’ll be POTUS. And then he’ll say, “Fuck those documents. I don’t need to sign shit. I’m the president.” SCOTUS has already established that these things he does as POTUS aren’t illegal, so… I’m sure the Senate will go into a legislative tantrum but the reality is, what will they do? Are the oaths really needed? Not in Trump’s newly minted prezzy immunity. Prezmunity.
Yes, feeling cynical this morning. But that’s the battle and potential outcome I see brewing. Of course, I’m crap at these predictions so I wouldn’t put any money on it.
Hmm…is Vegas laying odds on it? That would seem appropriate. Electing a proven con, liar, incompetent wanna-be dictator and fascist is a gamble…
Oh, wait. I see that he has signed some of the docs now. Sorry, been avoiding the news cycle. That’ll teach me.
So last night, I bit into a Kind drizzle bar. Off came part of one molar. Had to laugh. Just fits in so well with this year’s progression of events. My wife has been claiming that I’m held together by bubblegum and tape. Looks like it’s all coming apart.
I originally had songs about ice or white in the morning mental music stream (Trademark frozen). Ya know, things like “Cold as Ice” and “Ice Ice Baby”. “White Wedding” and “Nights in White Satin”. “Whiter Shade of Pale”. But The Neurons used their veto-override and inserted “Take My Breath Away”. The song was a creation for the Top Gun movie a zillion and two years ago. Berlin, an American new wave musical group, performed it for the movie and achieved a respectable hit for it.
I asked The Neurons, why this? They smugly deigned to voice an answer. But it’s in the stream, so I’m forced to share it to get it out. Kind of a tedious song to me. I mean, I admire the singer’s talents and the band’s skills, and respect the songwriters. Just not my cuppa. I’m low on the romance scale, though, so don’t judge it by my impressions. Listen for yourself.
Try to be positive. I grok that’s an easy expression to state but hard to manifest at times. Do your best, right? I will, too. Aided by coffee, the positivity function is stirring anew. Here we go, another day in 2024. Here’s the music from 1986 to take you there. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 