Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: variable

The Rogue Valley clocks a fading blue sky and 55 F today. Oh, it’s sunny but clouds hamper the sun’s spread and impact. We’re calling this new day Wednesday, March 20, 2024. 66 F is our anticipated high.

The cats haven’t noticed the weather change. Papi is out in the backyard on a grassy knoll, under some trees but in sunshine. From there, he can survey his domain and take action as needed.

Our other floof, Tucker, has found a sunny dining room spot. One of his favorite places, he can spy on us as we go about doing things from under the table and nap in sunshine through the southeastern windows. He’s doing well, gaining weight and energy, and acting more like his former self. His oral surgery is a week from today.

I experienced a bounty of dreams last night. How many is a bounty? Five that I remember. After the awakening, The Neurons popped The Stone Roses with “Love Spreads” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark countdown has begun). The 1994 song was an enigma to me. I enjoyed the music side, but the lyrics were another matter. While it was talking about a woman, I didn’t understand the full context.

Love spreads her arms
Waits there for the nails
I forgive you boy
I will prevail

Too much to take
Some cross to bear
I’m hiding in the trees with a picnic
She’s over there, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah

She didn’t scream
She didn’t make a sound
I forgive you boy
But don’t leave town

Cold black skin
Naked in the rain
Hammer flash in the lightning
They’re hurting her again

Let me put you in the picture
Let me show you what I mean
The messiah is my sister
Ain’t no king, man, she’s my queen

h/t Songfacts.com

I later learned that the song is about the crucifixion of Jesus, part of the Christian teachings. Instead of a white man, a black woman was being nailed to the cross. John Squire, the Stone Roses guitarist said in an interview while discussing the song, “The idea of the song is, ‘Why couldn’t Jesus have been a black woman?’ It’s just an attack on the white guy with a beard sittin’ on a cross, cos that reinforces the patriarchal society.”

Stay strong, be positive, lean forward, and please vote. Coffee is at hand; we have liftoff. Here’s the music.

Cheers

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I saw it in their body language and shaded eyes: what does this guy want? Can he be trusted?

Three women, three places, three weeks. I was being friendly. Thought I was charming, as I’ve done all my life. Maybe I was wrong all those years. Now, addressing these women in public places, catching their reactions, I have to re-think matters.

First, it’s their right to not be bothered by others, just as it’s mine. I thought that asking what someone was reading was safe and innocuous as we crossed paths at the coffee shop. She’d previously asked me to watch her purse for her. As a writer and reader, I’m often trying to learn what others are reading. It interests me. But asking this sixty-ish woman clearly disturbed her. Haven’t seen her since when she was a coffee shop regular. I hope I haven’t driven her away. I’m sorry.

I sincerely believed I knew the second woman from another place. I judged her to be in her sixties. She indulged me and responded but clearly thought I was up to something, maybe hitting on her. Sorry, ma’am. I won’t do it again.

I’m used to being flirty. I always thought I was charming. My wife and sisters always told me I was charming. Maybe they were being nice. Polite. Maybe I used to be charming but, older now, it’s no longer charming. Perhaps, because I’m older, it’s perceived as creepy.

Could be that it’s not me at all, but other matters, a product of our times. Women have endured unwanted male attention and assumptions and decided, enough. I’ll note, I do the same with males, chatting with them sometimes about what they’re reading, their accent, or talking to them because I think I might know them.

My wife has spoken of being approached by men in public. For example, she’s working out and a man walking by will tell her with a grin, “Smile.” Pisses her off. She’s exercising and sweating. It’s work. She’s focusing. Smiling is not part of her agenda, and she resents him telling her that because men are always saying things like to women.

I thought what I was doing was different. I guess I was rationalizing it as different and okay.

I quit, though. I’ll keep to my private circle, drop a cone of secrecy around it, only speak when addressed, and keep myself to myself.

This all probably reads like self-pitying whining. That’s not my intention but you’ll reach your own conclusion. I like to write to think through my thoughts. Doesn’t mean I need to post it for the public, but I often find that things which confuse me also confuses others. Or maybe I’m fishing for sympathy and just rationalizing that I’m searching for understanding. It’s a challenge for me because this is how I learned to be from Mom and my wife, polite and friendly. It’s inculcated in me.

I guess this is the new world, at least in progressive Ashlandia, for a sixty-seven-year-old white male. I just need to learn, accept, and adjust.

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in my primary coffee shop yesterday, writing away in a corner and deeply involved with what I was doing. Even with that true, I’d followed who arrived and left, where they were and what they were doing. It was a habit or talent I’d developed while young. It’d become bolstered first by military counter-terrorist training and situational awareness, and then fostered more as I leaned in to writing fiction and honed my observational skills.

Left was a man who seemed about five years older than me, putting him in his early seventies. He was a regular at both of my coffee haunts. Striking me as a lonely person, I’d witnessed him start conversations with others. When I overheard them, the topic was usually novels he’d read or novels the other was reading.

Rising from the chair he’d settled into, he approached the early twentyish woman on my right. Another regular but not as frequent as me, she was familiar to me. I’d seen the other man talk to her a few times. He greeted her as a friend and she reacted in kind. They began talking about books and his recent visit to a bookstore.

The coffee house manager went to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but it ended with her escorting him out. After he was gone, I saw the shift lead go talk to the manager. Again, nothing was heard. The shift lead returned to her spot behind the counter, and then the manager approached the young woman the man had been talking with.

After giving her name and explaining her position, the manager asked, “Do you know that man?”

“No, not really. He’s spoken to me before.”

“Well, I came over because we’ve had complaints about men approaching young women such as yourself without being invited. Some feel threatened and believe that the man was trying to groom them or other young women, so we felt we needed to act.”

The woman thanked her and the manager went away.

I sat, reflecting on all sides of this, wondering exactly what was true and real, respecting the coffee shop’s position but understanding the man’s loneliness. Yet, I didn’t know if he was grooming. I don’t know his intentions. And then, there are other men who may have approached young females to groom them. It can be an insidious world.

I mentioned it all to my wife, who reminded me, “Woman are often socialized to be friendly when a man approaches. It’s hard for them to say no to them or rebuff them. That’s just how we’re still taught through movies and television shows, and the things we see. Men are in power and are to be respected is what we’re taught, and it’s hard to break the habits that come from that training.

I understand that, too, and thought of my own position when I go into the coffee shop to write. I’m friendly with staff but not other customers. While I want to be friendly with others, my natural inclination, I decided that I need to not be friendly with other regulars; I’m there to write, and the time that I’ve carved out for that is precious. Despite observing so many who seem desperate or hungry for social interations, I do so with regret but remain firm about it.

We’ve followed long and tortured paths to come to these moments of who we are.

Floofarchy

Floofarchy (floofinition) – social organization marked by the pet’s supremacy in a household or family.

In use: “His love of animals was apparent, and his social posts suggested that he supported a floofarchy, allowing his pets to do anything (or so it seemed) while treating them like England’s royal family.”

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