Hello! Welcome to Wed-nez-day.That’ how I always feel it should be said, and I often do say it that way. But language and pronunciation are like quantum physics, working to their own mysterious rules.
It’s the 16th of November, 2022. The month and the year are uncoiling for their final segments.
Sunshine has invaded the fall sky, complemented by a rich abundance of wind. Sunrise jumpstarted daytime at 0702. Night’s portion of this Wed-nez-day falls into place at 1648 tonight. It’s 50 out now — that’s Fahrenheit — and the 62 is the expected high.
No news on Mom. Sitting here drumming my fingers, waiting for test results. Middle little sister — I have three younger sisters to match my one older one, and they are an interesting set — said that test results usually need four days in that hospital system. Herself says she’s feeling fine but annoyed.
Feeding the beasts this morning, I was singing them a song that I often utilize, that being “Fifty Ways to Feed Your Floofy”. The lyrics for my cover go, “Just open a can, Sam. Fill the bowl, Moe. Just feed it to me. Don’t look at the clock, Jock. Don’t need to discuss much, just pour out the food, dude. Give me something to eat.”
The Neurons picked up on it, so the original Paul Simon melody is thriving in the morning mental music stream. This was Simon’s only solo number one. When I heard that years ago, I had to verify it using the net. Did it again today. It’s such a familiar song for me and lends itself well to the morning feeding ritual. The song was released in 1975, the same year my SO and I started leaving together and then married.
Coffee is being drunk. The Neurons are happy. Stay positive, test negative, and vax up, including the flu, you know? It’s doing the circuits, dropping people out of social and volunteer commitments. Hope it doesn’t get you.
Here’s the tune. Feel free to supply your own lyrics, like, “Give me a cup of brew, Stu. Must be fifty ways to have your coffee.” I’m having mine with Meyer’s lemon pound cake. Wife made it to give to others. It wasn’t to her standards, so I’m the beneficiary. That light sweetness goes great with my coffee’s bitter essence.
Ah, May 1, 2022, has arrived. As Bob Seger sang, “Turn the page.”
Today is Sunday, and it’s living up to billing. Sunshine blazes o’er the valley, warming the air. Still 42 F out but we expect 71 today. The sun’s first official appearance here today came at 6:07 AM. The sun show ends at 8:10 PM.
Memorial services for my friend are today. It’s an outside block party. Guests are bringing finger foods. My wife made almond tarts for the event. I’m not looking forward to it. Besides noting what it’s all about, I’m a poorly constructed social critter, don’t do well with strangers on an extended basis, and I’m not really proficient with small talk with friends and family, either. These things — parties, celebrations, services — are always discomfiting for me. Yes, I know, as I’ve known my entire life, to suck it up and do it, it’s not about me, etc. Yes, I’ve heard the expressions and understand the sentiments. None of that changes my nature. Of course, it’s seen as a failing by several that I dislike these things and don’t do well at them. To which I respond with dignity and style, “Whatever.” Yes, original.
The neuron’s music machine has Paul Simon singing “The Boy in the Bubble” from 1987 in the morning mental music stream rotation. Word association triggered the song. Someone said something about a miracle while talking about the Jan 6 Insurrection, and my neurons thought, “These are the days of miracle and wonder,” and off they went. I found this video of Simon and company to be entertaining and share it for your pleasure.
Stay positive and test negative. Be smart. Coffee time, right? Cheers
At the risk of repeating myself, welcome to Tuesday. This is December 14, 2021. The month is almost half over. We’re about to plunge into another season – winter, north of the equator and summer below that line – and into a new year.
A few white and gray clouds have been dropped into the blue-sky broth this AM. Sunshine lights their contours with yellow and gold influences. The temperature is 32 F but we expect it to reach 35. Sunrise came at 7:32 AM and night will take over after the sun sets at 4:39 PM.
“Kodachrome” by Paul Simon from 1973 is skating through the morning mental music stream. This came about because a friend suggested that whenever she hears Omicron, the thinks of “Kodachrome”. Probably only afflicts a certain population swath. The other parts are asking, “What’s Kodachrome?” or, “Who is Paul Simon?” Others will say, “Oh, I remember that movie,” to which some will say, “What movie?” I am repeating myself with “Kodachrome” – earlier in 2021, in fact – but the song holds a nostalgic niche for me. So, take it away.
And bring me some coffee. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vaccines and boosters when you can. Cheers
Hello, world. Saturday, April 3, 2021 is or has arrived, depending on where you are when you read this. It could also already be gone by the time this post crosses your path.
The timestamp shows that Sol showed up in Ashland at 6:50 AM Pacific Time. She’s gonna cut out again at 7:39 PM. Meanwhile, she is warming us a bit, so we’re expecting a high temp in the low seventies F.
Today’s music is “Kodachrome”, brought to you by Paul Simon back in 1973. Over on Facebook, Mom shared a series of photos showing four to six young cousins from, the offspring of three different sisters, cuddling and playing in a chair at her house. These would be grandnieces and grandnephews to me. The oldest was ten and the ages dropped off to two. All are caught smiling and laughing. The photos were taken a few years ago.
It reminded me of going home at times. Home was always where mom or my mother-in-law lived. They always asked, “When are you coming home?” I may have left those homes when I was a teenager, establishing homes for me and my wife around the world, but our mothers always asked, “When are you coming home?”
Part of being back home was discovering the old family photos. As older relatives, boxes and envelopes of old photographs arrived. Time was spent studying these things. Sometime notes, dates, or memories established what we were seeing, but many times, we were left with questions of who, when, where?
Thinking of these digital photographs, caught on phones, transferred to computers, displayed on FB, I wondered what it’ll be like in fifty years for these children. Will FB be there to display the photos and remind them of who put it on the net? Or will they be processing through some machine on some night when their mind is restless, put in the right information and stumble across the photos by themselves? Will they remind that date, that chair, those cousins? Will they all still be tight as friends?
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, get the vax, and build some memories. Here’s the music, released back when I was a kid. Cheers
For that, blame my ‘puter. It suffered a severe case of Microsoftitis.
Last night, the blessed machine told me, “Install Updates and Shutdown”? Why, yes, seems reasonable.
The little machine went about its business for a while. Percentages passed. Twelve…fourteen…eighteen…twenty-three.
I drifted away for a time. On my return, the machine said, “Couldn’t install update. Trying again.”
Okay, go for it.
Off I went to do other things. The machine was shut down when I returned. Well, it must’ve succeeded.
Maybe yes, maybe no. I experienced the latest version of the Blue Screen of Death (BSOD) and went into an endless loop of trying to start, failing to start, running diagnostics, failing to repair the problem (kmode_exception_not_handled). Taking matters on for myself, I ran various diagnostics. They claimed that everything was great. Updated BIOS. It was great. Checked the image. Super-duper. Well, WTF?
Tried Restore Point. Failed: unspecified error OxO8OO70570. Using another computer, I looked for solutions. Tried logging into safe mode but couldn’t.
Geez. Eventually, I again refreshed and reinstalled matters.
(Funny, but just the other day, I mentioned that I felt great, but I was anxious, because this is 2020, and 2020 has a habit of biting people in the ass, as it did me today.)
Onto the music. Today’s song is Paul Simon’s 1980 hit, “Late in the Evening”. For him, it was late in the evening, and the music’s seeping through. For me, it was late in the evening, and all the news and my writing muse was seeping through. I swear, the muse seemed like she’d guzzled tankloads of coffee. Or maybe she’d gulped down sugar. Whatever it was, she was hyper-active. All her ideas just kept seeping through.
So here we go. Since I liked Simon and Garfunkel and enjoy recorded ‘live’ performances, I’m offering up S&G in Central Park. As always, hello, and see you later.
I’m a pop child, you know? Born in ’56 in the United States in a lower middle-class household and living mostly in suburbs, I grew up as television and radio matured. When Mom cleaned house, she turned on her records and sang with them. Throughout the years, I heard her with Patsy Cline, Pat Boone, Johnny Cash and Johnny Rivers, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Chubby Checkers, Louis Armstrong, Tammy Lynette, Ray Charles, Johnny Mathis, Barbra Steisand, the Ink Spots and Four Platters, to list the ones that jump casually to mind.
Then there was big sis. Two years older than moi, she started listening to the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Dave Clark Five, Herman’s Hermits, Simon and Garfunkel, and Grand Funk Railroad. Boys, interested in this attractive young woman and usually a year or two older than her, brought more music in, like the Spencer Davis Group, John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers, and David Bowie.
The radio was always on in the car, and I received small transistor radios from Japan as birthday gifts. AM radio gave me some bubble gum pop like the Osmonds, the Archies, and the Jackson Five, along with Elvis Presley, Glen Campbell, Don McLean, Steppenwolf, and the Temptations. We had the Bee Gees, the Rolling Stones, and The Who. Television brought along Ricky Nelson, the Monkees, and all manner of performers via variety shows like Ed Sullivan,Hullabaloo and American Bandstand. Movies got into it. Friends introduced me to Sly and the Family Stone and Three Dog Night.
I explored on my own as I aged, discovering Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Cream, ZZ Top, Mountain, Captain Beefheart, the Moody Blues, early Electric Light Orchestra before they became ELO. More performers came onto the scene, like Elton John.
That’s just a little taste. Music was everywhere then, as it is now, always on, part of the foreground and the background, part of the scene, a topic of conversation. All of this is just on the pop and rock side. Beyond it there was country and western, soul, rhythms and blues, and the blues, and all the offshoots and variations. Beyond the United States were vast seas of music to be found in other countries and continents. Concerts gave us destination. Dancing gave us dates.
Music enriched existence. Oddly, all this came from a 1977 Paul Simon song, “Slip Slidin’ Away”. Time has fled through the year. Whether it’s because the days are less structured or because the usual placeholders of American culture have been disrupted, it seems like time has accelerated. Here it is, already more than halfway through the tenth month of the year. Just two more months and ten days to 2020 remains before we’re kissing it’s ass good-bye and saying hello to 2021.
Yet, we have an open-ended agenda at this point. COVID-19 has disrupted normalcy. The U.S. elections are due. We’re into the thirty-first named storm of the ‘hurricane season’. Climatologists are predicting wilder, more violent, and less predictable weather. With all that’s happening, water and food security for many of the world’s creatures are being jeopardized.
So, you might see why I’m thinking of “Slip Slidin’ Away” might have slipped into my thinking. Opportunities, time, and hope seem to be slip slidin’ away. Some might claim that sanity and peace are, too.
Certainly, it feels to me, probably because where I am in life, the days seem like they’re slip slidin’ away.
Here’s the song. Yeah, it’s a repeat. Used it back in August, 2018. Wear a mask please. And as they once said to the point it became nauseating, have a nice day.
I read about a Yemeni mother and her son. The Trump administration had separated the two-year old boy from his mother. The boy was dying. After months of separation, the mother was allowed into the country to see her son. He died shortly afterward.
Paul Simon’s “Mother and Child Reunion” (1972) played in my stream after reading the news.
Oh, little darling of mine
I can’t for the life of me
Remember a sadder day
I know they say “let it be”
But it just don’t work out that way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again
This song streamed to me this morning as I slopped about the house before cleaning up and dressing to go out. I like the lyric’s enigmatic meanings, how we think, make decisions, and decide to act, and then lose the will or the courage, and turn away. It often feels like we’re almost to our goals when they slip away, forcing us into decisions about whether to give up or go on.
Here’s Paul Simon with “Slip Slidin’ Away” from 1977.
Still streaming from way back in the last century.
I like the light and peppy feel of today’s theme music. It tells a story, and the story-telling invokes a sense of place and life that I identify with whenever I hear it. But the story isn’t completely told. Gaps remain. That’s how I like my story-telling, with gaps that cause you to wonder even after hearing the story.
Here is Paul Simon with “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard,” nineteen seventy-two.