We’re into the week’s repeat cycle. Sunny. Blue and white sky. 35 F. High, 41. Winter warning out for later today. Snow down to 1500 feet. 1-3 inches. Sunrise a minute earlier than yesterday. Sunset a minute later today.
That’s the summary for March 7, 2023. Tuesday.
Got Foreigner’s “Double Vision” from 1978 in the morning mental music stream. Dream brought it on. Won’t encumber you with details. Actually, still sorting it. I will say that I don’t know how “Double Vision” is related.
1978 found me going from Texas to WV, from the military to a restaurant owner and a college student. Hectic period of searching for myself.
It’s a brief ‘un today. My annoyance meter is rising. Just one of those things. Happens once a month. Usually one to two days. Gets really dark sometimes. Don’t know in advance where it’ll fall.
Stay pos if you can. A sip of coffee awaits my lips. Have a better one. Cheers
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.
The weather floof ran in, energetic with excitement. “It’s snowing!”
“Yes,” I answered, “I told you it was snowing before letting you out six and a half minutes ago.”
“It’s really coming down,” the weather floof continued.
“I know. We can see that through the window.”
“My fur is wet. Feel it.”
“Really?”
Not getting the sarcasm (they never do), the weather floof walked to the kibble. “I’m going to re-energize and then go out and see what the weather is like.”
The weather floof is Papi. He is and forever shall be the ginger menace, the orange blade, flash, and a bunch of other names, including Meep. He originated as Meep when he was the neighbor’s cat for the sound that he made. Now that he’s lived with Tucker for a few years, he’s found a proper meow and only rarely meeps.
He’s right about the snow. It’s really coming down. Seriously, it’s coming down. Not laying or sticking, at 36 F. But snow in March in Ashlandia? That forced a number of Ashlandians to pick their jaws up and put them back in place. How many days in a row have we seen snow? That surprises us, too. Every day, Alexa tells us we have another winter weather advisory. “Snow will start at twelve AM and continue falling until nine PM.”
Skiers are happy, though. “Hey, there’s new powder on Mount Ashland.” Yes, we know.
Dawn began early. It is entertaining to find dawn’s arrival obviating lighting requirements as I feed cats, let them out, and let them back in. We only have two now, down from five. The two we have seem to think that they need to fill the space and use the time previously allotted to the departed cats. Sometimes, I’ll call for the late felines just for these two’s reactions. Ears go back. They check each other and look over their shoulders, probably worrying about ghost cats. That’s all we’d need to make life complete.
Maybe that should be a television series: Ghost Pets.
It’s Sunday, March 5, 2023. Just around the corner from little sister’s birthday. Sunrise was at 6:40 and sunset will be at 6:06. The weather floof says it’ll be chilly and snowy today. Sunlight barely lights up the back of the grey sky of clouds. High temp will be 39 F.
A Neil Diamond song, “I Am I Said,” 1971, flows through the morning mental music stream. My wife asked me (again!) if I was going to do some household task. I replied, “I said I am.” The Neurons took it from there.
Stay pos. Drinking coffee helps me in that regard. Gotta go now. The weather cat wants back out. Cheers
That’s how my wife and I talk about the snow. We’re both in our sixties and learned these sharp-edged snow statements from our parents and every other adult we were around in childhood. We’re not alone. If I say one of those statements to friends my age and above, they’ll respond with the other. Like we’re programmed.
It’s Saturday, March 4, 2023. The snow is really falling. As opposed to? Not really falling? It’s 34 F out there. Volume builds up, turning Ashlandia’s Clay Street neighborhood white. But soon as volume diminishes by a flake, it all melts away. Can’t say what’s happening in the rest of the town. I checked the cameras. We have one at the plaza downtown, 2.4 miles north. Snowing there, but not ‘sticking’, to use the meteorological term. Also surveyed the I5 cameras with the town’s exits. Traffic is thin and moving. No one in the chain-up areas. Supposed to snow most of the day, except when it’s raining. High temperature will be 42 F. As you might guess, the sun is as scarce as a Democrat at a Trump rally. White clouds rule.
Sunrise surprised us — not — we were ready — at 6:41 this morning. Daylight’s end arrives shortly after the sun’s departure at 6:04 PM.
The Neurons have Melissa Manchester singing her cover of “Don’t Cry Out Loud”, 1978, in the morning mental music stream. It’s one of two songs playing, taking turns with grave politeness. Other one is “View to A Kill”, Duran Duran, 1985. It’s all about the night’s dreams.
Stay pos. and watch out where the huskies go. My coffee is at hand, reinforcing my low energy levels. Here we go. Time to start the Saturday circus.
We continue with a shrinkage problem here in Ashlandia. Yes, the snow patches are holing and shrinking. Snow repair teams were sent in yesterday. Although they worked with demonic intensity, it was slapdash, thin in many places, and the snow continues to disappear.
It’s Friday, March 3, 2023 — 030323 — in Ashlandia. Call it Slideday, though. Came up with that decades ago as I noticed bosses and organizations often let things slide on Friday. “We’ll pick it up Monday.” Unless customer orders, hard delivery dates, or the end of quarter/end of year was underway. Then you work until it’s done, damn the day of the weak.
Sun’s presence struck Ashlandia at 6:43 this AM. Starting at 26 F, the temperature climbed to 32 F and will go on to 42 F today. A weather monitor told us on TV last night that our average daytime high temperatures are hanging about ten degrees below normal. Ashlandia will see sunset at 6:03 this evening. Stretched white clouds sail a faint blue sky. Sunshine smiles on it.
Got a favorite song in the morning mental music stream. Reading the news inspired The Neurons to dig up an old political ditty performed by this Brit group, The Who. No, not the Guess Who?. Told the tale of Mom buying this album for me when I employed it as a theme song back in 2017, so I won’t belabor that aspect. I cranked up the stereo for “Won’t Get Fooled Again” back in 1971. Hard to believe that was just 52 years ago. Seems like just 20 years ago.
Stay pos and seize the slideday. I’m seizing the coffee. It’s a start, right? Carpe caffeine. Here’s the memory 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
Sunrise’s 0650 arrival showed us, flurries. They’re on the smallish side but they’re earnest. With the thermometer flailing at 33 degrees F, the flurries pile up. But it all melts when they take a pause. Most be demoralizing to work so hard, dropping millions of flakes and yet see no appreciable accumulation.
It’s Monday. Feb. 27, 2023, the NTL day of February, in case you’ve not been told that February has twenty-eight days this year. Children are walking, school buses are running, parents are dropping off students and zipping off for errands, work, exercise classes. My wife went off to the last.
Sunset is due at 5:58 PM. The weather whizzes tell us 40 F is Ashlandia’s high temperature expectation.
The cats are amfloofvalent about the snow. Tucker looks out without comment. Papi demands freedom. Released to the back yard, he zips around through the flurries to the front porch and demands permission to come back in. He knows Oregon weather at this time of year, so he expects it to change, but it’s not happening as fast as he’d like. I suggest he sit down, maybe have a cup of coffee and observe the weather through the window. He replies, “Meeep.” It’s his trademark sound. That was his name. He’s sometimes referenced as the floof formerly known as Meep.
Meep and Tucker did eat in the same room this morning. That’s a remarkable achievement. Maybe flooftente is thawing. They’ve only lived together for six years. It takes time.
Tucker is doing better with his hind section but still can’t jump. Appetite is much improved, though. We took a risk last week. Bought a twenty-five pound bag of kibble from Costco. Tucker is very discriminating about what he’ll eat, like a child eyeing whatever is offered. Papi is more liberal with what he puts in his mouth. He’s like, “Food! Yes!” Chomp chomp. Neither of them like anything with sweet potato in it. The purchased food is chicken and rice.
Well, Tucker leaped into the new food with gusto. Emptied his kibble bowl and then pulled over the bag to paw out more. See? Improved appetite.
In dispiriting news from around the U.S., Republicans keep pushing to pull books from schools and libraries. Fear, you know. What will their blessed offspring learn? God, what will they see? Might see nekkid people. May even discover that everyone poops. In the name of the holy bible, we can’t have that. They much prefer blinders on their little ones.
They’re playing, “Let’s pretend.” Let’s pretend that people don’t identify differently from the genders we think they are. There are only two, you know. That’s what Jesus said, and the disciples agreed with them to a man. Let’s pretend that slavery was a good thing and that racism doesn’t exist. Thus it is that books may not reference sex, racism, slavery, and other things that make certain people ill. See, it’s only certain people pushing these agendas, a terrified vocal minority.
Okay, end snark.
Was pleased with the SAG results last night, as far as Everything Everywhere All at Once winning four honors. I enjoyed the movie and thought it deserving. Didn’t see many of the other movies, so I don’t know if my opinion is relevant.
BTW, just finished a novel, Legends and Lattes by Travis Baltree. Cited as high fantasy, and featuring a Orc swordswoman as the protagonist, it’s almost like a cozy, but it’s an entertaining and clever send-up of coffee houses as well. My wife found it and passed it on to me after she enjoyed it. I recommend it if you’re looking for a light read.
After a raucous dream night, I have “Bang!” playing on the morning mental music stream loud system. AJR released it a few years ago. It’s an interesting ditty, not about Jack and Diane, but about adulting, being responsible, like moving to your own place, filing taxes, and trying to remember a password.
Stay pos. The oaties have been eaten — they were of a sweet variety today, with brown sugar and blackberries. I have coffee at hand. Sips have been consumed. I am a go. Here’s the music. Pretend you know this song.
Heavy snow fell this morning for thirty minutes. Thick mythological flakes twirled and spun, building to a fast two inches. But the temperature was 36 and the sun cracked the clouds, and lo’, it melted in minutes. Now it’s wintingery again, dashing dark clouds, determined sunshine, uncertain winds chasing leaves.
It’s Feb 26, 2023, a Sunday. Sun’s warm light surmounted the southeasterly elevations at 6:51 this morning. We’ll stay in its presence until 5:57 PM.
Winter warnings are issued. The weather nerds say snow and rain every other day this week. Highs in the 40s to 50s during the day but pushing the mercury down in the mid-twenties at night. Last night’s low was 28 F. It’s now 42, which is our high.
Interesting news from sis-in-law. One, QVC is talking about a deal with her for her product, the CranioCradle. Two, she was in a car accident and now has a bad hip and can’t walk. They’re telling her she’ll probably need surgery. Her insurance company is taking care of everything, and she has Medicare to cover other costs. Still, it’s a pain.
We were out shopping in the changing conditions. — had to – Book Club in March, you know, K is hosting, you know — apparently the President and significant royalty from around the world is showing up, to judge from the planning and preparation — and I somehow between the axis of K’s zealous planning and the changing wintingery situation ended up with The Neurons plugging “Shelter from the Storm”. Guy named Bob Dylan sung it originally. Came out on one of his albums in the 1970s.
Stay pos. The shopping expedition flushed my energy away. It’s a lot of tedious standing around for me. It was just raining, then sleet, then snow. Now it’s sunny. The wind has gone on up the road. Monday is coming.
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
We’ve shifted back into standard Ashlandia winter mode. Dropping into the twenties at night, forties to fifties, all Fahrenheit, during the day.
It’s Friday. It’s Feb. 24, 2023. Sunshine broke in at 6:54 this morning, lighting up two fresh inches of snow. Was 29 F then. Now we’re up to 34 and the snow is melting. I saw the snow falling and accumulating as Papi made his usual declarations about being an outdoor animal and needing to leave the house, then changing his mind and demanding to come back in because he’s domesticated. The weather wizards inform us that we’ll see 46 F before the sun whisks away over the horizon at 5:55 PM.
Up north in Portland, friends share videos of heavier dumps, like ten inches. Meanwhile, a buddy down in Santa Cruz shows photos of several inches in his area. February is made for snow this year.
I had words in the head sometime in the last twenty-four heures that went, “Bring it on, here we are, win or lose.” I was contemplating the snow and drought and snowpack, and the associated variables that accumulate into our annual regional water concerns. Hearing my thoughts, The Neurons said, “Hey, we know that song,” and inundated my morning mental music stream with Float On by Modest Mouse from 2004. Jeremiah Green, the Modest drummer, passed away on the last day of 2022, cancer, 45 years old. I think of him because I enjoyed his drumming in this song. Reminders of our mortality are everywhere.
Stay positive. Carpes Friday. I’ll do the same after chugging some strong black roasted bean water. Here’s the tune. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 