Received some rain and thunder boomers yesterday afternoon. The house floofs took it in different ways. Tucker was all mellow, like, stop that noise, I’m trying to sleep. Papi came in and found a secure place beside me, remaining there, quiet and awake, until it was all over.
It’s Sunday, May 28, 2023. Spring pressed the rain button for Ashlandia one more time for today. Oh, the smell yesterday and this morning was wonderfully fresh, a restorative tonic for my senses. Clouds rule as far as my vision takes in. 64 now, we’ll be peeking into the mid to upper seventies by mid-afternoon, the weather jockeys say.
I was conversing with myself about a dream and its meaning, chuckling at a clear cliché which had been used. I scoffed at my dream manager. “Well, that’s not original.” Liking that, The Neurons kicked off “Come Original” by 311 from the turn of last century. I’d not heard the song in eons that I recall but then wondered, did I hear it somewhere in the background? Who knows with the mind, hey?
I’ve had brekkie, and some coffee. Time to launch the day in a serious way. Stay pos, yo? Here’s 311. Cheers
Pop quiz, students. It’s Saturday, May 27, 2023 in Ashlandia. Which of these things are not true:
a. Cloudy
b. Spring
c. High will be 78 F
d. Currently 61 F
e. All are true.
That’s right, it’s e in Ashlandia, although there is no e in Ashlandia.
My wife was worried about the cougar getting Papi last night. See, two nights ago, I called Papi in about elevenish. Dude was in his patio condo, but the cat was acting peculiar. Moving slow. Careful. Tail down. Like it was the anti-Papi, doing the opposite of the guy’s usual demeanor. I worried about his health. He usually comes in, gallops across the floor, talks to me, gets some lovin’, and eats. None of that happened, so I prepared him some cat food warm with hot water. Although interested, he showed no great enthusiasm. I coaxed him to his eating site, and he ate it all up. That’s good, right?
But he stayed silent and in. Talking with the other half, she suggested the cougar was seen or maybe Papi escaped something and had a close call. She really thought it was related to the cougar. Papi stayed in that night until dawn. Well, by midday, Papi was his ush, galloping about, tail up, chatting and eatin’.
Back to last night. “I want to keep him in,” she said. “I don’t want the cougar getting him.” So Papi was forced to remain inside. Verily, he was unpleased, talking to me about it in various tones throughout the night. Finally let him out at 6:45 AM, after sunrise. Not a good night sleep for me. Coffee is needed.
Interesting dreams, though. Still reviewing them. Many small dreams, tiny as webisodes.
Tina Turner’s death has The Neurons stuck back in time. Today we’re revisiting “We Are The World” from 1985 in the morning mental music stream. Written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie, it was a charity single to raise money for famine relief in Africa. Had a who’s who of the United States pop culture stars at that time performing on it, and it was all captured on video. Forty-five pop stars were on hand; fifty were turned away. A few who were invited didn’t show.
Tina Turner was back in the spotlight in a big way, then, so she’s an early featured soloist. Anyway, that’s today’s song. Point after: I’d wondered how many of the performers have now passed away. Someone had already done the research for me. Tina was number ten. Not surprising. Song was done in 1985, after all. Thirty-eight years ago. Many of the performers were already middle-aged.
Side note: I was in Africa that year, participating in an exercise in Egypt’s desert for a month.
Stay pos, enjoy this day and make it memorable by having fun and getting it done, number one. Here’s the retro tune. Cheers
Today is Friday, May 26, 2023. Friday before Memorial Day in the US. This year’s Ashlandia weather has been set up for a fun weekend. 68 F now, no clouds to scuff the blue sky. We’re looking at some low 80 F highs for the period.
Many folks around the nation will employ the Friday Mark V. Features of the Mark V includes a four-day weekend, cook-outs, and general games and partying. Memorial Day is a Monday holiday, as established by law in the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1968. Gives many people at least a three-day weekend. Employees often invoke a three and a half day weekend, taking off from work early.
People are still working though. Restaurants, hospitals, emergency services, military, hospitality and travel industries. And sales. Memorial Day always invokes some kind of sales extravaganza. The opportunities used to be blasted over the radio and television airways. Cars, furniture, mattresses, lawn equipment.
Let me note, though, my wife’s family always treated as a solemn period. No cook-out or grilling, nor drinking and partying. They drove to the cemetery to pay respects to the passed and put flowers on their graves.
Not us. Mom always pushed for a big holiday for this one. Lotta food. Fried chicken, burgers, hotdogs, complemented by potato salad and chips, finished up homemade pies. We usually attempted to go to some park for the day, and my favorite memories involve Keystone Lake in Pennsylvania. We’d leave at dawn so we could get good parking and the best spot. Then we’d haul our food and gear across the land like some great pioneering family. Chairs, blankets, umbrellas, food, beer, sodas, Kool-aide, gloves and balls, frisbees and other games, radio, utensils and plates. Directed by Mom, I would run ahead to find the best spot and claim it, as if the park wasn’t almost empty at that point. Oh, we had such good times.
But sometimes, we stayed home, cooking out in the back yard, playing games there. Fun, too, you know? That was mostly done on Laurie Drive in Penn Hills, before things began unravelling.
Those were the years I was finding rock and roll. One of my early favorites were Steppenwolf with “Born to be Wild” from 1968.
Stay pos. Whether it’s a holiday for you or not, I wish upon you a great day. Not all days can be great but we can still try.
Here’s the tune. Dial up the volume and wake up the wayback machine and sing along.
Hello! Is anybody out there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at all?
Today is the 25th and the last Thursday of May, 2023. Next Thursday will be the first day of June, 2023. Schools are preparing to wrap up the year and shut down for the summer in the northern latitudes. Solstice is creeping up.
But spring continues to rule in Ashlandia. It’s 54 F now and sunny under a cloudless blue sky. The day is heating up in a lazy, spring-like way. High will be about 77 F, weatherists claim. I believe ’em. Sunrise was at 5:39 AM and sunset is predicted to be 8:36 PM, providing us with a lot of daylight hours.
I have a Dire Straits song in mind today. See, it’s because Tina Turner died on Wednesday, which was yesterday. My generation, or at least my tribe, were fond of her. Her energy, skills, and talents impressed us. We enjoyed her singing, performing, and acting. After breaking up with her hubby, who was her musical partner, she struck out as a solo act. It took some years but she made it. One of her big comeback hits was “Private Dancer”.
Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits wrote “Private Dancer”. He even sang and produced it for the band’s next album but then he pulled it. He though a woman should be singing it. Eventually, through Tina and Mark’s managers, she recorded the song.
That’s a recap of an often told tale. After reading it again and remembering Tina and her career, The Neurons guided me back to Dire Straits. I find myself with “So Far Away” from 1985 stuck in the morning mental stream. It’s one of those songs I heard in my head after it came out and I was traveling around on my own, first in the military, then in marketing as a civilian. More than physical distance, the song is about emotional distant, and the situation, how the two people seem so different that the gap between them never closes.
Stay pos. Have some fresh coffee, if that’s your bent. It is mine. Here we go. Cheers
We got rock. And coffee. Day is looking good so far.
Spring is holding onto Ashlandia. Up to 54 F now on this Thursday, May 24, 2023, with the weather dregs insisting that the mid to upper 70s is possible today. Well, a blue sky has shown up. Sunshine is plentiful. Wind has stilled and smells less like winter. Maybe we’ll see those temps. Wonderful walking weather or working outside until it’s dark weather.
Still snow up on the crests around us. That doesn’t mean much. Between altitude, latitude, and longitude, they’re in a different micro-clime. Same if you drive up or down the road more than four miles.
I enjoy the long days of sunlight. Looking forward to and not looking forward to summer solstice. Exciting ’bout it because, hey, summer is here! Carries a load of popular memories and high expectations based on who I was and what used to happen in the summer. But as an established adult, summer arrival ushers in the shrinking of the daylight. The reversal begins. Not right away, but the days will grow shorter. Sunset will arrive a little earlier. Sunrise starts poking in a little later. Ah, c’est le vie.
So I have the patio door-rescreened. Everything is cleaned up, re-installed, looking good. I’m pleased. What mesmerizes me are the floof reactions. They cannot simply walk past the new screen and in through the cleaned frame et al. They must stop and in-teeennntttly sniff it all down. Not just once. Several times. The looks on their faces when they do. They become thoughtful. “What is this? What happened to the smells from the previous residents?”
Part of the reason the screen became so torn up and the area a little dirtier than approved is that I’d installed a cat door there. That’s removed now. But with something like the cat door, I had to pause to remember when it was bought and all the felines that graced it with their feet and fur as they passed through. So many different styles. The criminal type, carefully sneaking in, lifting one corner first, peering in, not making a sound. The blasters, charging through like they’re bursting through a defensive line. Oh, and the undecided, entering half way to stop and look around like they’re realizing, that’s not the door to Narnia. A small subset of the tail-placers existed, too, the cat which would enter or leave, but stop just on the other side, leaving their tail in the other side. Such sweeties and lovelies, all, and so missed with their unique personalities.
The Neurons brought up a 1983 song by Simple Minds, “Waterfront”. This was wholly due to Papi the ginger zing. He tapped on the slider for entrance. When he came in, I discovered him soaked. “Is it raining?” I asked. His reply was to sweep against my legs in a full circle, wetting my calves, and then head for a kibble bowl. So I went out to look. No rain. Must’ve been a sprinkler.
But The Neurons were busy by then, singing “Come in, get out of the rain.” The whole course of the song began seconds later and remain full-throated in the morning mental music stream experience. You know, when I first heard this song back in the day, I thought it was a new song from Tears for Fears. It has that beat. Could be right out of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” to me.
Stay pos and you do you and I’ll do me. Been drinking the coffee, doing me. Off to do other me things now. Here’s the music. Cheers
Today is Tuesday, May 23, 2024. Like many days which ends with a y, the weather surprised us again. Beautiful sun. Yeah, baby, because it’s bright, but not too hot. Yes, as if the sun changes temperature, right? No, that’s the pesky air and ground changing temps. Today features cool air with a wickedly chill wind. Feels like we’re back to mid-spring now. It’s 46 F but the weather chanters tell us Ashlandia’s high will be in the low seventies. If true, and that wind’s influence dips, it’ll be a gorgeous day. Am I right?
In bummer news, people continue to steal books from little libraries in Ashlandia. I assume it’s people. I suppose it could be animals. Maybe the bears, foxes, and cougars who wander the streets stopped to check out a little library. Maybe they assumed snacks were in there. So they stopped and were like, “Hey, these are books.” Then they took off to read later. I don’t think the raccoons, cats, and dogs are doing this. They’re more familiar with human ways and books.
In local election news, as measure 15-214 trails by 41 votes, it appears it has lost. Nothing official yet. Won’t be official until June. This year.
The mayor and other proponents made comments about what we now can’t afford as a city — like filling vacant police and fire positions — because the measure, which would have given all the revenue from a tax we have on food and beverage the the parks and recs division, has failed. More people on both sides of the issue are nonplussed about the comments, because things like that were never mentioned in the race. A growing majority are asking how and why she’s saying this. Like me, they want to know why this was never mentioned when the measure was being discussed. Focus was always on why the parks needed that money, and other things about the parks, its budget, and its previous surplus that disappeared. Thus, the mayor’s comments struck me as bullshit.
Dreams inspired The Neurons for their song choice today. Apparently. I went through the night’s dream, then left bed and started the daily process. Somewhere along the early stages of feeding the cats, “No Spoken Word” by Stevie Nicks manifested in the morning mental music stream. So, I suspect the dreams were responsible. Can’t connect the dots yet.
The song has that sound and feel to many mid/late 1980 rock & pop offerings. The drum, rhythm, instruments, style. Hear a song like that, and there we are, in the late 1980s, heading to the video store for something to watch, cursing cable TV — all them channels and nothing on — and talking politics, maybe Iran-Contra as it emerged on the scene, or those new things coming out, the Internet and the world wide web. Back then, they were saying that every home would soon have a computer in it. Many scoffed and laughed at the idea…
Stay pos, and use some situational awareness as you navigate Tuesday’s waters. Coffee is being consumed. Drink it if you got it. Here’s the music. Cheers
Spring has reclaimed Ashlandia. Clouds and blue sky out there mixing it up. 50 F now, 70 is possible, weather guides say with crossed fingers and a wink. Yesterday began damn chilly. Made me rethink my attire. So I dressed for an indoor concert, headed down the road ten miles, and voila, it’s 76, sunny, warm, and I’m overdressed.
Today I’m thinking I’ll dress for the blend. Shorts, polo shirt, light fleece. That’ll work. I can always change if it doesn’t. Talking with others about the projected temperature of 70 F, many proclaimed it as perfect weather. I like 72 F, myself.
Put my underwear on backwards yesterday. Didn’t realize it until a few hours into the day when a bathroom urge rose. Then, huh, WT…who dressed me this morning?
The concert yesterday was entertaining. Rogue Valley Symphony. We were special guests and given special access, etc., and munches, meeting with the band members and talking to them about their musical life and instruments. Makes you want to play, you know? Can’t say that too loud around them because they immediately offer to teach you how to play. Someone asked me what I did. Write, I answered, and ended up talking about that for fifteen minutes as musicians gathered to ask questions and listen. I had to gracefully extricate myself and turn the focus back onto music.
Papi has a new nickname. I often call him my little buddy, which is what the skipper of the SS Minnow used to call his mate, Gilligan. So I now sometimes refer to the ginger wonder as Gilligan. He’s picked up on it. Gave me a little tail swish in response. Might have been laughing, swearing, or shrugging.
Today’s music arrives via coffee thoughts. I was thinking about it and applied coffee to an old favorite song, “Cocaine”.
If you wanna hang out you’ve got to take her out Coffee If you wanna get down, down on the ground Coffee
She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie Coffee
If you got bad news, you wanna kick the blues Coffee When your day is done and you wanna ride on Coffee
Been singing that for decades, amusing myself, annoying others. Found a video of Eric Clapton playing it in 1988, backed by Mark Knopfler, Phil Collins, and Elton John. Hope you find it as satisfying as me.
We watched Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves last night at home on Paramount +. We enjoyed it and would recommend it. Fun, light fair, engaging, a little campy sometimes but nothing felt overplayed or overdone. Some small twists although most were visible a bit ahead of the scene, and several laugh out loud moments.
Here’s my coffee and the music. Stay pos and rule your Monday as best as you can. Never easy being in charge, especially when you’re trying to be in charge of yourself.
The season dial switched back to spring from sprummer today. No blue sky. Only gray clouds lining the top of our existence box. Ashlandia is quiet, pensive, waiting for sumpin’ to break.
It’s May 21, Sunday, 2023. 64F out there. Feels like we’re sprinting for June. Like May all the sudden needs to get to a bathroom for some urgent business.
Today’s high will be a mere 75F. It’s a mere month until summer solstice lands in Earth’s northern hemi.
My stomach isn’t pleased this morning. It’s been elected to speak for the rest of the body, who are trying to organize and push forward an initiative to laze around today. Coffee has been ordered for all of them but the results from the first sips aren’t reassuring. Brain is still waking up and has no clue what’s going on. Eyes keep muttering, “Just another minute” and work on closing.
Witnessed a fierce mouse attack this AM. The mouse was being attacked. Toy critter. Papi, bored, was leading me through the house. I found one of his favorite mice toys in the designated cat toy drawer. Fifteen toy mice in there in different stages of destruction. His favorite is gray, filled with catnip, with a blue tail. I tossed it with perfect timing, bouncing it off a sofa cushion into his path. Well, it was on. Poor toy mouse kept trying to escape Papi’s murder mittens, diving under the coffee table (which rarely sees any coffee and is never given any) only to be dragged back out and thrown into the air. This lasted almost an entire minute before the exhausted floof stilled, paw on mouse, declaring, “Truce.”
Going to a by-invitation-only pre-concert this afternoon to meet the orchestra and get informed about how the magic of a concert is accomplished. We’re mystified about why we were selected but the wife was thrilled. I reminded her to be sure to take some heavy cash and the checkbook.
Today’s theme music is a pop/rock/soul ditty called “Ball of Confusion (That’s What the World Is Today)”. Put out by the Temptations in 1970, the lyrics against a firm, driving beat, still merits hearing.
Ashlandia’s sprummer continues. Yesterday’s report can be recycled for today’s status — 64 F now, heading for the mid 80s, sunshine, blue sky, maybe thunderstorms will visit later.
Tucker, my wonderfloof, cracked me up in bed this morning. I was dozing, going through the dreams, when he joined me. After he prodded my hand, I shifted my position and petted him. I was on my side. He reached out and tapped my unengaged left arm. I moved it. He tapped, I moved, again, again, until I brought my arm down by him. Then he laid his head down on it. What a character.
Also on the cat front, 11:30 PM hits. My wife has retired and I haven’t seen the cats for a while. I open the front door to let in some cool air and the cats. Both cats and the air duly enter. Feels so good, I also open the back door to maximize the cool air’s access to our warm house — about 78 F inside. Then I go about doing some tidying, brush my teeth, so on.
I come out of the bath to find Tucker by his food pool, turned, looking at the slider. The screen is closed but the door is open. He just sitting there, looking. I go over, glance out. Nothing. But Tucker is freaking me out. I’m going all Suzanne inside, worrying about cougars, bears, people sneaking around the back yard.
I decide to go close the other door. As I do, I find Papi sitting in the living room, fifteen feet from the open door, watching it. Now I’m really troubled. Picking up the flashlight, I turn on the back lights, and turn the flashlight on. I step out, closing the door behind me, and listened. That’s when I saw it. Nothing. No critters or people. I went along the sides of the house. Zilch. Listened. Nada. WTH?
I go back inside. Papi is where he was. I close the door. Tail down and curled up between his legs, he skulks closer toward it, leaning forward with his nose, stopping when he’s five feet away. Then he backs up and sits. Still freaked, I close the front door.
Don’t know what was going on in the cats’ heads. Maybe they were just screwing with me. I think floofs like to do that to people.
Today’s music emerges from the cat incident and The Neurons thinking about mind games and mind control. They emerged with Steely Dan’s 1980 song, “Time Out of Mind”. Mark Knopfler does guitar work on this and weaves interesting notes around the main threads. I had a metallic brown Pontiac Firebird. Bought brand new just a few months before. Living in San Antonio, TX, assigned to Randolph AFB. I remember playing this album on the car’s tape deck as my cousins and I headed for Austin. Both of those cousins have passed away so I’m happy to play this memory.
Stay pos. Take over Saturday like you’re the dragon, master/mistress — whatever works for your pronoun — of the realm. The coffee drinking has commenced. Here’s the music. Cheers
It’s a sunshine slathered Friday in May. We never had the thunderstorms expected yesterday. Out working on the yard — it seems like I’m doing this forever, but I work a section at a time after my writing sessions end — I looked up at the sky and saw no clouds. Not one. Blue as far as vision took me.
Today, the 19th, might be the same. It’s 62F now. Doors are open for breezes. Cats floof* the front and back, washing in the entry ways. They’re contented, it seems. Weather prophets spread news, upper eighties, lower nineties. Sunshine. Maybe clouds, they add, covering.
From yard work came a Joe Walsh song from 1972, “Turn To Stone”. That was in reference to upending weeds. We let dandelions stay because the bees enjoy them but the others must go. One yard section by the driveway is pretty much empty space with decorative bushes. Weeds take over. I don’t use herbicides. That means dig them up. Parts of that area felt like it turned to stone, which invited The Neurons to bring the song into the mental music stream, where it has continued through into the morning. But it’s a song I enjoyed in my yud and it brings back some solidly fun memories.
In other news, as mentioned yesterday, the measure, which would have amended the city charter and changed what happens with the Food & Beverage Tax collected, remains alive but will probably be defeated. I voted for it to go down. Here’s where it gets interesting. Based on how it was written, presented, and debated, it was all about revenue collected via that mechanism being directed to the parks and recs folks. Hold on, many opponents said. The city needs a lot of other things, too. Now, as it’s going down, the mayor and other proponents are stepping forward to say that if it had passed, it would have freed up money in the budgetary process that would have allowed us to hire more, fix things, etc. Wait, wait, wait. All of my reading, all my video watching, and discussions with others, that was never mentioned. Then the major closes her reports by saying that opponents misled voters by lying to them. Excuse me, mayor, but you proponents did a piss poor job of explaining what would happen. It’s freakin’ nuts.
Anyway…
I’m also working on a simple DIY project to replace the slider’s screen door screening. Fairly straightforward process except I can’t get the door off to do it. I’ve reviewed videos, etc, but the door just doesn’t rise high enough to access the wheels and remove the door. Driving me bonkers.
Well, here’s the music. Stay pos, and embrace Friday like it might be your last and make it count for something which matters to you. Coffee’s up! Want some?
Cheers
*In this case, floof is used as a verb, much as man can be a noun or verb.
Michael Seidel, writer 