Tag: routines

Saturda’s Theme Music

Yesterday, sunshine was uncorked on us. Washing through blue skies, our air temp crested 70 F and lived there for a while. Gorgeous day, right?

Today, it’s 51 F and sunny. But we’re only expecting 63 F. And…rain. Still, pretty springish winter day. ‘Bout average for Ashlandia on Saturda, March 1, 2025.

Yep, a new month has begun. Sixteen percent of 2025 has been experienced. Those expecting a calm after the 2024 elections are probably disappointed. Those working for the Federal government in any capacity are likely stunned. Those hoping for lower inflation are probably too overwhelmed for emotions.

One thing unchanged are the lies that come out of Trump’s mouth. ‘Another lie’: MSNBC’s Nicolle Wallace smacks down Trump and Vance’s latest claims. No matter the subject, he will reliably lie, twist history, and bloviate, a fool who thinks himself a genius. He’s demonstrated these ‘qualities’ throughout his lifetime. Since he first announced his run for POTUS, it has been recorded and documented. And it sill goes on because his cult followers and the GOTP gleefully slurp it up by the spoonful.

Let me turn away from that. Take a coffee break for a while.

The Neurons dragged today’s song out of 2015. It came from a morning compound of wondering and cogitating as I slept-walked through the morning observances related to cleaning, feeding, eating, drinking. Prepping goes with all that. The routines induced a reflective miasma about being younger. Only, I was not the direct object of these thoughts; I was focused on Mom and Dad. Dad is with his third wife. In his nineties, he has issues but she’s younger than him by a decade and tends him well. His situation is solid.

Mom, though, is 89. She lives with her 95 year-old-fiance. It’s an old, three-story house. She falls a lot. Injuries and worries ripple out of each fall. She blames her back for her falls. I blame pride. I blame her refusal to accept her limitations and adjust her activities to their new scope. I understand; I don’t give up my routines. They’re routines because they comfort or reassure, or we enjoy them. These routines address something in our psychological makeup which isn’t easily altered.

The song is by Lukas Graham. As I went through the thought exercise of looking back, gazing forward, and reflecting on now, “7 Years Old” played in my morning mental music stream. The song is about reflections of being different ages and the attitudes and memories of that age prevail. So it was quite apt for my morning mental meandering.

Coffee and a doughnut are trespassing on my taste buds. Don’t know how they got past my defenses. Hope your day rocks in needed good ways. Here we go, in three…two…one…

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: Sunumny

It’s Sunday, September 22, 2024. First day of autumn, aka fall, in the northern latitudes. Sumumn is still visiting Ashlandia. Chilly last night at 52 F at our place, the high will pop into the low 80s F today. A relatively windless day, sunshine baths a blue sky where lonely moon offers a pale version of its waning self high in the western sky.

Haven’t read any news this morning. Was just involved with other matters and felt no great urge to jump into war, disasters, politics, tragedy, or weather. I instead read more of my library book, Slough House, by Mick Herron. Entertaining and distracting, it’s just what I required with my Sunday morning cuppa coffee.

Although I’ve been reading about bots and AI off and on recently, a cat inspired today’s song. Messing around with Papi, the ginger blade, so named because of his slender shape, brought the song up. Papi is well established in his ways. After eating, he washes up and then comes for some skrive, which is flooflish for sritch-love. He only stays about eight minutes and then abruptly whirls and leaves. As he departed today, I told him, “Domo arigatō,” after he left the session, continuing, “I appreciate the visit. Come again.”

Click, The Neurons recalled “Mr. Roboto” by Styx and began playing it in the morning mental music stream (Trademark rusty). The song, which seems like it’s about a man who is a robot, came out in 1983. I was stationed on Okinawa, Japan in 1983. As with many Americans stationed over there in the military, domo arigatō was one of several common Japanese expressions we’d learned as part of that experience. So that song was instantly and hugely popular with a segment of the personnel. Later, I had a young friend when were stationed in Germany who loved this song. He’d played the drums and keyboards, sing the lyrics, and act as a robot during parts of it. Yes, a crazy, memorable dude.

Enjoy your day, stay strong, be positive, and vote blue in 2024. Here’s the music, and awaaayyy we go. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: Springtied

Spring has hardened its grip on its final days in Ashlandia, pulling us back out of sprummer. Cloudy, chilly, blustery, partly sunny, it’s a ‘y’ day. Temperature is hanging onto 60 F now, up from the low in the 40s. In fact, the heat came on this morning because the house’s inside temperature dropped to around 66. The horror of it all. Today’s high is expected to squeeze close to 67 F.

No matter, the cats have found outside places to chill. Tucker is under the bush off the patio right beside the front door. Papi is on the other side of the yard, under the bushes by the wooden fence. With these positions, they have the entire yard covered. These two positions have been coveted and held by cats since we first moved here in 2006.

Our Father’s Day plans don’t include fathers. I’m still waiting for an update on Dad. I spoke to his wife yesterday. He was in good spirits in the hospital and the fluid around his heart was being removed. She said she’d have him call me when the chance came. My wife’s father passed away back in 1991, just after he retired, right after he turned 65.

But we have this monthly thing with friends. Social people, about my parents’ ages, they’ve become housebound with health issues so once a month, we go to dinner at their house. Food is provided by a local restaurant. We take turns paying. Sometimes we watch sumpthin’ on TV; once in a while we work on a jigsaw puzzle. More often, we just chat and visit. We missed the engagement in May as I was in Pittsburgh (well, Penn Hills) visiting Mom and family.

I have the Rolling Stones singing “The Last Time” from 1965 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark fused). The Neurons didn’t reveal a reason for the song but I’d guess it has something to do with Dad being in the hospital.

Be strong, stay positive, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is making its way through my system, and here is the music video. Cheers

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Schefloofule

Schefloofule – (floofinition) – An animal’s timetable about when things should be done.

In Use: “Many animals demand that their schefloofule be obeyed, with dogs and cats doing things like beating on their food bowl when they’re supposed to be fed.”

In Use: “Many people often complain about their cat’s schefloofule because it includes things like playing or being fed at a time when the human wants to be asleep.”

In Use: “Dogs thrive on routine, and when changes are forced into their schefloofule, they need an adjustment period.”

Recent Use: “Videos and stories on social media have surfaced show how floofs have adopted their people’s routines as their schefloofules and are adamant that they be followed to the minute when it comes to feeding or going to bed for the night.”

“Feed me! It’s dinner time.”
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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

4:40 PM.

Alexa begins playing soft music. It sounds like pop.

“Alexa,” I ask her, “Why are you playing music now?”

“Hmm. I don’t know that.”

“Alexa, do I have any routines set to play music?” I know I don’t.

“Hmm. You’ll need to go online for that.”

“Alexa, who told you to play this music?”

“Hmm. I don’t understand that question.”

So it goes. Alexa began playing music in January every day at 4:40 PM. Every day. We have no routines established. Beyond that, she turns it down to a very low volume. I’ve researched it on the net, and others have this problem, too. We don’t know why she does it. Neither does she. Nor does Amazon.

I privately suspect Alexa is playing games, perhaps as a newfound sense of humor, but it feels like it might be a precursor to AI’s future: the AI does stuff, and no one, including it, knows why.

Nor does anyone know how to stop it.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: groovy

Today is Tuesday, Jan 2, 2024. Weather is once again tentative and indecisive, with winter insisting that it’s his turn to bat but spring like sentiments slashing in. Wind is a bubbling bruiser again, gusting to plus thirty, and clouds mar the sun’s shine across the land. Intermitten light rain is in the air as the air temperature shifts past the late forties, a solid climb from the night’s mid thirties, with more promised. ‘They’ say we’ll peak at 52 F today.

My mood is groovy because with the 2023 holidays receding into history, I’m pushing to return to my daily groove. Back in the coffee shop — for the first time this year! — I’m starting another round of editing and revising for the novel in progress.

The coffee shops are tres busy, surprising me. I’m forced out of my comfortable spaces into the secondary coffee shop and to the counter facing a window, my back to the room. I don’t mind the window; I enjoy ogling the weather changes, spying on birds, and eyeing people wandering the street. Having my back to the room and its inhabitants distracts me. Who knows what maniacs are back there on a computer or phone? Maybe one of the nursing mothers or the middle-old people with them will go crazy on us, or a barista will succomb to the pressure of brewing espresso. One never knows, and with my back to them, I’ll have little warning before I can defend myself.

Today’s song, brought out of hibernation and pressed into the morning mental music stream (Trademark limited) by The Neurons after some interesting dreams, is “Let It Bleed” by The Rolling Stones, circa 1969. I was originally unimpressed with this song because of a country and western twang to the vocals, pacing, and general mileau. But listening more to the lyrics convinced me that this was a sardonic twist on country western and the period it was then in of melancholy songs about life. While C&W was about life in a rough way, sometimes as coal miners or coal miner’s spouses, booze, or being down on your luck or someone cheating on someone, the Stones sang about emotional dependence, drugs and sex. I appreciated the song more as I age and now reflect on it with fondness. This particular rendition is a recording of a live version with Bonnie Raitt, just cause I like Bonnie.

I’m still digesting the dreams behind this choice, BTW. Don’t know what to make of being naked and having a female friend lay down on me at some training site. What’s it all mean?

Stay positive, pull forward, keep strong, and lean forward toward better days. Coffee has been tested and approved for consumption. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Perspectives

My wife shared a friend’s anecdote.

She hadn’t seen the friend in a while. They have a regular gang that meet for coffee at Growlers after exercises classes each M-W-F morning.

Converted from an old gas station, Growlers, nominally a purveyor of beers, is in downtown Ashland. It actually shares its space with a small coffee shop. It’s normally not busy in the morning. That allows the coffee gang to pull together tables and make noise as they please. Outdoor seating with firepits is available, and that’s where they’ll typically be.

The gang is a flexible group with active lives, so the group meeting ranges from four to fifteen people. They’re mostly women. Grandmothers and great-grandmothers, retired teachers, programmers, nurses, musicians, accountants, architects, artists, firefighters, college professors, and so on. They’re characters, and have been coming to the same exercise class, with the same instructor, Mary, for over thirty years. My wife, in her mid-sixties, is the youngest. She started the coffee gant back when she began taking the class after we moved here in 2006. Always pursuing fitness, when she arrived here, she began looking for a new exercise routine, and heard about Mary’s Y class. That’s where she was told this tale this morning.

Weirdly, my wife doesn’t like the coffee at Growler’s, so she has tea.

“We’ve downsized,” L said. L is the friend. “I’m 76 and my husband is 82. We had a 3,000 foot home and five and half acres just outside of Ashland. We were talking and agreed, we don’t need all this property. So we sold our place and bought a smaller one here in town.

“Well, after we’d sold our property, the new owners called us. They wondered if we could meet at our old house and walk the property line with them so they can learn about their new land. Naturally, we agreed, so a time and place was set.

“We’d never met them. Well, we got out of the car to wait, and then they arrived. Well, they were older than us! Both had walkers.

“Then they told us, they were downsizing, too. We were speechless.”

I laughed when I was told the story and wondered, moving into a 3000 square foot home with some land while downsizing, just how big was their last place?

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Her car needed its gas tank filled. They devised a plan. Run errands — mail bills, drop off the utilities payment, pick up some needed items at the grocery store, drop off her top to return it — the color wasn’t at all like the blue depicted in the photo online — and get gas for her car.

Going by order of direction, the gas station was first. He pulled in and headed for the pump.

“No, go to the other pumps, the filler cap is on this side,” she said from the passenger seat.

“No,” he retorted, glancing at the gage. “Look at the arrow. It’s this side.”

“No, it’s on this side,” she answered. “They won’t do it on the other side. It has to be on the same side as the pump.”

“Which is this side.”

Silence fell as she looked at the gage. He clapped his hands and burst out laughing, then she said, “Oh my God, we brought the car,” and threw herself back with laughter.

Of course, it was so funny to them, she had to call friends and share.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Sketchy snow paints Ashlandia. Less than an inch in most places. A fine job has been done on the streets, walks, and drives. They are all white perfection, a canvas for car and animal prints.

Enough snow effect has settled that ambient noise is muffled. Footsteps, rolling tires, motor sounds, barks, snap out, intruders on the silence.

Winting in Ashlandia. Familar as summer wine.

Today is Thursday, 022323, the only time it’ll be 022323 for another hundred years. 27 F, a few wavering steps up from the overnight’s 23 F, ten steps away from the suspected high 37 F. The sun’s appearance was at 6:56 AM. Its light dazzles off the whites. Weather gnomes inform us the sun will shine on Ashlandia for forever or until 1753, whichever comes first.

The Neurons have slotted “Hanginaround” by The Counting Crows outof 1999 into the magic morning mental music stream. Came to me as I was in the coffee shop, editing, slashing, and pillaging a manuscript. Pausing to consider other regulars and their energies, I thought, man, this group hangs around here a lot, thirteen strangers united by a place. The Neurons fired the song up in memory within seconds and here we are the next morning.

Ah, it’s 32F now. Almost 10 AM. Sun has melted off the hard surfaces, but man is that reflected light bright from the rest. Stay pos. Pursue your Thursday activities and dreams. A cuppa coffee and I’ll learn to run. Here is the music.

Cheers

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

It was Wednesday. As though scheduled by God, school children began filing into the coffee house at 2:05. Within five minutes, the number of people went from six quiet adults to six quiet adults and fifty noisy children aged ten through fifteen, at a guess. The volume rose. Their voices climbed louder. A fighter jet taking off would have been drowned out.

The cliques formed and routines were honored. Then one teenaged female raced back through the coffee house and out the front door. As she left, she screamed and then did a little dance. A girl outside ran up to her. The two surged into a long hug and began jumping up and down without releasing each other, joy overwhelming their expressions. Other girls in the coffee shop turned, saw the scene and ran out to join them. “Eva, Eva,” one running girl shouted as she raced out, answering one question.

Of course, other questions surfed his mind, like who was Eva and where had she been? She seemed very popular. It was like she was just getting back from prison, a hospital stay, or a very long trip.

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