First, I’ll tell you about my typical summer wardrobe.
But first, a side path.
The side path is that I suffer from edema. Maybe it’s the lymphatic flavor. Medicos are out about the source and cause. Addressing it means I wear knee-high support hose. They work, help, however you want to put it. However, I’m a vain guy and don’t want to be seen wearing them outdoors.
My standard summer clothing choice since I was a small child are short pants, or shorts. I’m not going out in them while wearing my support house. I’ve seen folks out there in that combo. I admire their courage. Did I mention that I’m vain?
All this means I had a new challenge: what to wear when the sunshine and air conspire to push temperatures into the 80s, 90s, and 100s, as happens here in Ashlandia in the months between May and October. Jeans do not work for me. They feel hot, sweaty, and constricting.
My wife said, “You should wear joggers.”
Suspicions roused themselves. What was that? Joggers? I know what they are. I’ve seen young people in them. And women wear them. I’m not a young person or a woman. However…
I began sniffing around joggers. Looking for garments which will meet my needs. There are men’s joggers out there, but they often lack pockets. I like having pockets, especially those of the pouch type on my front thigh, where I can safely and comfortably deposit my wallet.
My search culminated at Costco. There, as if in answer to my hopes, were Wrangler Men’s Tech Pants. Made of synthetics, they met all my other needs, and were priced to move at $22. I put them into the cart and tried them on at home.
They fit. They’re comfortable. And they look good without attracting attention. I am not fond of attraction.
After wearing the black ones for a few days, I purchased them in grey and khaki. My vanity is appeased, and my wife is pleased with my appearance. All in all, a small win-win for me.
The shorts went on. Officially, they’re ‘short pants’.
This is Wednesday, April 10, 2024. 66 F now, the warm end of our day will rise to 71 F. Everything is in bloom under blue, sunny skies. It’s bold with yellows, pinks, and white blossoms and blooms, people, against a fully backdrop of green grasses and trees — along with
Things are going well for me, thanks. A woman at the coffee shop told me, “You have nice legs. If I had legs like that, I’d be in shorts, too.”
She appeared a few years younger than me and had a perfect stage voice. I’m not one who enjoys attention. Baby, I was cringing inside. But I smiled and thanked her. She responded, “Wow, you have a great smile, too.” I felt like everyone was looking by now. I thanked her again, and she waved and went on.
Back ‘home’, Mom was discharged from Forbes Hospital after treatment for appendicitis. A day and night of diarrhea was endured. Now, after being up all night in pain, she’s back at the hospital for a CT scan to see why she has pain and a fever.
My sister, G, is on the scene, waiting for news. It’s a business day at the hospital. Parking is full. The parking situation and emergency responsiveness are hampered by a sinkhole in the parking lot.
A social worker came out and spoke with sis. No beds are available for Mom and they’re proposing to scan her at another location. Now they’re suggesting, take her home and bring her back tomorrow.
WTF questions arise. Sis is dealing with it. She’s intelligent, competent, and hard-edged at times like this, unafraid to question authority, and willing to stand her ground. In other words, she’s a good person to have on site.
I was thinking about my aunt J. She’s the one I previously wrote about with colon cancer.
I always admired her and enjoy her company. She always spoke to me like I was an adult when I was a child. I think she was instrumental in teaching me to think about matters from different perspectives. That’s a quality that I’ve often depended on, and which is responsible for whatever successes and achievements I’ve had. Good to have people like her in one’s life.
I didn’t learn about all her issues. She married and was divorced when young. One child. Then, another child from an affair. That child, my cousin, was put into an orphanage until my aunt could get her life in order. She finally met and married the love of her life, as she described him, and had three more children. She and I were together until brain cancer took him about a decade ago.
Update from sis about Mom. Fever is gone. Mom is in a bed in a hallway. Awaiting further developments.
Tucker goes back to the vet this afternoon. It’s a checkup on his thyroid, high blood pressure, and his gums after having his teeth removed. Fingers crossed that my old friend is found to be healing well and his issues under control. He’s gained weight, energy, and enthusiasm over the last few days.
Two thirds of the way through reading Kings of the Wyld. High fantasy variation, and worth reading if fantasy speaks to you. An interesting spin is that adventurers are ‘bands’, much like rock bands, and treated like rock stars. We readers are in on the idea but it’s not heavy handed. Our protagonist band broke up years before and have aged into normal lives. Now, yes, they got the band back together to save one of their daughters. I highly recommend this Nicholas Eames novel, even though I’ve not finished it. Still have about one hundred fifty pages left. My wife read it first, and then urged me to read it.
Today’s music comes straight out of 1966. After reading a Heather Richardson post, I thought, tell it like it is. One of our nation’s political problems IMO is that politicians on the right lie to their supporters, and the media goes along with it for the most part. Some journalists are beginning to seriously hipcheck some of the liars but too many get a free ride. I can provide substantial examples, if you need it.
Anyway, overhearing my thinking about Ms. Richardson’s post, The Neurons began playing Aaron Neville and “Tell It Like It Is” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark burning). A beautiful torch song, it’s a good song when you’re at a fork in the road, looking back on what’s happened while gazing ahead, trying to divine a path forward.
Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue this November. I’ll be doing the same. Now, riding on wings of coffee, I’m off to continue writing and editing.
I was visiting with family. We were going to a special event. It may have been part of a wedding or a holiday. Never clear to RL me although dream me understood.
Women and children dominated in the dream family. I knew none of them from RL. A chaotic dream, almost immediately upon arrival, I set up in my room, a narrow, tall space with a cheap bed. This room later changed, becoming wide, and long, with a low ceiling. I didn’t notice the change during the dream but as I look back on it, I can see the difference.
Word was given, time to start getting ready to go. I dumped my suitcase to go through my clothing. I’d only brought shorts with me even though I knew it was supposed to be a fancy function. As I went through the shorts, discarding many as unacceptable, I chastised myself with my packing decisions — what the hell had I been thinking? Women who were dream family members kept coming by to see what I was choosing to wear. I had the impression that they were taking their cues from me. That unnerved me, as I felt pretty clueless and unprepared. NTL, I was going to do my best.
I tried on a pair of black and white shorts. Knee-length, they had a pleated waist and fit me well. Now a shirt! I found a silvery one which I decided went well with the shorts. Women coming by came and told one another, “He’s going to be sparkling.” They went off. When I next saw them, they were dressed in glittering sequined dresses in red, blue, black, gold, silver, and white. All wore ornate necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. They seemed like they were quickly ready to go.
But the children weren’t ready, and were following me around, waiting for me to dress. It’s now that my room became different. As I held up the shorts and checked myself in a mirror, I realized my shorts were muddied. OMG, now what was I going to do?
I began going through my shorts again. At that point, a young man came in. Supposedly another relative, he acted a little off. I thought that he could be on drugs. Other than that, he had short blonde hair, was my height but very muscular.
He walked around my room, telling me that he was just looking around and then asking me what I was going to wear. I showed him my muddied black and white shorts, then set them aside and continued going through the others. He complimented me on my shorts, walked around a little more, then suddenly moved. Grinning broadly, he left.
I decided that I’d wash the mud off the black and white shorts. They were gone! Realizing the guy had taken them, I went out after him. I quickly chased him down. He denied it at first, then held up the shorts and confirmed he’d taken them, but justified his behavior because he liked them and I had a lot of shorts to wear and he had none. As he finished this, I jerked the shorts out of his hand.
Shouting, he threw a punch. I dodged that and scrambled backwards and up onto a low wall. Fists balled, he came after me. Others were watching. I knew he was way more muscular than me and figured that he would easily beat me senseless. As he approached, I said, “I’m not fighting over shorts. This is stupid. These are mine. If you want to steal them, you can, but everyone will know.”
He’d been about to take the shorts and hit me. Jerking to a halt, he started berating himself. I grasped the gist was that he had problems and he was struggling to change. As he did that, I slipped away.
I still needed to wash my shorts. Locating a bathroom, I went in, closing and locking the door behind me. As I bent over the sink, a woman pulled the top of the door back from the frame, unhooked a lock and then reached down and unlocked the door. She opened it; I pulled it closed. She opened it again.
Another woman came up, demanding to know what was going on. I explained my end. She answered, “We can’t have this.” I realized that she was referring to a locked door. Leaving that bathroom, I went off to find a phone.
Michael Seidel, writer 