Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I watch people cross the street and they’re indifferent. All ages and genders. Car coming? So? Hit me or stop. Your call, their actions proclaim.
Yeah, and I’ve been in those days, walking and thinking, I don’t care. Hit me. I’m fine with that today. I think most of us have been at that nadir.
I feel terrific. Yes, I have a mild, unproductive, intermittent cough. My eyes feel little hot. I’m dealing with some congestion. My right foot is swollen. So is my left, but that’s just edema I must deal with. My right ankle is sore and suspect, but I’m adjusting to life like that. Ditto with my bloated feeling.
No, the problem today is that I feel terrific. I have high energy levels. I’m optimistic. So, I want to know from my body, from my physical being, What are you up to? Why do I feel this way.
See, I just don’t trust my body any longer. It gives up on unusual things at surprising moments, like putting on underwear. So when it feels ‘good’ and I’m upbeat, I want to know, What’s going on?
My body is up to something. Setting me up to be less alert so it can take me down.
Because that’s the way my body is these days.
Mood: Sunlow (Sunday mellow)
This is Sunday, January 7, 2024. It was a wintry day this morning after a 24 hours of competing precipitation. We cycled through various snow forms, slush, and pellets with fog smearing the background optics. The sun would prairie dog in to see what was happening on the ground but the air stayed chill. Looking out and seeing the situation, my wife said, “It’s good to be retired.”
Today brought us light snow in some places layered over 32 F air temp. My partner had a birthday party to attend. I’d been excused to do my thing but that plan collapsed when she saw the roads and asked if I’d go to the party. You know, so I could drive. Thus is why I’m posting late.
Good party, and worth attending, a friend, Barb, celebrating number 80. She did it right with champagne and mimosas and tables starting to splinter under the weight of food. While Barb made most, people also brought food (my wife took her five minute almond tarts, an Ashlandia favorite). (Ashlandia, where the food is above average.) To complement those food offerings, Barb also hired a crepe truck. We had choices of caprese, lemon, cinammon, or chocolate crepes made to order. With a house packed full with friends, and people coming and going from ten AM until the planned end, seven PM, how could you not but have a good time?
I went walking yesterday afternoon, enjoying the wintry ambiance. Reminded me of young years in the places where I lived where climate invited snow and ice on a regular basis — Ohio, Iowa, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Illinois, West Virginia. Breathing in cold air, same cold air scolding my skin, a little dribble out of my nostrils. Snow changes sound and light. When you’re out there alone, a sense of isolation descends. I could hear my breathing, feel my heartbeat, and entertained new thinking.
The Neurons unleashed “Good Feeling” into the mental music stream, and it carried over into today’s morning mental music stream (Trademark frozen). “Good Feeling” is by Flo Rida and was released waaayyy back in 2011. It’s good music for me for today because despite what reality might push into my face, I remain optmistic and I have a feeling things will get better. Fingers crossed. Knock on wood.
Before I close, I want to offer this for reflection: the ‘sound’ of the solar wind. Because everything isn’t about the privilge and deprivation of this world’s people. There’s something out there beyond ourselves. This ‘sound’ comes to us unnoticed every second of every minute, hour, day, month, year. Pausing to consider it offers perspective that existence is more than this planet and what we see and hear. Yes, many reply, but this is our home, and the only place where we are — well, as far as we know with our limited understanding.
What a dream, I’m telling you. Began with my wife and I on a spiritual pilgrimage. We stopped at a small place that seemed to be built inside a cave. They were studying odd phenomena. Included were a series of three holes in the cave’s walls. The holes were square. They didn’t know how they got there. People studied them to see if they were changing or static. My wife suggested I should study them because she thought me good at analyzing things. At the group’s insistence, I gave it a shot.
The holes were very dusty. When I looked into them, I could see that they slanted down and to the left. They seemed to have a flap door on the right side which could cover them. That was part of the controversy. Discussions were revolving whether those flap had always been there, and if the holes were now dustier than they used to be.
I’d glanced at each of the holes when I approached them, then went to the first one on the left. The group provided me sketches which the group had made, so I could look for differences. The first two were examined and no changes were seen. But I immediately saw changes on the third hole, on the right. I pointed it out in excitement, asking a member of the group if he saw the change. This hole was also lit from below. I was intensely interested in climbing into the hole and going down into it, but was also afraid of what was there. I kept leaning in, listening while watching for differences.
My wife had been behind me to my left while this was going on. Now she said, “I’m going to look around. Remember that we need to make a decision before 8:30, and then we’ll go.” Then she walked off.
I kept studying the hole. Suddenly I realized that it was 3 AM. Time had flown past. I was alone. I asked, “Where is my wife?” I walked around looking for her, complaining to myself but aloud, “We were supposed to make a decision hours ago, and leave. Where did she go?”
Opening a door, I discovered my wife in bed with a young white man with short blonde hair. He was very skinny, no one I know from real life.
When the door opened, they separated. Realizing it was me, the man was whimpering and trying to get out of bed and run.
He fell onto the floor. I stormed across the room and grabbed him by his head. He screamed and started crying. A small, round, white table was beside the bed. I prepared to slam his head against the table.
I stopped myself as I bent to do it. He was part of this but what would hurting or killing him do? I paused, thinking about that.
My wife grabbed my arm. “Michael, stop. Please don’t hurt him.”
I turned my head toward her and snapped, “Don’t touch me.”
She pulled her head away and stepped back. I let go of the man and turned toward her. “You did this,” I said. “You started this.”
Dream end.
It took me over an hour to go back to sleep.
“I love the way the Earth turns. It makes my day.” Read on Facebook. Should be a bumper sticker.
Makes my night, too. I awoke at six, before dawn. Looking out the window found a gray day staring back. Oh, no, says I after releasing a cat to the outside for recon, and tossed myself back under the bed covers with the other cat, who was quite happy with this change of plans. An hour and half later, after sunrise at 7:13, I returned from sleep to find a buttery sunshine spread across the room. Cool beans.
It’s Tuesday, March 21, 2023. Sunset will be at 7:24 PM. While it was 30 when I got up at six, it’s now 42 F, and the weather oracles say it’ll be 59 F before the day’s end. Some light gray powders the blue sky, not yet substantial enough to be dubbed clouds, but we’ll see what develops.
I decided to make my coffee and breakfast at the same time. Coffee came first, as I was having oatmeal and following the alphabet — c before o except in ocean. I almost put my oats into my hot coffee. Wouldn’t’ve been bad. I’ve done that while in the military, appalling many others. They accused me of being weird, but none of them ever tried oatmeal made with coffee, so I chastened them as closed-minded. Didn’t want it today, however, because I planned for coffee-sipping while cruising the net.
Today’s music is a punk favorite by the Ramones, “Blitzkrieg Bop” from 1976. Rousing and enthusiastic, it’s great for when you’ve already had some coffee and are ready to get on with things. It just happens, that describes me this morning.
Coffee drunk. Stay pos, and seize Tuesday as your own. Hope I don’t inspire any maniacal behavior with that. I worry about some nut plotting to off another reading my encouragement to do something and nodding to herself and saying, “Okay, let me go kill that bitch, Mary, and put that hair of hers out of misery.” Doesn’t someone have a high opinion of themself?” Yeah, that would be me.
Here’s the music. Cheers
Owe this song choice today to the second season of Fargo. That was the season about the Sioux City massacre, introducing us to Molly Solverson as a child, and her father, the medically retired state trooper. Keith Carradine played Lou Solverson (Molly’s father) in season one; Patrick Wilson played the younger iteration of him in season two. The story of this year is briefly mentioned by Lou Solverson in year one.
Anyway, the song is “I Got A Line On You” by Spirit came out in 1968. I had to look that year up. I was twelve then, and the song was a regular on rock stations for a long time. Yet, I’ve not heard it in a while, until Fargo brought it back to mind last night.
BTW, I enjoy Fargo. Its characters and non-linear style speaks to me. Each of the seasons I’ve watched featured strong casts. Year one included Billy Bob Thornton and Martin Freeman as main characters, along with Colin Hanks and Allison Tolman. Jordan and Peele show up as FBI agents. Stephen Root is a murder victim.
Year two includes Ted Danson, Kirsten Dunst, Jesse Plemons, and Jean Smart. All do the impressive job that you expect of them, along with Bruce Campbell as Ronald Reagan. My favorite, though is Zahn McClarnon. Although I’ve seen him in multiple films and television shows through the years, he really stood out as Matthias in Longmire. Where we knew exactly who he was in Longmire, he’s enigmatic, smart, and unreadable in Fargo, yet manages to portray sad weariness.
Okay, on with the music. This is a fun live version. Hope you enjoy it as I did, as a sharp look back to what was. Please wear your masks. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 