Tag: Sunday

Sinda’s Theme Music

Mood: Sindawriting

The calendar declares that winter has officially entered the stage. Still feels more like a good fall rather than early winter in Ashlandia, where Teslas are found around every corner. A riled up wind is carousing around the neighborhood, stirring things up. Doesn’t sit well with our floofs. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) says, “Merci, non.” But Papi the ginger blade insists on thinking, “Maybe it’s different now,” every fifteen minutes. Temperature isn’t bad at 49 F on this winter day, Sinda, December 22, 2024. Light rain and a high of 52 F are expected. Visuals say, yeah, that can be done. Clouds in varying densities from sheers to cotton layers in heather, oatmeal, off-white, and charcoal, pleasingly illuminated with eastern rising sunshine, set off against brittle blue sky, parade along the sky walk.

Today’s song is “Boys Don’t Cry” by the Cure. I don’t know why it’s in the morning mental music stream (Trademark blustery). I only remember one dream and it seems wholly unrelated to its tale of databases, strawberries, and fried food. Just in the kitchen, bustling about with floof feeding activities as Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) asks again about when he’s going to have his order delivered. Click, clink, bonk, the song is playing in the mmms and I’m humming along.

Done with the morning cuppa. Went down well. Brekkie is finished. Dressing’s final touches of shoes, socks, coat are needed, then I’m off to the coffee shop to cavort with muses and do the keyboard finger dance. Hope your day gives sublime satisfaction, no matter which season or weather elements are encountered.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

If you guessed the temperature in my area would be around 60 degrees F, plus or minus one or two, you’ve been paying attention to the recent posts from me. That’s the temperature now. It’s supposed to again reach 89 F. It actually struck 92 F yesterday. I was so surprised seeing that on my home system. With doubt riding high, I checked several net weather stations. All agreed within a degree either direction.

Riding starlight, Sunday sailed in last night after sunset and took up position, greeting everyone as sunrise joined her at 7:24 this morning. Sunrise was polite, a little sedate but gracious, flowing evenly out from across the eastern horizon in a pale gold-white frock with apricot fluting before shapeshifting into daylight. Sunday is expected to stay until midnight. Daylight will only stay until 6:28 PM. I would say that a better union is responsible for the sun’s shorter hours but must hasten to point out that the sun must do this every day, whereas Sunday is on a seven-day rotation.

I suppose the day and month, 16 and October, and year, have the best gigs. 2022 will pull a one-year tour before declining into memory, but then will never need to work again. The sixteenth shows up every month, every year, while October is working twenty-four/seven for thirty-one days straight, but then takes eleven months off. Don’t know which schedule I’d prefer. I mean, imagine the coffee it would take to go back to work after being off for eleven months. I guess that’s exactly what many felt as the pandemic loosened its hold so they could return to work.

Acting upon something they think they heard, the Neurons have ferreted a song out of my dusty memory. “Kickstart My Heart” by Mötley Crüe (1989) was introduced to the morning mental music stream after I thought, I need some coffee to kickstart my brain. Yeah, the heart could use it as well. See if the pulse could find a little more speed. The Neurons thought that the perfect theme music. I told them that they need to quit being so literal.

Anyway, here’s that music. Keep up a positive charge, and do the things needed to have a negative test result, and then, if that fails you, do the tasks needed to get better quickly and fully. Like bedrest and fluids, and whatever else. You know what I’m talking about. (Funny but The Neurons immediately pulled in that line from ZZ Top and “La Grange”. Those cheeky brain boogerheads.)

Seriously, I’m stepping out for coffee now. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Come Sunday morning, come Zucchero with Solomon Burke, and “Diavolo in Me”, a rousing song with a thumping, moving bass.

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A Chaotic Moving Dream

There I was,  in the midst of people and stuff on rolling hills of green grass. Stuff, being a broad, vague word, amply covers it. Stuff was everywhere, so vague that I can only say, I looked around and saw stuff, because there was too much to take in.

People were coming and going, including friends. I ‘m expecting this. I’m getting ready to move. A friend’s telling me that I need to organize. Make lists and do research about my move. Yes, I was answering him, I do and I will. Happy, I looked forward to my move.

*click* My mind shifted. What should be Sunday’s theme song. Mamas and Papas. No, that’s Monday. Kris Kristofferson, “Sunday Mornin’ Coming Down”, or Johnny Cash. U2, “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” the Monkees, “Pleasant Valley Sunday”. “Easy Like a Sunday Morning”. “Sunday Girl”. No, no, no.

*click*  Shadows grew long. Sunlight dimmed. The green hills began retreating into darkness.

People are rushing about. Others are moving. Time for me to move. I made lists and gave them to friends. This is what I need. The lists were very specific. Go get these things. People reviewed the lists and talked about the items. I don’t remember anything on the lists. I was bubbling with happiness.

Had a black index box filled with cards. It’s the black box, I think. Items are on the cards. I flip through, picking from the cards, what do I need, what do I need? Had a black book to look things up, research what everything meant, so my list was accurate. I hadn’t looked anything up. I wasn’t certain that I needed to but one friend was present, insisting that I should. I resisted, but told him that I would.

Oh, sudden and sharp, I needed to have a bowel movement. Where’s the toilet, where’s the toilet, where’s the toilet.

I begin running around. The toilet is out in the open by my friends. They’re talking to me. I’m babbling about needing to take a shit, scrambling to get my pants down, and sit on the toilet, hurry, hurry, hurry. My friends are watching. I’m calling for privacy. They’re turning away. I’m thinking, movement, movement, another kind of moving, what’s with all the moving? I sit on the commode. The movement begins. I’m laughing because I’m thinking, I’m getting rid of shit. I tell my friends that.

I’m not worried. I’m happy. The move has begun. I start singing, “Bust A Move”.

The dream ends.

 

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Today’s Theme Music

It’s a springly day again. Yes, Winter still wields a razor edge wind. Circling and prowling the valley, his blade sometimes scores your cheeks and hands. The sunshine helps keep him away. Everyone believes there is one Winter but there are several. The more aggressive ones that roam the U.S. have gone East. The one remaining with us makes many threats but he’s mostly benign. Sunshine intimidates him and drives him into the shadows.

Sunday, of course, is quiet. This area, southern Oregon, is a realm of traditional American values that developed in the last century plus as trade unions successfully campaigned for having weekends off. Sunday mornings are not for working unless it’s an essential service. The list of essential services has grown, and fewer people dress and go to Church, but Sunday remains a quieter and more relaxed morning than the week’s other days.

Into that scenario, I introduce a little Led Zeppelin. From ‘Led Zeppelin II’ and 1969, it’s time once again to ‘Ramble On’, a very good walking song.

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