It’s raining again, a light falling, bringing up SuperTramp’s song from fifty years ago. Today is Jun 9, 2023. Friday. Last night’s thunderstorms skirting us. We could hear them like someone shouting from far away. “What?” You should back. “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You strain to hear and then just shake your head and walk away, muttering, “I can’t understand them.”
As for rain last night, it spit on us a bit a few times, but left us alone. Temperature topped 84 F locally, for the record.
Of course, yesterday started with a blue sky. Blue is as rare today as snow on a summer lawn. Clouds of different colors, depths and textures, ranging from flat white with a tincture of gray to billowing, curly, unkempt clouds edgy with dark pockets, have blanketed the sky. It’s 61 F now and the weather gurus tell us 79 will be the high, and there will be rain and thunderstorms later today. As always with weather, we’ll see.
Several songs inhabit the morning mental scream. “Wipe Out”. “Sweat Pea”. The Neurons are mixing weather, writing, and dream inputs. But I went with the song which came up after the dream sequences finished, “Fly Like An Eagle” by The Steve Miller Band, 1976.
Hope you stay pos and enjoy a most excellent Friday. I’m enjoying a most excellent cup of coffee. Establishes my baseline for the day. Here’s the music. Cheers
Monday began with a crash. The cats rushed in. One tentatively walked forward, eyeing the wreck. The others sat down and looked at me. “You’re in trouble,” he said.
I knew he was right. I’d begun unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher. A small ceramic bowl was on the counter. I picked the white thing up, thinking, where can I put this so it’s out of the way? As I turned, it yelled, “For love,” and threw itself from my hand. It crashed to the floor and splintered into forty pieces or more, like a huge white KFC offering. The bowl’s last words were, “Tis my heart,” then it was no more.
I cleaned up the mess with care. It had landed on a kitchen throw rug. I took that off and shook it out, and then vacuumed the crime scene. The cats monitored everything to ensure I did it right.
My wife came into the kitchen as I finished. “What happened?” I explained it all. I knew it would affect her. Yeah, it did. The white bowl sits in the middle of a bamboo serving tray. We’ve had it since I took my first lesson in being married. I’m still learning. We paid about $20 for it at a store like K-Mart, but you know how it is with these things that you buy when you’re poor and first starting out. They’re cheap and priceless.
Or maybe you don’t know because you were never poor or never started out, or you lack sentimental bones and think, it’s just a bowl, get over it. Oh, you heathen.
Anyway, I can still see the bowl leaving my left hand. I still wonder how it happened. I still see my wife’s look when I explained, and I still hear the noise it made when it kissed the floor.
Depressing way to begin a day but not as bad as some things which could’ve happened, I tell myself. That’s true. Just read the news.
The Neurons began my day with two songs in succession in the morning mental music stream (trademark pending). First was “Abacab”, a 1981 song by Genesis. I believe that’s in mind because of yesterday’s theme song, “Turn It On Again”. That lasted until I looked out the window and checked the billowing trees and crashing rain. Then The Neurons dropped “Manic Monday”, written by Prince, performed by the Bangles, released in 1986. But then, watching rain and wind and a single scrub jay out the window, Les Neurons pulled up another 1986 song, a reflective tune by The Steve Miller Band called “I Want to Make the World Turn Around”. It starts with a sax, which surprised me when I learned it was a Steve Miller offering. Wasn’t startled to learn later that was Kenny G. playing sax. Had that feel.
Today is December 26, 2022. Hope you and yours can seize the day. Sun rose here at 7:38 and will set at 4:45. The high will be 56 F and there’s a wind warning out. Right now, it’s 51 F. A Christmas cactus sits in sunshine in the living winter, offering some joy in its red blossoms. Other than, it’s just another Monday.
Michael Seidel, writer 