Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
Sometimes, my thoughts are still loading onto my train of thoughts, and that train just closes its doors and takes off.
Monday’s Wandering Thoughts
Heard from my wife, who heard from a friend that other friends have been stricken with COVID. See, the annual Easter brunch planning is underway. We’re invited. So are the COVID couple. The wife answered the evite that they have COVID now but were hopeful they’d be better by the end of the month. She — the wife — has it worse.
Concerning, yes. As concerning are the ration of natural questions which come with COVID announcements. How’d they get it, and when? When did they test, and how are they both doing? What are their symptoms?
It’s basically the standard COVID script.
Monday’s Theme Music
Mood: balanced
The date ride continues straightforward. As far as we know, right? This could be like Dark City. We’re being put to sleep each night and then history, situations, and relationships are changed to see how we respond. Adhering to the belief that I do know what’s going on, today is Friday, March 11, 2024. Oh, strike that: it’s Monday.
The weather rollercoaster is another matter. We’ve popped into a ‘cloudy’ day. As far as my eyes discern, it’s one unbroken monolithic light grey cloud from mountains to mountains. Rain isn’t forecast, sort of suspicious, given this mass and the underlying fact that sprinter has reasserted control over winter here in Ashlandia, where the winds are blustery but average today. 49 F now, we holding out for one more degree for the high. Yes, 50 F is our range’s upper end. Dropping back into the thirties, come night.
“Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones began playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) shortly after I left my bed. “Devil Inside” from INXS followed. Then “Runnin’ with the Devil” (Van Halen), Grateful Dead with “Friend of the Devil”, and Breaking Benjamin, “Dance with the Devil”.
WTH (ha, ha), I asked Les Neurons. Why all the Devil music? They snickered back, which isn’t a useful response. I didn’t recall any Devil related dreams or reading. Closest to that is the audio version of “Demon Copperhead” my wife is listening to.
The Devil music culminated with “Devil with A Blue Dress On” by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels from 1966, when I was ten. Although others have covered the song, including Bruce Springsteen, this is the version I enjoy, with part of “Good Golly, Miss Molly” embedded in the middle. So, that’s my theme music today.
Be strong and stay positive. Register and vote, preferably you’ll vote blue. Here we go, another day, another cuppa coffee (or two). Let’s listen to the music. Cheers
Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
I saw it in their body language and shaded eyes: what does this guy want? Can he be trusted?
Three women, three places, three weeks. I was being friendly. Thought I was charming, as I’ve done all my life. Maybe I was wrong all those years. Now, addressing these women in public places, catching their reactions, I have to re-think matters.
First, it’s their right to not be bothered by others, just as it’s mine. I thought that asking what someone was reading was safe and innocuous as we crossed paths at the coffee shop. She’d previously asked me to watch her purse for her. As a writer and reader, I’m often trying to learn what others are reading. It interests me. But asking this sixty-ish woman clearly disturbed her. Haven’t seen her since when she was a coffee shop regular. I hope I haven’t driven her away. I’m sorry.
I sincerely believed I knew the second woman from another place. I judged her to be in her sixties. She indulged me and responded but clearly thought I was up to something, maybe hitting on her. Sorry, ma’am. I won’t do it again.
I’m used to being flirty. I always thought I was charming. My wife and sisters always told me I was charming. Maybe they were being nice. Polite. Maybe I used to be charming but, older now, it’s no longer charming. Perhaps, because I’m older, it’s perceived as creepy.
Could be that it’s not me at all, but other matters, a product of our times. Women have endured unwanted male attention and assumptions and decided, enough. I’ll note, I do the same with males, chatting with them sometimes about what they’re reading, their accent, or talking to them because I think I might know them.
My wife has spoken of being approached by men in public. For example, she’s working out and a man walking by will tell her with a grin, “Smile.” Pisses her off. She’s exercising and sweating. It’s work. She’s focusing. Smiling is not part of her agenda, and she resents him telling her that because men are always saying things like to women.
I thought what I was doing was different. I guess I was rationalizing it as different and okay.
I quit, though. I’ll keep to my private circle, drop a cone of secrecy around it, only speak when addressed, and keep myself to myself.
This all probably reads like self-pitying whining. That’s not my intention but you’ll reach your own conclusion. I like to write to think through my thoughts. Doesn’t mean I need to post it for the public, but I often find that things which confuse me also confuses others. Or maybe I’m fishing for sympathy and just rationalizing that I’m searching for understanding. It’s a challenge for me because this is how I learned to be from Mom and my wife, polite and friendly. It’s inculcated in me.
I guess this is the new world, at least in progressive Ashlandia, for a sixty-seven-year-old white male. I just need to learn, accept, and adjust.
Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts
The woman beside me at the coffee shop seemed so familiar that I had to speak. We talked about where I might know her from but nothing was uncovered.
I shrugged it off. It’s a small town and we’re similiar ages. Maybe similiar politics; I’m progressive and there are many progressives in town. I’ve probably seen her at a rally, protest, shopping, or concert. It’s one of those small-town perks.
The Writing Moment
I’ve broken one of my cardinal writing rules. Two, actually.
I don’t usually allow others to read my novels in progress until I think of them as finished. But with a new novel underway, I wrote the beginning. Then I broke my second rule. I don’t talk about my writing other than mentioning progress or lack. I don’t talk with my friends and families about novels until they’re finished. But one of my beer drinking friends asked how my writing was going. Giving a mental shrug and doing a quality test on my second pint of beer, I shared the beginning of the new novel. Then, a whim later, I emailed it to several trusted friends.
All responded enthusiastically about what they read, so as I kept writing, I kept sending new installments as they were finished. I warned them it was raw and a lot of it might change. They didn’t care, encouraging me to keep sending, telling me that they were on the edge of their seats.
I know that they’re friends. Although all read in the genre in which I’m writing, they’re not objective. They might just be anxious not to hurt my feelings. And, as a pantser, I’m still in the fog, trying to understand where the muses ar leading me in this complicated story. (Note: all my novels are complicated. I enjoy reading complicated, and I like writing complicated.)
Objective or not, it was validating, even rewarding, to hear someone say how much they enjoy it. Otherwise, it’s just writing in the dark.
Friday’s Wandering Thoughts
A woman pushing a stroller with two infants down the sidewalk stopped to make adjustments. The sweet children looked less than a year old. A large pickup truck idled beside her, waiting for the light to change. He couldn’t help but think of the potential damages those poor children might be enduring.
Monday’s Wandering Thoughts
When the rain or snow has been falling from a sky that’s almost as dark as night, and then sunshine breaks through and spreads bright waves of light and warmth, it’s a dazzling, uplifting scene to contemplate, pulling up my spirits with promises that it’s really not that bad.
The power of sunshine can be so theraputic.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Mood: blinky
It’s Tuesday, December 26, 2023. 39 F outside, it’s almost Christmas cold. Clouds and sunshine are rotating through influences. One moment, it’s a bright shiny day and you stand at the window and stare out at blue. Not pretty out there, a little sodden, with faded grasses and bare trees except for the conifers. Then clouds swing back in, dulling it all more in its appearance, and quickly dropping a chill on the space. High will be 54 F. Precipitation isn’t predicted.
Most of the holidays are past but now the herd wheels toward the largest, most universally regarded holiday: New Year. People plan a party, a celebration to last throughout the year. Or they seek a humble day of new beginnings. Resolutions are made, dreams and hopes addressed again, and vows are given, sometimes privately, about how the next year will be different. Thoughts turn to everything pending, and the things on the world agenda, and how they might unfold. Sighs are released like the wind whispering with the first notes of an incoming storm.
The cats stayed in and curled up, sweet as cats can be, and less distrustful and threatening to one another.
Our Christmas was low key. Just my wife and I at home. Very relaxing and enjoyable for me. I mostly read and stayed off net most of the day. Did watch parts of two football games. Also watched “Hogfather” because she said she’d never seen it. We had croissants and fruit for breakfast. I made our roasted root veggies soup in the afternoon and we ate about five. I also texted with little sister #2 several times, tracking activities and the state of things.
Heard from sis, though, that another sister and her hubby’s COVID is terrible and that it has been passed on to two other family members.
Musically, I was thinking about change, and The Neurons offered up David Bowie and “Modern Love” from 1983 into the morning mental music stream (Trademark traded). I thought, why that? Tracing back over my thought pattern, I recognized that I’d used but things don’t really change. Bowie incorporates that: “I catch the paper boy but things don’t really change. I’m standing in the wind.” I always thought the last line there was about standing in the winds of change, but that’s just me.
Stay pos, test neg, be strong, and move forward. The coffee fuel is being loaded; countdown has begun. In three…two…
Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 