Do you ever imagine that invisibile beings surround you, watching what you’re doing when you’re in your home alone, commenting on it to each other?
They seem to come in three flavors: aliens from space, time travelers from the future, and deceased individuals — especially family — returned as spirits. What they say and how they watch varies, depending upon which group they’re in, and their intentions.
So, for example, aliens crowd around you in the kitchen as you clean up, remarking upon the cultural significance of your routine, applauding your efficiency (or lack of it), comparing it to their own processes and habits.
Lovely fall day is on display today, Monday, November 27, 2023. 45 F under a sunshine drenched blue sky with another stagnant air advisory out for Ashlandia, where the deer are above average and the bears are like Yogi — not. Time is blocked out for activity so I’m spinning this fast.
Gonna be 53 F today. A memory came up of a November snowstorm experienced four years ago. That’s looking out my front window. I did the usual whining about the cold and the inconvenience back then but also was thankful for the snow to help end the drought, which was severe in those days. We’re still working on getting out of it but it’s much better this year, knock on drywall; there were no penalities levied on us for our water use and no cutbacks or limitations announced this year.
Responding to his most royal Floof Papi the First and his 3 AM door service directives, as I walked by a window, I was taken aback, even though the blinds were drawn. Looked like a big ol’ spotlight was trained on my residence. I quickly had ideas that some crime was underway and the police had the place surrounded with a mega spotlight blowing up the scene for all to see. I thought, “There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.” I pulled the blind up to see if there was a man with a gun out there. But it was but a sky cleared away for a Beaver Moon to shine down on us. Let me tell you, without any heavenly obstructions, that moon was a bright puppy. I would have stayed out admiring it but I was half naked and barefoot, and the air temp was settled around 36 F.
The Neurons suggested The Logical Song by Supertramp, 1979, sliding it into the morning mental music stream (Trademark woke) for my AM entertainment. The suggestion was certainly born from my wife and I discussing various things and concluding how much of what we read or saw via videos seemed illogical. More, though, there are frequently questions which run deep in my mind on into the night, not just about politics, news, history, and religion, but more philosophical elements about the state of existence and reality, and then soft mourning about how complicated our world has become in this information age. “The Logical Song” addresses some of these matters.
I went with an interesting version performed by Ringo Starr & His All-Starr Band. That is the songwriter and the original vocalist, Roger Hodgson from Supertramp on keyboard.
Gonna enjoy the day best that I can and make it successful on my level, using my measuring methods. Hope you will, too. Stay positive, keep strong, and lean forward. I’m sure I’ll do the same, once I get some coffee in me, along with the pumpkin muffins with maple topping my wife made me. Goes super with fresh hot coffee. I’d offer you one but by the time it’s delivered to you, I don’t think it’d be nearly as good.
I’ve had about twenty-four pages left to edit and revise in the novel in progress for about a month. Reason exists for that number: I keep re-writing and revising the first ten pages of one chapter. I’ve done so six times. After the sixth time — I’m a slow thinker — I realized that I didn’t know enough about the two characters and their relationship.
He was the main character and I’d been writing about him for months. His actions, thinking, and talking filled most of the 420 pages already revised. The other character had never shown up but was obliquely referenced. He was her son, but she wasn’t really his mother. He didn’t know that when he was young, only learning much later in life. He knew she resented him but didn’t know why. He thought he’d murdered her, but it turned out that she hadn’t been killed. Yes, it’s complicated.
After fleshing these things out more, I suddenly realized, oh, they hate each other.
It surprised me. I thought they were hostile and contemptuous toward one another but hadn’t respected the true depths of despise between them. She was secretive and using him, and he didn’t know why, but he didn’t like her and didn’t trust her. After leaving home, he’d researched his ‘mother’ and discovered little of the truth about her, except he hadn’t murdered her, that she’d framed him and she wasn’t dead at all, but had abandoned him and his sister, hiding her existence from them. All this traumatized his sister when she was a child, who responded by ostracizing her brother and becoming a cat. (I told you, it’s complicated.)
Now that I feel better about my understanding of the two, I tore out the chapter to rewrite it again. Then I’ll revise, and when I feel like I can go on, I will. Then I’ll read the novel again for more revision and see how the newest effort holds up.
Meeting my sisters again, I reflected on happiness and success. Each sister has demonstrated at one time or another that they seemed supremely happy and successful only to have disaster, devastation, upheaval, foisted on them, forcing them to begin again. It’s always a journey. You can find and lose it all repeatedly. Learning to keep your balance as it swirls around you remains key to me.
Conventional wisdom can get it right many times. But sometimes, you just need to flip conventional wisdom the bird and get on with what you think you need to do.
Had a good night sleep and woke up refreshed. Ate well, had some coffee, but I feel tired.
So the question springs up, what makes that happen? Well, I guess it’s the stress of planning trips, making reservations, and taking care of multiple things — even writing — which amounts to being simultaneously pulled in several directions; picture my wrists and ankles being chained to horses going in four directions.
I’ll breathe deep, stay calm, and carry on. Just another insight into how this vessel of mine works these days.
Lovely moon out last night. I checked it out about 12:30 AM, when the air quality levels were improved and the temperature hovered about 60 F. Did you see that moon? Part of the perigean moon cycle, it seemed quite large, almost full, and pretty clear for us, meaning only soft marigold brushstrokes marred its clarity.
Now it’s 61 F. Clearish air, with some bluish smoky sky. AQI is better but the smoke smell is there to be sucked up as soon as you step out. Where there is smoke, there’s particulates, and possible respiratory system damages. Myself suffers from an AM stuffy nose and sinuses, and a sore throat. Shot of saline up each nostril helps the first, and a cough drop is sucked on once in a while for the latter.
Today’s high will be in the low 80s. This is Wednesday, August 30, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the children seek advancement, and the parents press for sanity.
Tracking the Hurricane Idalia, worrying about my fellow citizens, and tracking fires, worrying about everyone and everything. Engenders a sense of helplessness to track information and understand how little I can affect the course of activities. But track I must. I want to know what’s going on in a multitude of areas.
All that takes me back to how much I take for granted, which is a testament to the past, where problems were recognized and people worked out solutions. I mean things like highways and roads, fresh water supplies, electricity, the net, the food chain. Not all were perfect and some cause us problems, and because people are invested with how well those solutions work, they refuse to admit their solutions are now problems. Also, money. Security. Power. MSP. Follow the MSP and you’ll learn more than you want to know. I mean, think about how insecure wealthy people must be, if they must keep acquiring more money and power to prop themselves up. It’s a sad sickness.
Hearing about taking things for granted caused The Neurons to bring up Todd Rundgren and “Hello, It’s Me,” from the early 1970s. See, he wrote about and sings, “I take for granted that you’re always there.” So easy to fall into the mind slip of taking people and things for granted, and as I was thinking on that, the song began playing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark ancient). I found an interesting stripped down, live version that I hope you enjoy.
I’ve had a half cuppa joe, and the mind has picked up speed. Be strong and stay pos. Here’s the music. Cheers
I read about Trump strongholds and the lack of an impact the charges and indictments have on the former president’s supporters. One description struck me more deeply. From the NY Times:
“Among voters who plan to vote for Mr. Trump again, Nicholas Kalamvokis, 58, said he liked the former president’s “regular people” persona and was willing to overlook his role in the events of Jan. 6, which he did not believe rose to the level of a crime.”
The former president’s “regular people” persona is a startling description. Trump has been found to cheat in business, compulsively lie, and demonstrates little self control. Full of pompous bluster, he’s cheated on his wife, has been married three times, shows little intellectual curiosity, and is both demonstrably petty and greedy. As a business person, he has multiple bankruptcies and has led numerous failed business efforts, while his WH administration set a new record for indictments and convictions. Meanwhile, since leaving office, Trump has set records for the most indictments ever levied on a former POTUS, including obstruction of justice as he lied about keeping classified information and tried hiding the requested documents from the government.
If this is a typical Republican’s view of ‘regular people’, their attachment to reality is more tenuous than I ever imagined, and I wouldn’t want to hang out with their ‘regular people’. Then again, I suspect that people like Kalamvokis live in an information bubble. The light seems different in there from the light with which I view the world.
Monday found me helping my wife deliver food to elderly, incapacitated, and disabled people, part of a community effort. Someone does it everyday Monday through Friday. Meals are provided for weekends and holidays on request as part of the system.
We were delivering six frozen meals to a new person on the route. We were instructed to call him first, to let him know we were on the way. He came out of his house as we pulled into his driveway. Obese, on oxygen, in a wheelchair, he looked about fifty years old, at least ten years younger than me.
Sad and shocked, I wondered about the circumstances of luck, genetics, work, and habits that brought the guy to that point. Most of life seems like a lottery, and the health lottery seems like the cruelest and most random of all.
Michael Seidel, writer 