Learning

One of the finest aspects of having a partner is the impact it has on learning and memory. In my case, this spot is filled with my wife, a woman. She’s smart, reads many books, and researches matters. Most of which she researches involves women rights, social justice, and health. She shares all that she learns with me, often piquing my interest to go read more on the subject. Not infrequently, some of what she teaches me ends up in some character in a story. For instance, she taught me two things today.

Men have more collagen and thicker skin than women, in general.
Women donate more kidneys but receive fewer kidney donations. When you think about it, it kinda makes sense. If men are having kidney problems, they can’t donate them. So the next step would be to look for information to vet that.

We also act as memory augmentation for one another, covering the other’s weakness. She’s great with social memes, voices, faces, poetry, cooking and baking. I’m passable with math, science, history, pop culture, and technology. It works.

I think it’d work for most, regardless of gender or pronoun, sexual orientation, and maybe even political persuasion. Everyone should at least should not have the right to try taken away from them. Who knows what we all could learn?

May 10, 2023 3

Saturday’s Wandering Thought

He remembered the time someone he loved told him that she hated him.

Burned like a hot knife across his back. Sickened like food poisoning. He thought she loved him.

The hatred on her face.

The way she crushed the words.

April 8, 2023 1

Fursday Theme Music

Sunshine beamed in on gray rays at 6:45 Ashlandia morning time. As the hours scurry past, snow fields lose their battle against heat. Their edges draw in with softer roundness. Reinforcement flurries are flying in later today. Will it be enough? Will it arrive in time? It’s dire for the snow. Caught in the situation, icicles cling to gutters and drainpipes. Crystallized snow falls off branches and leaves with tinkling hisses.

It’s 31 F, on its way to 44 F, according to the weather mongers.

It’s Thursday, March 2, 2023, a hazy wintry shade. Spring has temporarily slid its intentions back into the Ashlandia shadows. But fresh stocks of doughnuts are in stores and bakeries. Sunset arrives in the evening, 6:03.

Les chats aren’t pleased with the weather situation, particularly Papi. His energy boils up. Sunshine reinvigorates him. Tthere he goes, dashing through the snow…well, not dashing, but employing small steps, bean-toeing on his tiny paws — such small murder mittens, he has — back to the house’s inside warmth for distraction. We have things to do, we explain to him, around petting and playing with him. More, he begs with sweet eyes and voice. What are we to do against such a power but obey?

I cleaned our carpetting the other day. As I drifted through that mechanical process, my freed mind contemplated me, my life, my writing. Cleaning house is always a meditative function for me. As thoughts joined and fragmented, I drifted through the usual shallows of who I am, where I’m at, and where I’m hiding. Out of this, The Neurons pulled a song up, dusted it off, and put into into the mental music stream where it still plays this morning. “Holly Holy” by Neil Diamond” when I was a young teenager. Looking it up, records show it was 1969. It wasn’t a popular song among my friends. Too slow and most said, “I don’t understand it.” Nor did I. It’s buildup hooked me, and I sat, listening to the words, trying to get them right, baffled by what I heard. But I heard and understood some of the first lines, “Where I am, what I am, what I believe in,” had me. This is an exploration and a declaration. I identified with it.

Coffee’s aromatic steam rises from my cup, enticing my lips. Stay pos, and own this Thursday like it’s a gift you didn’t expect. Here’s the tune. Cheers

March 2, 2023 8

Worth Pondering

He’s been watching ‘His Dark Materials’ and enjoying it. The novels by Phillip Pullman were fun, and this series seems faithful. The Gallivespians fascinate him. Such tiny people, no taller than a hand, with tiny leather clothing and boots. Their hair must be so tiny, as are the seams on their soles. They are so adorable. Deadly, but adorable.

February 14, 2023 0

Today’s Wandering Thought

He thinks about the things he uses, enjoys, and curses every day. Computers and cars, sandwiches and plastic, phones and music. So different from 200 years ago. He tries to place himself there, struggling to see himself as a person in those times, without these things, and pretty miserably fails. Would he have been a teacher or shopkeeper, a farmer or soldier? Depression rolls over and sighs.

February 10, 2023 0

January 13, 2023 0

The Writing Moment

I finished writing a novel the other day. But — there’s often a but inserted into the writing process, but that’s true about a large quantity of life matters, like, I love you, but — this tastes good, but — we can vote for him, but —

This but was about the ending. The first ending didn’t work so I set it aside and developed number two. Here is the but which you know is coming. Ending number two was dissatisfying. Too transparent and expected. Curses. The ending circulated through my mind as I progressed through the routines of the last few days, and then, ah hah! Yes, I’d gone the wrong direction for the ending. With that realized, I established the essence of a new ending, one which seemed like a natural and yet surprising outcome, and one which validated the novel’s underlying theme.

Now I need to take that from sketchy scenes in my head to words in a chapter. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

December 23, 2022 1

Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

He wondered which of them had fallen out of love first. He believed that he did. He felt like she was always verbally abusing him and emotionally bullying him. He had a list of trespasses against her. She probably had one for him. The best thing to do is not keep a list, but there it was. They were so much alike, and they both always made lists.

November 2, 2022 0

The Ant Dream

I dreamed I was an ant, but I had my own head and face. It was the face and head from a younger me, maybe one seen on me in the mid 1970s. I was running around, as were other ants. Seemed to be a frenzy going. I was confused because, I was an ant and I’m not normally an ant. As I saw the others running around with their human heads and faces, I wondered if they were going through the same process of self-realization.

A rough blackish wall was on either side. Although thinking like a human, I was acting like an ant, following the white ground beneath me, feeling things with frenzied antennae, following along the others in chaotic urgency. Same time, I’m thinking, “I’m an ant. Can’t I climb this wall and go up and see what’s up there?”

I do that but get up there and can’t make any sense of it. The view doesn’t help. My senses are limited. Then, epiphany, I’m a brick wall. I need to change the way I’m looking at things because up isn’t up, there really isn’t a firmly idealized up or down.

I awaken from that. Oddly, almost instantly, I thought about the novel in progress and experienced a burst of productive creativity.