A new electronic traffic message sign was up, warning me of a delay ahead. Bare orange, very functional design, basically just whatever was needed to hold up the big black sign with its electronic orange characters to give the message.
Sort of surprising. I thought with all the naming/advertising frenzy going on, with companies buying the rights to naming stadiums and other facilities, buying the rights to name a construction sign or advertise on it would be a no-brainer. “You deserve a break today. Stop at McDonald’s after you’re through this mess.” Then Micky D can add two golden arches to the sign.
More inventive and creative types will go the old Burma Shave route.
“You’re trapped in a car. Surrounded by tar. Fortunately for you, Starbucks isn’t far.”
What names would you expect to see advertising on or naming electronic traffic message signs?
“Orange cones put you in mind of anything? Dairy Queen is ready.”
After leaving the garage, he looked down the street. There, in the middle, was a doe with her twin fawns. Appearing almost brand new, they were adorable. He called his wife out so she could see. Watching together as the doe and her fawns came up the street — mama walking slow, the fawns galloping in spurts — they wondered if she was the same doe who’d been hanging around their yard.
After the family disappeared behind the neighbor’s house across the street, he left in his car. Arriving at a stop light, he saw a mother with her twins on a bicycle. Wearing helmets, blond curls sticking out, the twins looked like they were about two years old, tiny perfect human replicas.
It was a good day for twins. It felt like the world was making a statement. As often with the world’s statements, he just wasn’t certain what the statement was.
After taking some meds, he learned again that if some is good, more isn’t always better. The rule of moderation was proven again. The question for everyone, with everything, was always, what constitutes moderation? Difficulty comes because it changes with age, health, and circumstances. Re-consideration and adjustments are often required.
He likes to be on the edge. Not on the edge of his seat, nor the edge or insanity, or the edge of disaster. He likes sitting in a chair that’s on the edge of crowds, restaurants, coffee houses, and other venues. Likewise, he prefers to stand on an edge’s crowd. It can be the front edge, although he’s more comfortable with no one behind him but wall.
That’s the thing. It’s about comfort. There’s no logic or emotion associated with his choice. He’s just more comfortable on the edge, the fringe, even. Just how he is and has always been.
He always found himself waiting or planning for the next thing, as if he was trapped in some personal version of “The Jolly Corner”. The next season, the next birthday, the next death.
The next marriage, the next divorce, the next trip, the next vacation..
The next election, the political scandal, the next mass murder.
Next step in finishing a novel, the next novel to write, the next meal, the next task, job, bill, the next expense.
He kept reminding himself, stop. Stay in the moment and enjoy. But the next always kept coming.
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?
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
