Pleasant midday walk. 74 F, sunshine and a delicate breeze. No smoke smells, just cut grass and cooking foods. A doe and her fawns eat and digest in a yard across from an elementary school. Feels comfortable striding through the neighborhood. Feels normal, stress free.
Pet Peeves
I probably ranted about this before, because I’m a natural ranter.
While inconsiderate/inattentive drivers have long commanded a top spot on my pet peeve register, a new one has steadily climbed the chart. Now I find myself annoyed with people walking while looking at their phone. Don’t know what they’re considering on it – videos, photos, games, text messages, whatever. I guess they think they’re multi-tasking.
Doesn’t matter. What matters to me is that others must move aside for these self-absorbed individuals as they silently peruse stuff while walking. I’m tired of standing aside for these people who don’t even acknowledge others with excuse me or thank you. I’ve now just taken to stopping in their path — which is my path — forcing their attention away from the phone and into the world. And then, when they realize I’m there, I say, “Excuse me.”
I know. It’s petty. Passive aggressive. I accept that. I’m just fed up with standing aside for them. Let them stand aside for me.
Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts
It’s amazing. When he was a kid, he usually had two pairs of shoes, known as his ‘good’ shoes and his play shoes. Good shoes were also known as ‘dress-up’ shoes and ‘nice’ shoes. Play shoes became gym shoes and good shoes became school shoes. Dress shoes were added into the mix.
This trio — gym, or ‘tennis’ shoes, as they grew to be called — school shoes, dress shoes — were the status quo for years. A second pair of school shoes was added, along with cleated shoes for sports.
During his military years, he stayed with the triumvirate of shoes for his personal life. Gym shoes were still tennis shoes (though he didn’t play tennis), along with dress shoes and ‘jeans’ shoes. He began playing racquetball, so racquetball shoes were added to the mix. So were sandals. Then running shoes joined the shoe group. Military requirements dictated three more pairs of shoes: low-quarters (which were a super-shiny version of dress shoes), chukka boots, and combat (or paratrooper) boots. So it mostly stayed for his military career, except slippers were added through Christmas presents, and jungle boots and desert boots were added to fit his mission needs. The three pairs of military footwear were now five, because they’d done away with the chukkas.
Civilian life post military retirement brought on more shoe requirements. Aging helped. And shoe marketing. Now he added beach shoes, boating shoes, hiking shoes, walking shoes, and several pairs of ‘jeans’ shoes, also now called ‘casual’ shoes. There were work shoes, so he looked the role in the ‘business casual’ environment, but the military shoes were gone.
Going into marketing added more shoes to go with suits. Brown, gray, and black shoes were needed. He still had running and hiking shoes, along with walking shoes, jeans shoes, and casual work shoes. He was wearing cargo shorts frequently, and needed shoes to go with those. Moving from a pleasant year round clime to a snowy and wet environment brought up needs for wet weather and cold weather shoes.
Now he’s come to retirement. The suit shoes sit in boxes on shelves, but the rest have become so complex and numerous. He purged his shoes regularly, giving them away. His feet had widened and his feet’s needs had changed through the years, and that dictated changes as well.
Like so many other things, it’d become so very, very complicated. He wished for the days again when he had just two pairs of shoes. Given how life goes, he figured that circle would complete itself when he grew older.
Next: socks.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thought
A Tiger Swallowtail butterfly landed on a butterfly bush’s long purplish panicle as he approached the plant on his walk. Such a Zen moment, he felt forced to pause for consideration of the scene. Then the butterfly and he moved on, as though neither were ever there, leaving the bush standing alone and patient once again.
Winceday’s Wandering Thoughts
Things which are always reassuring to see when you’re walking along Ashlandia’s streets:
A FedEx truck running a stop sign with a blast of noise as you approach the corner. A pick up truck and SUV traveling in opposite directions, each driver with their cell plastered to their skull. Another driver wheeling it with one hand while shoving food into her gob as she comes up, braking hard and late as you stand in the crosswalk, waiting for her to notice. A large Acura MDX running a red light and aggressively coming around the corner, going around you as you walk through a cross walk.
Ah, yes, so very reassuring.
Saturday’s Theme Music
May 13. Saturday. 2023.
The sun rose before me, a little before six AM. Gonna be hot again. 63 F now. Some say it’ll reach 86 F in Ashlandia. Others pronounce 90 will be the temp top. 97 F is in others’ forecasts. All three may actually be right, depending upon which part of the city you’re in. I believe we’ll see 91 in my locale. Hit 82 F yesterday.
Gorgeous out there right now. All green and blue. Mellow mountain breeze is sloping down into the open back doors. The cats come in, come by me for a welfare check and to see if I’m eating or doing anything of interest, and meowder back out.
Yardwork is in my future after the writing session, as the last rain cycle caused weeds to explode in height and density. I’ll cull the dandies a bit but we let them stay. Bees like ’em.
Terrible dream last night. Vivid and intense. Took me about an hour before slumber crawled back in me.
But the day’s song comes from a walk yesterday. Up from the wells of 1969 came “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” by the Bob Seger System. Found an interesting video of it being performed by a young and beardless Bob Seger. Never seen him without a beard. I always believed he was born with a beard. The set is fascinating as well. It’s an energetic rendition.
Stay pos and take Saturday like a happy pill. Coffee is tugging my leash so I’m going on. Here’s the beats as heard over fifty years ago. Cheers
Tuesday’s Theme Music
The sun bulled its way over the horizon and into Ashlandia’s sky a few ticks before six AM. It’s Tuesday, May 9, 2023, and 45 degrees F out there. Rain deliveries through the past five days have encouraged the town to show off multiple greens. Jade, emerald, pine, leafy, grassy — the greens flourish under the immaculately blue sky. Not promising anything, the weather criers say, but it’ll be in the upper sixties today. The sun’s end time in Ashlandia’s environs will be after eight this evening.
Went walking yesterday, a favorite pastime. Two miles, one and a half of it in steady rain. Lovely. Got home wet with rain and sweat. Lovely. Felt good to be back in the rain and feel the sweat dripping and rolling, plastering my hair under my hat.
I continue scoring on the dream front. Last night brought visits from Sean Penn and Brad Pitt. Woke up chuckling to myself, mumbling, that was a great dream. Then I went through it, writing it all down after I got up, one of three dreams covered in today’s dream journal entry.
The cats are adjusting to the improved weather. So are other cats. Thus there was floof showdown on the front porch. A young gray cat has been showing up around the neighborhood for the last two months. Seems healthy, but just going around doing feline business. They’ve encountered Papi the ginger wonder before, but apparently last night was a surprise for the two and face to face. It’s post event speculation for us. We only know that the floof warnings went off like air-raid sirens for the Battle of Britain. Dashing to the front door, we saw the two. Of course, Tucker, the black and white lord of thunder heard it all and galloped out, too, shouting, “To battle.” Seeing the situation, gray cat departed. Papi pursued but lost the trail. He and Tucker took up stations to ensure they’d be there, should the interloper return.
Today’s music comes from “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel”. We’ve been watching it recently and have plowed into the third season. The song, by the Poppy Family, is “Where Evil Grows” and was put out over fifty years ago. I heard it on the radio a few times back then before it disappeared. But it shows up on television shows and movies once in a while, never on the radio, that I ever hear. Anyway, hearing it enlivened The Neurons, and they plugged it into the morning mental music stream, advertising it as nostalgia. The song’s writer is Terry Jacks, better known for “Which Way You Going, Billy” and “Seasons in the Sun”.
Ah, the train is rolling through, tooting its own horn, ensuring everyone is aware of its royal self as it rumbles through town. Stay pos, keep living the good life and fighting the good fight, wherever it may take you. My efforts are taking me to the coffee. Here’s the tune. Give it a listen. Cheers
Thursday’s Wandering Thought
He took an afternoon walk up and down the town’s hills. Many interesting sights were seen but what made him think the most was the signs posted at a house of worship: “No Trespassing”. “Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted”. He saw at least four of those two signs on the two side of the church he passed.
He wondered what they worshipped inside.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Windy is the weather word for today. Windy, as in lots of wind, and it’s gonna get intense. Not hurricane, cyclone, tornado, or typhoon level, no. But hold onto your hats. Or tie them on tight.
Today is Thursday, 3/9/2023. Temperature is 42. We lack snow, fog, and rain at the moment. We offer blue sky, white clouds, and sunshine on this Ashlandia morning. The sun was coming up at 6:33 AM, when Papi did his seal bark to demand exit number three. The window beating to come back in was at 7:05. Ashlandia’s sunset comes at 6:10. We’ll be up to 42 F by then.
Papi is back out now, sitting on the porch, glaring at the wind, very dismayed with the weather. He’ll be wanting back in soon, and then will rest so that he’s fresh for his nightly needs. He is off, victimized by the book club visitors last night. Papi is not one to socialize with people or animals. He’s a loner. When they arrived, he retreated to the master BR and sulked on the bed, listening for one of them attempting to sneak up on him. He’s knockin’ to get back in now. Excuse me.
Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to be gone so long. Had to pay the floof tax and tell him how smart and handsome he is until he said, “Enough,” and dashed off. Those of you with floofs will understand.
Papi is a neat and clean cat, though. Not a fur out of place. Any out of place furs are immediately shed. It’s quite a system.
I dreamed I was trying to remember who sang “Baby Blue”, a song which came out in 1971. As part of my dream effort, I kept watching a black and white static-filled TV screen while older me shouted at younger me, “Bad Finger. It’s Bad Finger.” Younger me would not listen, but kept muttering, “Bad Company?” Arrgh.
It’s a walking song in the morning mental music stream today. Out yesterday, walking today. Winting is back and the sun and cold wind medley was enhanced by things trying to figure out if they should bloom now. All very pleasant, however. Reminded me of youthful moments. The Neurons tossed a Grand Funk song, “I’m Your Captain (Closer to Home)” from 1970 into the mix. It’s a song I often recalled when walking or driving and getting close to home. I often traveled in my youth, and then again in the military, and then again in marketing.
That’s enough of that, I’m sure. Stay pos. Treat Thursday like a golden opportunity and do your thang. Peace out.
The Silver-gray Cat Dream
First, I was leaving a white building on a bright and sunny day. An older woman, who I know to be a writing instructor, was talking behind me, but addressing me. “I have an older student who is trying to be a writer. He doesn’t have it. He’s not going to succeed.”
I was panicking. I thought she was referring to me. I replied, “Do you tell him?”
“I’ve told him very directly. He doesn’t want to get the message.”
Those words ringing in my ears, I shouted good-bye to her and fled down the street. Two lanes wide or more, it was blocked off, so we could walk straight down the street.
I picked up a silver-gray shorthair cat and her kitten along the way. The cat seemed ill. I decided I would find a house and get her help.
I walked into an apartment building and knocked on a door. When there was no answer, I discovered the door was unlocked and entered. The apartment had an unusual layout, with a set of steps rising to a loft along one wall of a great room, and rooms directly off the great room on the opposite side. The kitchen was up in the loft. A television was on, its volume very high, showing an old television show but in color.
I set the cat down. She was very listless. “What is it? I asked her.
“I need a box,” she replied in a weak voice.
“I’ll get you one.”
By ‘box’, I assumed she meant something like a litter box. With that in mind, I hunted for anything that would work and then put her in the bathtub. That worked for the cat. I cleaned the tub and then went to the kitchen and found us some food.
The front door opened. An elderly woman entered. She demanded to know who I was but went on without letting me answer, “This is my house. You shouldn’t be in here.”
I agreed and tried to explain my emergency. She wouldn’t listen, insisting that I leave and turn myself into the constable. I agreed that I would, which was a lie; I wasn’t turning myself in.
The cats and I left and went down the street. We found a brown house and went in. I saw a red sweater and put it on. The end.
Michael Seidel, writer 