Tag: winter

Sunday’s Theme Music

Sunday slipped into space with the weariness of an old ship being brought into port the final time. Rain and cold air heralded his arrival. Lackluster sunrise contributed its presence at 7:29 AM, or as the house floofs term it, midday. They’ve been up a few hours, pranking one another, running around, and asking me to play with them. “In a little while,” I slur with sleep-induced laziness.

Welcome to December 11, 2022.

The floofs have eaten and are now asleep. It’s 2 degrees C out but don’t worry, it’ll spunk up to 44 F before the sun slinks away at 4:39 PM. It’ll get down to 34 F tonight and up to 46 tomorrow before dropping to 25 tomorrow night. We’re expecting snow showers sometime during this up and down cycle.

I have “She’s Not There” in my morning mental music stream. It’s the Santana version. Yeah, a repeat, delivered by Les Neurons after I answered a survey about my recent replacement part shopping experience. I detailed it more in the post, “Replacement Part”. Anyway, I commented to the company that they’re not there on the weekends. Les Neurons shuffled from ‘you’ to ‘she’ faster than a floof can eat a treat. The Zombies did a great job with the Argent written song in 1964. I know it well and admired it. But Les Neurons keep playing Carlos Santana’s guitar from his group’s cover of it in 1977. Who am I to argue with my neurons? Might as well argue with the floofs or muses. Those are all arguments I will lose, along with any engaged with my spouse.

Stay positive, test negative, and if you fail, try again, right? I need some coffee. Here’s Santana and the song. Have a better one. Cheers

0

A Winter Memory Prompted By Writing Prompt #210

The streetlights were on, unmoored, half-seen yellow orbs floating over either side of the street.

Snow smothered dusk’s dimming light. No one else was on the street. Dressed in blue jeans, a shirt, and tennis shoes – which had holes in the soles that he’d mended with pieces of cardboard – he ran, shivering and sniffling, up the street past the warm-looking suburban houses. Most seemed half-buried in snow. Windblown snow stuck to his clothing and hair and stressed his cheeks with icy daggers. Shoving his fingers deep into his tight jeans’ pockets, keeping at least those warm, he licked snot off his nose, lifted his shoulders, and ran, catching slides and racing on.

Exploding into home, he rushed to a heater duct and stood in front of it, dripping, drying, shivering, warming. enjoying the heat. Mom, orchestrating laundry not far away, turned and stared at him, her hands continuing their folding. “Where is your coat?” she asked. Then answered herself, “Don’t tell me you forgot it again.”

When he nodded, yes, her shoulders sagged and she snapped, “Oh my God.” A warm towel was pulled from the dryer, shook out, and handed to him. “Why in God’s name didn’t you go back for it?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry. I wanted to get home.”

She issued a familiar tongue click of disappointment. He felt too stupid to be her son.

He was probably right.

4

Sunday’s Theme Music

The sky looks like a gray warship going by. “Sun?” the valley asks. “What is this sun you speak of?”

Today is Sunday, April 10, 2022, but winter is on the stage for an encore, bringing snow to the upper levels — three thousand feet — and rain down in the valley, a perfect complement to the cold air. It’s 39 F now. We expect 50 but I don’t know… The cats are doubtful, curling up in warm spaces and already asleep, their day plan already being executed. We humans take snow and rain here in southern Oregon. Give us something to refill the water tables in all its phases and elements, and water the food chain.

The sun’s moment came at 6:39 AM but she balked over showing off her blaze. She leaves our stage at 7:47 this evening.

Another night of brisk dreams had my neurons singing several songs. Finally, while in the bathroom shaving and thinking about my reflection, they began singing bits of a song about being older, so much older. Took a minute or two to realize the neurons were having fun with me, playing the opening lines to John Mellencamp’s “Hurt So Good”. The neurons were sobered some when I pointed out that the song came out when I was living on Okinawa, which would put it forty years ago. They were like, “Wow, we were only twenty-six then. Where does the time go?” “Indeed, my little neurons,” I replied, “indeed.”

Gotta admit, this seems like a strange music video. Never saw it before. Was reluctant to post it after watching it. But I did, though I grimaced.

Stay positive, test negative…you know the routine by now. If you don’t, then I think you might be a lost cause. Coffee is coming up and I am out of here. Cheers

2

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Up and out early, I caught the sun’s first flush spreading over the snowy mountains on the valley’s other side as the sky gained blues and lost its darkness. Every night has its dawn, went through my head, which brought on Bret Michaels of Poison singing, “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” (1988). It’s a mellow song for a metal band, but a nice sound for contemplating winter, 2020.

Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑