Thursday’s Theme Music

Mood: energetic

Today is Thursday, December 14, 2023, but when I walked outside with the cats this morning, it felt like we’d leaped forward into spring outside. Nothing was in bloom but the air carried spring’s sass with sunshine, a blue-ish sky featuring a bevy of small white and gray clouds that looked like turtles reflecting dawn’s light, and 46 F. Then I sneezed several times like allergies had kicked in.

Celebrated a friend’s seventieth last night with her and other friends. Now retired, she’s a world-renown forensics expert in hair and fur. Egged on by two former work colleagues present, themselves forensics experts, she shared interesting tales with us. Entertaining time was had by all.

I have an unusual song circulating the morning mental music stream (Trademark buried). For reasons which they won’t reveal, “Walk Right In” is playing in my head. This is the 1963 cover by The Rooftop Singers. I had to wiki that. The song was written by Gus Cannon in and recorded by Gus Cannon’s Jug Stompers, a man and group I didn’t know of until I read it today. Mom used to play the song on her record player and sing along. The words are simple:

Walk right in, sit right down
Daddy, let your mind roll on
Walk right in, sit right down
Daddy, let your mind roll on
Everybody’s talkin’ ’bout a new way of walkin’
Do you want to lose your mind?
Walk right in, sit right down
Daddy, let your mind roll on

Walk right in, sit right down
Baby, let your hair hang down
Walk right in, sit right down
Baby, let your hair hang down
Everybody’s talkin’ ’bout a new way of walkin’
Do you want to lose your mind?
Walk right in, sit right down
Baby, let your hair hang down

h/t to Songfacts.com

All my life, though, I wondered, what is the new way of walkin’? I remembered asking Mom and hearing laughter in response, which just vexed the hell out of me. I guess some things will always be a mystery.

I know that Dr Hook covered it later but it’s The Rooftop Singers delivering to the mmms, so I stayed with them.

Stay strong, be positive, lean forward, and enjoy the video. Coffee is in me and driving me to get up and go. Once I’m done in the bathroom, I’m out the door to the writing day. Here’s the music. You have a good one. Cheers

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in my primary coffee shop yesterday, writing away in a corner and deeply involved with what I was doing. Even with that true, I’d followed who arrived and left, where they were and what they were doing. It was a habit or talent I’d developed while young. It’d become bolstered first by military counter-terrorist training and situational awareness, and then fostered more as I leaned in to writing fiction and honed my observational skills.

Left was a man who seemed about five years older than me, putting him in his early seventies. He was a regular at both of my coffee haunts. Striking me as a lonely person, I’d witnessed him start conversations with others. When I overheard them, the topic was usually novels he’d read or novels the other was reading.

Rising from the chair he’d settled into, he approached the early twentyish woman on my right. Another regular but not as frequent as me, she was familiar to me. I’d seen the other man talk to her a few times. He greeted her as a friend and she reacted in kind. They began talking about books and his recent visit to a bookstore.

The coffee house manager went to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but it ended with her escorting him out. After he was gone, I saw the shift lead go talk to the manager. Again, nothing was heard. The shift lead returned to her spot behind the counter, and then the manager approached the young woman the man had been talking with.

After giving her name and explaining her position, the manager asked, “Do you know that man?”

“No, not really. He’s spoken to me before.”

“Well, I came over because we’ve had complaints about men approaching young women such as yourself without being invited. Some feel threatened and believe that the man was trying to groom them or other young women, so we felt we needed to act.”

The woman thanked her and the manager went away.

I sat, reflecting on all sides of this, wondering exactly what was true and real, respecting the coffee shop’s position but understanding the man’s loneliness. Yet, I didn’t know if he was grooming. I don’t know his intentions. And then, there are other men who may have approached young females to groom them. It can be an insidious world.

I mentioned it all to my wife, who reminded me, “Woman are often socialized to be friendly when a man approaches. It’s hard for them to say no to them or rebuff them. That’s just how we’re still taught through movies and television shows, and the things we see. Men are in power and are to be respected is what we’re taught, and it’s hard to break the habits that come from that training.

I understand that, too, and thought of my own position when I go into the coffee shop to write. I’m friendly with staff but not other customers. While I want to be friendly with others, my natural inclination, I decided that I need to not be friendly with other regulars; I’m there to write, and the time that I’ve carved out for that is precious. Despite observing so many who seem desperate or hungry for social interations, I do so with regret but remain firm about it.

We’ve followed long and tortured paths to come to these moments of who we are.

The Writing Moment

The writing center — known by everyone other than him as a cofffee shop — had a full parking lot. With past experience as a guide, he thought that getting a prime writing table* wouldn’t be possible. Head for number two, he ordered his brain, which delivered the message to his body, which set his car on the required course.

Coffee shop number two was packed. He selected a tertiary choice location with plans to move to a better spot when one opened, and joined the short line to acquire the necessary hot and dark magic water that helped stimulate his writing efforts. As he stood there, movement flickered in his eyes’ left periphery. Leaning a little, he confirmed, people were leaving a prime space. Hustling followed as he relocated his gear and thanked the coffee gods.

The place, he realized as he picked up his coffee, was packed. Every table, prime or not, was in use. Both conversation pits were filled, and almost all the window bar seats were engaged. Five baristas in black outfits worked in mechanical precision behind the wood-encased retail island to restock food and dishware, prepare orders, take, or deliver them. About fifty people filled the small business.

The place’s warm hum keyed his sentimental side. Such a friendly, happening scene. While a few patrons were like him, solitary animals focused on keyboards, staring at phones, or reading books, most people were chatting and laughing in twos and threes as they ate breakfast sandwiches and pastries and sipped coffee drinks, chai, or tea. The scene made his heart swell three times its normal size.

Then he sipped his coffee twice — once to sample it, the second time to more fully appreciate its warm, bitter flavor, put his head down and started typing. An hour later, he looked up and smiled as he gazed across the quiet, almost empty place. Music unheard over the previous rattle and hum was audible. The baristas were reduced to two, and plenty of seats and tables were available. Take your pick.

How quickly things could change.

*The prime writing space is a table or counter with space for a laptop, mouse, and coffee, a chair, and an outlet, and is located two to three feet away from others for privacy and isolation.

Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

Rain showers the street and sidewalks outside the coffee shop windows. Between the clouds and rain, gray smothers the day like swaths of gray flannel.

The coffee shop is cold. It’s always cold when the sun ain’t cracking through to brighten and warm us. Despite wearing a fleece jacket, I’m shivering, and my hands are cold. My wife, who suffers Renaud’s disease, would be in misery.

And I had to pee again. I finally decided to seek the answer about why I pee more often when I’m cold and did a search.

“Cold-induced diuresis,” thenakedscientists.com on the net informed me, basically an increase in urine due to more blood being filtered due to vasoconstriction to conserve heat, more or less.

At least I know the reason now. At least my laptop’s keyboard warms my fingertips a little. How we artists must suffer.

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