Yesterday. It’s an umbrella word. Covers time, music, happenstance, stories, excuses, infinite endings, some beginnings, and sometimes, well, whatever.
In my case, it involved dealing with what I have decided to dub ‘the small blue circle of death,’ which is something, something, blah, blah, blah to do with trying to go back to the way things were before I upgraded from Windows 7 Professional to Windows 10. Let the wailing commence – I hear you.
In my case, the system couldn’t go back to the past because something, something, blah, blah, blah. Couldn’t check mail, go online, back up files, not even access the task master. And it wasn’t that my computer was frozen. I could have handled that. What drove me to hair-pulling frustration was this endless, whirling, cheerful, spinning (expletives removed) blue circle.
So my inner Luddite went floating on a raft in a pool somewhere serene. I won’t tell you what the rest of me was doing.
Except that I’m still on Windows 10, but having to reset every password I’ve ever used for every program that I need at this very moment.
Today, my internal light bulb went off and I booked a ticket for Parts Unknown. AKA pulling the plug. Somewhere the floating sea is beckoning …
Writing is complicated. At least it is for me. What I choose to write about is … a safe bit of text on a nicely folded sheet of paper tucked away in an office so that someone can figure out how to reload the stapler.
What I NEED to write about is … blood and gore and loss and terror and fear and longing. Screaming out loud. Being the only object between here and there, the messenger who saves the world, that sort of thing.
But I can’t do it out here, not this way, being confronted with the flashlight in my eyes.
Pause. That sounded suspiciously like an excuse. Well, yes, it was.
I’m still here. I’ve put away the folded sheets. Off screen I’m heading out to find the place my writing self needs to be.
And where is that? Instructions can be found inside the title.
Just FYI, my ancient desktop computer is undergoing its final death throes. I’ll try to come up with a multi-letter post by Z day. Not stressing, as the world is wide open and my words are learning the path to follow, tracing the arc for the reader who needs to know what happens next.
Two V posts today. This is the one I was going to publish but backed off. And kicked myself back in. Ouch.
My voice is a souffle – it tends to collapse at the very idea of exposure.
Which is why I’ve begun blogging – to step deliberately outside my comfort zone. But baby steps, here and there. Mostly there’s an empty room between me and the world. Has several doors, a few complicated hatches, and an exhausting array of excuses in the event of a breach. Oh, and tricks. Here is one, now….
May I borrow you for a moment? I’ll give you back, I promise.
You are eight years old when you move in to the Black Widow’s Mansion. Only it’s not hers anymore. The house was taken from her after the war because her husband was a Nazi. Even at eight, you know what a Nazi is, because your parents visited Dachau and brought back a book full of photographs, which you discover on a table when you are seven years old.
At first, you worry that she’ll come back, the Black Widow, even when they tell you that won’t happen. She’d have to make it past the gates and the guardhouses and every one else in the house. And don’t forget Bessie, the guard dog.
Still, you’re not convinced, especially after dark, when every one else is asleep. Even Bessie won’t help, since she’s in a cage, and the most she can do is bark as the Black Widow climbs the magnolia tree in the front yard and onto the second floor veranda, and there is your window, right there…
But time passes.
Now you are nine. You just had a birthday and you have money and you want to go back to the circus. The one that your father took you to for your birthday and want to see again because it was like magic, that circus. The way it hadn’t been and then it was, a giant tent, and inside you find people flying through the air, elephants dancing, monkeys on white horses, strange smells and shimmering lights.
But no one will take you. They have already been. No need to go again.
You decide to be brave for once, and go on your own. Despite the fact that none of you are ever to go out alone. But you are so often by yourself, climbing the fruit trees, sitting for hours, watching the world go by, sometimes wandering the fields around the compound, but always in sight of the house. Beyond that though, you have never been, except with your sister and your brother, to walk to and from the bus stop for school, or to explore the forests and the parks nearby.
But you are nine now. Grown up in a small way, so there you go, money in your pocket, slipping out through the small wooden door that the gardener has shown you, the one half-hidden by ivy and stone, that leads to the great wide world.
Just last week, it was a Tomahawk Missile. Launched by a submarine somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico near the Florida Keys. Was supposed to be a routine testing operation near the Eglin Air Force test range.
Ordinary, normal operations. Until something went wrong and a 2,900 pound Tomahawk Missile crashed into the waters of Choctawhatchee Bay near Hogstown Bayou.
According to the Navy, the U.S. Navy tactical missile was inert and did not contain any explosive or radioactive material. So they say.
To quote Navy public affairs officer Jamie Cosgrove, “At this time, we don’t know why the missile’s flight was terminated, but an investigation is ongoing.”
Cosgrove also said that mishaps such as Tuesday morning’s incident are “pretty infrequent. I’ve been a public affairs officer for six years, and I can’t recall something like this happening before.”
I feel ever so much better, now. How about you?
Note to Cosgrove: Just FYI: The first test launch of the Tomahawk cruise missile, December of 1985, didn’t work out too well, either. After the missile went out of control, one of the chase pilots triggered the Tomahawk’s parachute, causing the missile to drop (‘plummet’) to earth in Freeport, Florida.
A violent thunderstorm came through this morning and woke me up (as I lay in my metal bed, haha). This one came right off the Gulf, headed north with purpose.
Yesterday I intended to finish off my seascape watercolor, but by the time I got home from class, my son had sent me a text about Prince, and the painting was forgotten. I dragged it out just a little while ago. Put on Patrick OHearn’s The Cold Sea’s Embrace from his So Flows the Current CD and went to work.
This was from last week’s class. I didn’t like the color of the water, so I basically scrubbed out the foreground and walked away.
Now I just needed to add white foamy waves without messing up. Decided it didn’t matter, it’s just paper.
Note: This reminds me a bit of the waters off Pacific Grove – definitely more California than Gulf Coast. I was working from a photograph, local waters. The rocks on the right? In the photograph, those were jetties. But somehow I ended up in California.
Short post, sharing a memory from long ago, music from Purple Rain cranked up as loud as we dared, my children and me, cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, dancing, always dancing, especially to Baby I’m a Star, chores forgotten, just caught up in the moment. Life!
If you haven’t seen the movie, surely you’ve seen the video of the song being performed on stage. But what led up to that moment … sublime.
I’d love to leave with a video of his absolutely electric Superbowl Half time performance of the song Purple Rain, but hopefully you can catch it on your own.
In the meantime, here is a photo from NASA in honor of Prince…
Crab Nebula Photograph: Nasa/ESA/REX/Shutterstock
That’s all for today.
Note: I’m participating in the A-Z Blogging Challenge. R is for many things but they can wait for another day.