originally, the paper proving that there were exactly one hundred twenty nine distinct life path variants, of which all human lives followed one, was used as proof that the universe was not a simulation since any decent programmer would have limited themselves to one hundred twenty eight until it was revealed that the most newly evidenced life path was the "fillers of previously future expansions" class.

Since we moved here five years ago, my wife has diligently kept the local crows fed, making sure to put the food out under the cherry tree when they were around to see it.

This year, a pair have nested in the big tree overlooking our yard with line of sight to the ground beneath the cherry tree.

It's good to build community.

Our raccoon friend is back in the treetop condo today, so Zero is on permanent high alert, lest the raccoon decide to wake up mid-day and wreak havoc in Zero's backyard. The raccoon really just wants to sleep somewhere no one will mess with it.

In the distance, a kid yells "whoa" as the sky is illuminated by free-range electricity.

Just rescraped our sidewalks so they're not all slushy. Just as I finished, a couple passed with a few bags of groceries. They smiled and said thanks as they passed. Nearest grocery store is ten blocks away. Made me glad I went back out to clear the walk again. Hope they didn't have much farther to go.

Holiday traditions 

Growing up, it was a tradition in our house that my dad was given a different Santa ornament for the tree.

When our first grandkid came along, our kids decided to do the same for me.

Here is the fifth Sundogistani Santa.

She said I wear a lot of very different hats. I said no, it's just one big versatile floppy hat. She smiled, her eyes not believing me but loving me regardless while my heart broke a little.

We have successfully feted the two young men who feel less young today. We have now left them to the entertainments of the young folk, which they're still perfectly qualified to perform, with their also still young friends while us old folk wind down a little more peacefully. I wouldn't mind the opportunity to see our sons' kids, still just babies now, on the occasion of each of their thirtieth birthday celebrations, too. Might even be possible.

10am at the local corner store. A young couple in rain jackets whisper to each other next to the freezer door and pull out two items, then grab a bottle on the way to the checkout stand.

Clerk looks at the items, then at the couple, huddled together.

"Pizza rolls and a nice Chardonnay for a wet chilly Sunday morning," one of the couple says.

Not my bag, but I support the sentiment.

Winds are blowing and moisture is in the air and I welcome the shift, even as the sun spends less time in my skies.

Seasons change and we need them to, despite our aches and desires.

Still, the quiet voice always whispers.

"Go, dog, just follow the sun. Run."

But not this year. This is a year for home.

Okay, a new iteration for

I toot from the toot-lab, my tiny shack on the edge of the fediverse. I blather on about and and and and :blobpats: with a semi-regular display of and

You can follow along with my listening habits in real-time over on @nowplaying if you are interested.

Welcome to the fediverse. Pull up a comfy seat.


There was this dive jazz club in the basement of a high rise up the street when I was in school, liberal carding policies but a two beer per hour per person minimum or you had to go. the waitress would walk around a pick up your bottle to make sure it wasn't empty, but let you slide if she liked you. you could get a spot on the stand and sit in with some amazing players down there if you kept coming back. we always did.

the smells of the fertile soil in our soon-ready-to-plant garden beds fill my nostrils as my muscles begin to renew their protests over yesterday's exertions and my mouth insists on more cool liquids and my brain swims in inputs and thoughts and the internal din is like the audioscape of the city that is my body. cities always sound alive to me, so it is strong mojo to feel as alive as a city. this is a day well spent.

the beauty of the spark that shines as brightly as possible while surrounded by cold darkness is holographic.

even the faintest glowing ember holds a perfect replica of the beautiful whole.

sometimes, at its very dimmest, nigh extinguished state, it can seem impossible for that precious information to be intact.

sometimes it seems impossible for the spark to shine so brilliantly again.

but then

a reflection.

As the snow fell this weekend we were visited by two of our many hummingbird friends from the summer. Seems they missed a memo. We put on a kettle of water and sugar and put the feeder back out.

These shortened crisp yet sunny mid-October days take on the flavor of a passionate love affair that has begun to wind down, reminding me that I will need to keep my ownfire stoked most diligently lest I fall victim to the coming dark winter's depression that is even now beginning to awaken from its summer slumbers.


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