Come on, Columbian soothin’ syrup. Flow out those two spigots and give me the help I need to enable the thinking process. Oh, look, the liquid happiness is flowing. All I need is a sip, and the memories of this glorious room will return. Here is the sip. AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

Here are the memories: The ceilings and windows give the feeling of the out of doors. When we moved in, the only piece of furniture we had was a futon. We sold our other place at the coast, which was fully furnished, so we had nothing. We bought the futon, knowing it would soon be gifted to the Salvation Army. Two people and two dogs were very cozy on that futon until the new furniture arrived.

We have been here for five years, and the room has changed slightly. The couches have been lowered twice: once for Twiggy’s rehabilitation from surgery and lately to keep Tempeste the puppy from running under them and doing things that should be done outside. The rug has been changed, and new art has been installed.

The room is the center of the home and is where we spend most of our time. The time clock is going to wait for next week since the word count is getting close to the limit. My text alert tells me Linda Hill has sent the prompt. It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “Memories of the room you’re in.” Write about a memory of the room (or park, or gym, or where ever you are) you’re in when you write your post. Enjoy!

To see what other bloggers have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link: https://lindaghill.com/2024/03/22/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-23-2024/

Memories of the Room You’re In by John W. Howell © 2024

“How did you guys get along without furniture?”

“As weird as it sounds, we did quite well.”

“Where did you sit to eat?”

“We have a large kitchen counter that has room for seats. Our daughter loaned us bar stools.”

“Dishes?”

“Yeah, we brought a set from the coast.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“We bought a mattress and put it on the bedroom floor.”

“Why did you need a futon?”

“We didn’t have a place to sit, and it worked like a couch.”

“Was it long before the furniture arrived?”

“It was all special order, so it took some time. We found a couple of pieces by going to stores.”

“Sounds ghastly.”

“It was a good memory. Of course, being in my late 70s, getting up from the mattress was a challenge.”

“I can imagine.”

“Speaking of challenge, you haven’t mentioned VooDoo Ranger.”

“I guess I’ve been busy thinking of this old guy getting out of bed and trying to stand up.”

“Yeah, it was fun. I could have used a crane.”

“Speaking of.”

“Oh no.”

“Look at our Uber lift.”

“When you say ‘lift,’ that’s an understatement.”

“You like it then?”

“Dan Antion would love it. Yes, I like it. Looks like we both can ride in the cabin.”

“Can you imagine the looks when we get to the pub?”

“For fun, I think we should tell them we are here to raise the roof.”

“You know, for you, that was pretty good. Are you taking pills or something?”

“Just high on life, my friend. Let’s go.”

The machine diligently produces the mind-saving elixir that is the legal import of Columbia. The beans are ground, tamped, and scalded with boiling water to give me what I need most: that first cup of coffee. With it in hand, the clock is set to March 16th, 1924. The location is the port city of Fiume on the Adriatic Sea, and the time is set for two hours. The plunger is pulled, and we are there.

We arrive in time for a grand celebration: the city is formally annexed to Italy. Benito Mussolini is present, and King Victor Emmanuel III of Italy reads the annexation proclamation to cheering crowds.

The city’s autonomous municipal government had declared in late October 1918 that Fiume wanted to be annexed to Italy, explaining their reasoning with words like “national self-determination.” Italy had only entered WWI because of promises of territorial expansion along the Adriatic at Habsburg’s expense. Fiume is now named Rijeke and is the third-largest city in Croatia

Fiume was once labeled the center for fascism since Mussolini began his takeover of Italy from there. By pulling the wool over King Victor Emmanuel III’s eyes, he was able to take over the government.

As the crowds cheer, the alarm goes off, and a soft landing on the couch is the result. My text tone lets me know Linda Hill has sent this week’s prompt. The text reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “wool.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!

If you want to see what other bloggers have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link: https://lindaghill.com/2024/03/15/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-16-2024

Wool by John W. Howell © 2024

“What do you mean by pulling the wool over King Victor Emmanuel III’s eyes?”

“Mussolini was able to convince the king to place him in the position of head of the government. No election or anything. I would say that was a wool pull.”

“Okay, before your explanation, I envisioned Mussolini holding up a sheep.”

“Not a bad visual for this situation.”

“When did this happen?”

“It was in 1922. 30,000 citizens protested to the king demanding Mussolini be put in charge.”

“So he did.”

“Yup. The king felt his dynasty would be preserved by doing so.”

“Did it help?”

“Well, the king stepped down in 1946 after 46 years on the throne. I would say it helped.”

“All this talk of Kings makes me thirsty.”

“There’s no pulling the wool over my eyes. Did you order the Uber?”

“Yup. Right over there.”

“Wow. That’s a 1963 Studebaker Avanti.”

“It is a beauty, and we get to ride in it.”

“This might be the best ride yet.”

“As you can see, I haven’t been gathering wool.”

“No, I think you scored big on this one. Let’s go.

A new drink today. To test the machine to the maximum, a cappuccino is ordered. A smile on the control panel assures me this was not a challenge for the crafty AI entity inside the machine. After a bunch of hissing and spitting, a lovely signature cappuccino is produced. One sip and it is to the clock. The clock is set for March 9, 1924. The location is the Elysee Palace in France. The duration is two hours. Once the plunger is pulled we find ourselves in a meeting of the French Cabinet..

The coffee has been delayed. Checking my watch for the fourth time does not seem to help. Finally, within the bowels of the pesky machine, I hear the faint rumbles that assure me that soon the liquid soothing syrup will be streaming out of the spouts. Sure enough, here it comes.

After a deep sip, the mind thaws, and memory turns to the clock. The setting is simple, February 3, 1924. The place is Washington, DC. The duration is two hours. Checking my clothes before pulling the plunger ensures the dress is appropriate for February in Washington. No use freezing on my watch is the thought.

The plunger pull causes us to end up at 2340 S Street NW in Washington. There are uniformed police everywhere. Listening carefully to the officers, the cause of the commotion is Woodrow Wilson, the 28th President of the US from 1913 to 1921, has died. We are in front of his home, where he passed at 11:15 this morning.

President Wilson did have a stroke in 1919 that left him all but incapacitated. He and his second wife Edith and his doctor kept the public from knowing the absolute truth. It is said that Edith was, in fact, acting in Wilson’s absence. He retired from the Presidency in 1921.

The alarm sound precedes a trip to the couch. My phone tells me I have a text. It is from Linda Hill (who else?) It reads: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “watch.” Use it as a noun or a verb; use it any way you’d like. Have fun!

If you want to see what other bloggers do with this prompt, visit Linda’s post at this link: https://lindaghill.com/2024/02/02/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-feb-3-2024/

Watch by John W. Howell © 2023

“Wow, that Wilson thing was serious.”

“Yes, it was. There was no succession plan enacted.”

“if that were on my watch, I would have told someone.”

“The cabinet knew but went along with the President’s wishes.”

“Well, I’m glad nothing Earth-shattering took place.”

“The only thing that seemed to be affected was the ratification of the US membership in the League of Nations never happened.”

“Why was that?”

“Wilson, who favored joining, was too ill to negotiate his position, and those opposed in Congress had their way, so the US never joined. Maybe it didn’t matter after all since the League disbanded in 1946. So you may be right. Nothing Earth-shattering.”

“This political talk has made me thirsty.”

“You get thirsty when we aren’t even talking.”

“There’s Uber.”

“I don’t see it. Just that strange-looking truck.”

“That’s it. A vintage 1950s home delivery truck. Isn’t it sweet?”

“I guess you could call it sweet. I would love to know where you find these things.”

“Discount Uber is the place. I watch for the best specials.”

“Okay, I’m game. Let’s go.”

“One other thing.”

“Yes.”

“He has block ice to keep the milk cold.”

“And?”

“Hello. What else does very well when cold?”

“VooDoo Ranger?”

“Bingo.”

“You are the best.”

A big gulp of coffee reaches the brain in less time than is reasonable to hope. With the cobwebs gone, it is time to fire up the clock. The choice is to continue to make 1923 mistakes or finally move into 1924. Someone needs to make the call, and it has to be me.

Okay, the clock is set for January 27, 1924. The location is Moscow and the time allowed is two hours. When the plunger is pulled, we find ourselves in Moscow. Dressed like it is Texas with flip-flops and shorts, the temperature turns my knees blue. It is currently -35 degrees F (-37 C), and someone should have reminded me that we need to dress for the destination and not the origin. Lesson learned for next time.

We are in Red Square, and thousands of people gathered for the state funeral for Vladimir Lenin, the co-founder of the Soviet Union. Lenin’s body is delivered to Red Square, accompanied by martial music. The crowds listen to speeches from Mikhail Kalinin, Grigory Zinoviev, and Joseph Stalin, but notably not Leon Trotsky, who had been convalescing in the Caucasus. Later, it is learned that Stalin had given Trotsky the wrong date for the funeral on purpose.

Lenin’s body is embalmed for long-term viewing and placed in a mausoleum on Red Square. He died on January 21, 1924, at 18:50, in Gorki, at age 53, after falling into a coma. The official cause of death was recorded as an incurable disease of the blood vessels.

As the funeral is completed, the alarm goes off, and back on the sofa is my destination. My test tone tells me Linda Hill has sent this week’s prompt. Here it is. Your prompt for #JusJoJan the 27th and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “make the call.” Use it as an idiom, or use it literally. Have fun!

To see what other bloggers have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s blog. Here is the link. https://lindaghill.com/2024/01/26/the-friday-reminder-for-socs-jusjojan-2024-daily-prompt-jan-27th/

Make the Call by John W. Howell © 2023.

“Wow. Lenin died 100 years ago.”

“Well, he was buried 100 years ago.”

“To be technical. Yes. Is he still there?”

“There was talk about taking him out of the mausoleum in 2018, but it didn’t happen. Yes, he is still there.”

“Well, that’s good. I guess someone had to make the call on that.”

“Yeah, that was Putin. He put his foot down.”

“I guess that would be the final foot.”

“I think it would. You ready for the pub?”

“Sure am. Uber’s already here. It’s in the parking garage.”

“Okay, let’s walk over.”

“Here we are.”

“You’re kidding?”

“It was this or a horse wagon. I had to make the call.”

“I guess it is better than a horse wagon. You know we could pay full price and get something comfortable.”

“What fun is that?”

“We doing lights and siren?”

“Is there any other way?”

“VooDoo Ranger, here we come.”

A fresh cup of coffee from Her Majesty The Coffee Queen and the day can begin. It is refreshing to have a close-up and personal relationship with such royalty. After a couple of sips, thoughts turn to the clock. Opening the cabinet door and reaching for the clock means we will be taking a trip. Time to close up the doors and get to it. The clock is set to January 13, 1923. The location is Washington, D.C., and the time is two hours.

No sooner than the plunger is pulled, and we are there. The first stop is Warren Harding’s cabinet meeting, which has been happening for some time. The subject under discussion is whether or not the Post Master of the Grand Canyon is allowed to keep his dog. It seems there is a law against doing so, but the Post Master has appealed to keep him there. The decision reached is to let the President decide. With that, the cabinet meeting is adjourned.

Moving to the House of Representatives, we arrive just in time to hear Representative Upshaw of Georgia, who is attempting to make Washington dry, present evidence to Acting Prohibition Commissioner Jones in which he charged that there was an “official House bootlegger” who had a monopoly in plying his trade in the House office building. Just as the bootlegger is to be named, the alarm goes off, and the living room couch is the landing zone. It looks like 100 years haven’t changed a thing in Washington. My text tone says Linda Hill has sent me one. Your prompt for #JusJoJan the 13th and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “close up/close-up.” Use the verbal phrase “close up” and/or the noun/adjective “close-up” somewhere in your post, or write a post in the spirit of the phrase. Have fun!

If you want to see how others handle this prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link: https://lindaghill.com/2024/01/12/the-friday-reminder-for-socs-jusjojan-2024-daily-prompt-jan-13th/

Close Up/Close-up by John W. Howell © 2023

“Well, you got the prompt in.”

“You didn’t like the story?”

“Is it true?”

“All of it. Talk about a waste of time.”

“Sounds like not much happening around Washington ninety-nine years ago.”

“Meanwhile, Hitler is parading around showing off his 5000 brownshirts in protest of the French occupying the Ruir in Germany.”

“Okay, but who knew? Why did you go to 1923? You usually do one hundred years.”

“I made a mistake. It was like filling out a check in the new year and putting last year on it.”

“Yeah, I’ve done that. I hope you didn’t make any more mistakes while you were there.”

“Nope. Kept my hands in my pocket.”

“Good for you. You should get a reward.”

“Paid for by me?”

“Of course.”

“You call Uber?”

“Yup, and he is here.”

“Where?”

Over there.”

“That’s the Halloween bus from Views of the Neighborhood.”

“I know. I loaned it to the Uber driver for a price break.”

“Well, at least it has cold VooDoo Ranger on board.”

“A close-up look will point out a killer sound system.”

“Time to close up the dialogue and get on board.”

“Pubster, here we come.”

The coffee is ready in record time, which just says to me, “We love you, boss.” After a sip of the precious fluid, the thought again turns to the alarm clock. Although experience is being gained on each trip to maintain control, it seems to me that staying within a specific boundary is a good idea.

Therefore, the clock is set to December 8th, 1923. One hundred years ago. The time is set for two hours, and the plunger is pulled. Immediately, the scene changes, and My location is Madison Square Garden. There are a lot of people in the garden cheering for men on bicycles.

When questioned, the guy next to me informs me that this is the finish of the annual December Six-day race. He tells me there are fourteen thousand people in attendance.

He also says Ernest Kockler of Chicago and Percy Lawrence of San Francisco, comprising the American team, were the winners of the annual race. He fascinated me with what seemed to me to be a professional play-by-play recap of the events. He breathlessly recapped that the American riders, hanging tenaciously to the precious lap that they gained during one of the jams early in the week, finished the grind with a total mileage of 2,519 miles and 8 laps, and their one-lap margin was sufficient to give them the honors.

Thanking him for the information, the bell clanging means my time is up here in New York. In an instant, the familiar surroundings of the home told me the adventure is over. My phone buzzes, and a text arrives from Linda Hill. It reads.

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “to me.” Find a way to use the phrase “to me” in your post. Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy! To see what other bloggers have done with this prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link: https://lindaghill.com/2023/12/08/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-9-2023/

To Me by John W. Howell © 2023

“To me, this alarm thing needs to be ramped up.”

“What do you mean.”

“You’re stuck in going back 100 years.”

“Yeah, like I explained so as not to run into trouble.”

“Come on. There are more interesting things to see other than a bunch of sweaty jocks on bikes.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“Darned right, I’m right.”

“I  guess we could look up an event we wanted to visit.”

“Yeah, Like the ending of prohibition or Crusades. Anything but the 1920s.”

“Okay, next week we’ll try it.”

“Great. Let’s go celebrate.”

“Unlike every week.”

“Oh, come on. You know what I mean.”

“Did you order Uber?”

“He’s right over there.”

“I don’t see him.”

“That orange thing blowing leaves.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Riding a blower to the pub?”

“Heavy discount.”

“And high visibility, let alone where to sit.”

“We stand behind the operator.”

“It looks to me like we might be better off walking.”

“That is another thing.”

“What.”

“We have to bag the leaves.”

“Sometimes I wonder about you.”

“It’s good exercise. Here’s your rake and gloves.”

“I can’t wait to see us on the ride home.”