The Old Friends Dream

I dreamed that I was with a lot of old friends. People I’d gone to school with, neighborhood friends from my youth, and people I’d worked with around the world while in the Air Force, or working in Progressive Angioplasty Systems, Tyco, Internet Security Systems, and IBM were there. Writing friends were there, along with sports and drinking buddies.

No occasion that I know was mentioned for the gathering. We were just having a big party in an enormous ballroom, a place so large that I couldn’t see the other side. Well-lit, round tables were set with crystal and silver.

Weirdly, I entered after being out with some, and that’s when the dream proper began. I’d been with one person who I no longer wanted to be with. I had no enmity with him, but he was drunk and being obnoxious, so I was avoiding him. As I was skirting where he was, a group of friends streamed in. Seeing me, they shouted, “There he is,” and waved, happy to see me. I joined them, and we chatted, having a good time.

Then Chris suggested we go somewhere. “Where?” I asked.

“Who cares,” he said, with the friendly and easy smile that he habitually presented.

“Let’s go,” I said. “We can take my car, but I don’t want to drive.”

Chris said, “I’ll drive.”

We got into my silver Mazda. I was in the back seat. Setting off, we talked about where to go. Chris came up with a suggestion, but nobody knew where it was. “Use the GPS,” I said. Chris knew how to do that and pressed the buttons needed.

With my next awareness, we were at a more intimate setting. Many of my friends were there in their party clothes, but everyone seemed tired, I think from partying so much. They were barely interested in the music.

And that was amazing, because up on stage was a young Marvin Gaye with a back-up group. All of them were in amazing bright blue outfits with white shirts.

Marvin finished his performance. I looked around, like, why isn’t anyone applauding. As I began clapping, so did someone else. Putting his hands out, Marvin said, “Hey,” and everyone else sat up and applauded.

Then Jeff was by my side. Pointing at Marvin, he said, “He’s wearing a one.”

Yes, the number one was in black on a white porcelain appearing badge that hung down from his shoulders on his front. Seeing Jeff point at him, Marvin came over to speak with us. I was awed to be in such close proximity to such a creative and intelligent person. He was so pleasant and polite. We shook hands and chatted, and then Jeff, pointing again at Marvin, said, “That one is for London Park, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Marvin agreed.

Jeff bobbed his head with enthusiasm. “I was there, I’ve been there.”

Bewildered, I wanted to ask, where’s London Park? I’ve never heard of London Park. How do you know the one is for London Park?

I didn’t get the chance, because that’s where the dream ended.

The Goal Problem

Goals are great. I establish them to help create a direction for me, motivate me to keep going, and to keep on track. They help me measure progress, providing a tangible foundation for examining how I’m doing.

My problem with goals I’ve found is that I think of them as the destination. Then, I reach the goal and discover it was just a milestone to somewhere else.

That doesn’t reduce their effectiveness, but it is a reminder for me that I don’t always appreciate the larger situation. That works out, though, because setting goals that are small enough to achieve are great in helping me gain confidence and traction.

What I’ve realized is that goals are not the end, but I tool toward reaching for the end.

December First

Walking through sun and shadow latticed cold air, stepping through my plumes of condensation, splashing through puddles, and looking for rainbows as drizzles and sprinkles come and go.

Snow blankets the ridges and peaks across the valley, our first of the season. The snow level seems to be about thirty-five hundred feet. As always, its stark contrast against the sky is a rugged beauty, like a natural metaphor for change.

My mood is high. I hesitate to say it aloud, so I write it instead, but I feel a shift in my energy. I didn’t think the date would make a difference, and maybe it doesn’t. Perhaps I’m feeling a temporary shift and it’s at a personal level, but I hope it’s a broader and longer lasting shift in the world’s energy one that brings the world more peace, justice, and happiness.

I would blame it on my peppermint mocha, but I already felt it before I reached the coffee shop or tasted my drink. Time to write and edit like crazy, at least, you know, one more time.


Floofanym (floofinition) – the other names by which a housepet is know, either to one another, or to the people they live with; a housepet’s secret name; the names given to a housepet seen by others when their real name(s) aren’t known.

In use: “Although her name was Jade, her floofanym was Pokey, given for the lazy deliberation with which she enjoyed investigating things.”

Saturday’s Theme Music

Two songs are competing in my stream today. I can’t remember one of them. I remember two lines and a few guitar chords and licks. I hear the vocals, know the voice, but can’t remember the vocalist, song, or group. Using the few clues I have, I’ve hunted for its identification, and I’ve failed to find satisfaction. So, screw you, song. 

The other is another Aerosmith song. Reflecting on that, a room mate was forced on me during part of my assignment in the Philippines (1976-1977). Forced is the correct expression because regulations forbid people in my specialty, which involved controlling nuclear launches, from having a room mate. Yet, most of my assignments found me with a room mate for part of the time, as the local commanders would sign a waiver to the reg. Of course, the waiver was usually rescinded after the command got wind of it, and the room mate was found another place to live.

This guy, Eric, was a large Aerosmith fan. He had a huge stereo, big speakers, amp, turntable, tuner, equalizer, tape player, but only four albums. Two of them were Rocks and Toys in the Attic, so I heard them a lot. I realize, that’s why I know those albums so thoroughly.

Anyway, today I’m streaming “Same Old Song and Dance” (1974). Sure, it’s December, a brand spanking new month, the last month of 2018. 2019 and January will soon be on us. But you know, it feels like the same old story, the same old song and dance, my friends.

It’s some ol’ school rock.


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