* I always thought a tam is a hat. The use in this context is from the dream.
A friend of mine (L) was beside me. He’s exactly how he now is, about twenty-five years older than me, a retired, silver-haired engineer coping with COPD.
We were on a wide, well-paved asphalt street lined with trees. I said, “Where’s Church Street?”
He said, “Here. You’re on it. This is Church Tam.”
“Church Tam?” The term confused me.
L said, “That’s why we were confused. You’re asking how to find the place where you are.”
I was still thinking about that when he moved off with a shoulder shift, nod, and wave that signified good-bye. At that point, I saw a white Church off to one side. It was set well-back on a sloping green lawn. Large and simple, it looked like many of the unassuming, clean-lined churches I’ve seen throughout my lifetime.
I was more interested in another set of buildings that were further back and off to one side. Built of cinnamon-orange bricks and of a straightforward, square design, the two buildings were in tandem, with a smaller one in front of the taller one. Whether I knew it or heard it, I knew that the building in the back hadn’t been opened in many years and that it held secrets and historic information. Wanting to explore it, I followed a sidewalk to the front door.
Large, paneled windows were visible on each. As I walked up to the front door, I saw movement behind the windows. A tall man was looking out at me as he moved toward the front door. Half-turning, he waved to others behind him. Two children trotted after him, followed by a woman.
Opening the door, he stepped out. Tall, slender and white, his hair and beard were a dark gray. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and blue jeans.
The children came up as he said, “Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” As he finished that, a woman in an apron came out, wiping her hands as she joined the other three.
I didn’t say anything but looked at the group and building. I was wondering how to get into the big building to learn its secrets. The man said, “Come on in. We have room for you and food.”
“Thank you,” I said. He and I shook hands. The children were shy but seemed to know me. The woman smiled and then went into the house.
We followed her in. She was going down a polished, dark wood hall, but the man and I stopped in a large front room sparsely furnished with a fireplace, thick wooden coffee table, and several leather armchairs. He repeated his welcome. I protested that I couldn’t stay with him and that I thought he was mistaken about expecting me because I’d just decided to come here on an impulse. He laughed at that, telling me, “No, we’ve been expecting you.” Telling me that he’d been right back, he went down the hall.
I was left alone. Looking around, I saw pale-green double doors set in a stone wall. Sconces were on either side. Like cathedral doors, they were pointed at the top of the arc where they met. They were painted, but it looked like a century had passed since it was last painted. The doors were hinged, with a large keyhole in the middle.
Giggling, the children shuffled up, but stayed back. They talked in tandem, telling me that people couldn’t go into the other place because it had a lot of secret and important treasures and things in it, and that they’d never been allowed in it.
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I want to go in.”
“You can’t,” the children said. “Nobody can. Nobody’s allowed to go in there.”
I said, “Someone must go in there. Does anyone have the key?”
“Yes,” one child and then the other said with thoughtful looks. “My Dad,” the boy said. “He has the key.”
“Maybe if I ask him nice, he’ll let me in,” I said.
As I was saying this, the man approached. In one hand was a large ring of keys. On his other palm was a single key. “Here you go,” he said. “I think this is what you’re looking for.”
The dream ended.
I had this dream four days ago as part of a dream bomb that lasted several days. Its impact was more sharply felt than the rest.
I picture April showers of stars at night,
of singing people and loving sights.
Hopes of April showers of good luck,
keep me going when I feel stuck.
I remember April showers of another time,
when I was young and thought the world would be mine.
I want for April showers when people are less of a dick,
where we help each other
and stop being angry and sick.
Floof-luscious (floofinition) – housepets with a sweet, or pleasing attractiveness.
In use: “He’d never owned a pet. Neither had his parents, so he thought it must be a genetic disposition. Whatever it was, when he met the young miniature poodle, everything changed. Her face, he decided, rich with hopeful curiosity, was the floof-luscious component, especially her shiny dark eyes. It hinted of intelligence, mischief, and weirdly, he believed, love.
“Could there be love at first sight between a human and an animal?”
She used love and hate extensively. “I love pizza.” “I hate peas.” “I love Ricky Gervais.” “I hate heavy metal.”
He couldn’t remember her saying that she liked something. It always seemed like either love or hate. They seemed like narrow borders on a broad wasteland.
Seeing a stream of ants on the picnic table, Brett began crushing them with his thumb, smiling as he did.
The guy he didn’t know — there were a lot of them at this company picnic — came by and stopped, looking down, sunglasses mirroring the scene in shiny black. “What’re you doing?”
Brett thought it was obvious so he nuzzled a cold beer for a contemplative minute. “Killing ants. They’re invading the picnic. I’m saving the picnic.” He chortled. He was like a superhero.
“Don’t you know that every small creature you kill breeds a new cancer cell in you?”
Squelching his alarm, Brett snorted. “Bullshit. You made that up.” He was ready to stand up and punch the guy. How’d he know about his cancer? He’d just been told last Thursday. He hadn’t told anyone else yet.
“No, I recognized it and spoke it for you. Sorry about your cancer but you brought it on yourself.” He walked off.
Brett said, “Wait. That’s not fair. No one ever told me.”
The other turned to Brett but kept walking backward. “The ants didn’t think it was fair, either.” Pivoting, he strode away, leaving Brett to stare at the ants and wonder.
I’m a Weezer fan. Their music has a seventies rock sound to me.
Today’s Weezer song, “Hash Pipe”, popped into the stream, as it often does, because of that opening verse. I’m wearing a catheter in my pecker that drains the urine from my bladder. There are two bags. Smaller and lighter, the leg bag attaches to my leg and allows some mobility. The night bag is a bruiser that can collect over eighteen hundred milliliters. It sits in a lined trash can beside the bed while I sleep.
While I was changing bags last night, my wife called out to ask me what I was doing. My mind automatically channeled Bob Seger’s “Night Moves”, but the lyrics I sang were, “Changing to my night bag. Trying to clean the catheter tubes.” That was all to the “Night Moves” melody. I thought, geez, what a weird mind I have. From that streamed “Hash Pipe”.
I can’t help my feelings, I’ll go out of my mind
These players come to get me cause they’d like my behind
I can’t love my business if I can’t get a trick
Down on Santa Monica where tricks are for kids
Yes, it is a sadly weird mind at work. From 2001, join me in a little sumo wrestling with Weezer.