Saturday’s Theme Music
After reading the news updates yesterday, I mourned the patterns, the things we keep doing and won’t change. Haven’t we seen this show before? Assassinating leaders and promoting greater violence while claiming to be de-escalating. We’ve changed centuries; shouldn’t we change our tactics and strategy. No; they continue to fight the last war and run the last political campaign. Of course, there are some that lap it up and beg for more.
The timing was impeccable for this murder. Australia burning, glaciers melting, people fleeing wars and droughts as other nations turn refugees away, but hey, let’s de-escalate by killing others.
Out of that, I started singing Steve Winwood’s “Freedom Overspill” (1986).
Keep on talking all you want
Well you don’t waste a minute of time
Who cares, who knows what’s true
Coffee and tears the whole night through
Burning up on midnight oil
And it’s come right back on you
Freedom Overspill
Freedom Overspill
Force of habit, you could say
The way they talk you’re talking away
Who cares, who knows what’s true
Your wounded pride is burning you up
Burning up on midnight oil
And it’s come right back on you
h/t to Metrolyrics.com cuz’ cutting and pasting song lyrics is easier.
That ‘Force of habit’ line is what hooked me. Nations, like people, fall into habits, especially as leadership and thinking diminishes. Like marketing, they think, well, this worked before. Press drumbeats follow soon. We’ve seen it happen so many times already in this young century.
It takes strength and awareness to change. Does anyone out there have it?
Sycofloof
Sycofloof (floofinition) – An animal who acts with self-serving obsequiousness.
In use: “While the other pets scuttled off and hid, the sycofloof met everyone who came to the door, charming her with her eyes, enchanting them with her fur, and rolling over for belly rubs without hesitation, hoping for pets and treats.”
A Baseball Dream
I began as a middle-aged man, probably in my thirties, in the dream. Somehow, I was asked to come to high school to play baseball.
Several points from reality should be noted: our high school didn’t have a baseball team. I didn’t play for our baseball team.
But in this dream, I said, “Sure,” and went off to play this game. A brief tryout, conducted by my high school football, track, and wrestling coaches, was conducted: “Can you pitch?” I threw some fastballs; they were satisfied.
It was a loose “old-timers vs. young players” game. I was part of the old-timers. Teams were formed: I’ll pick him, I’ll take him. I was selected and was riding the bench until I was asked to pitch in relief in the middle of the game. None of us knew how that would go, but I pitched well, striking out several. Then I batted, and hit a triple. Very cool. By the game’s end, I was considered an unexpected hero.
Back home (after a dream team leap), I was asked to play in a second game. I agreed. Time details were provided.
Now, I was worried. Anxiety levels jumped because, hey, there were expectations. Then I started overthinking things and confusing myself about what time I was supposed to be there.
All sorts of things next happened. I was getting dressed, but paused to pee. When I did, there was a commotion out in the house. Hearing it, I peed on the bathroom wall. It was like, oh, no, but then I threw on a robe to go see what was going on.
My Mom and her boyfriend and their friends had returned from a trip. She and he were their current ages.
They’d arrived home early and unexpected. After briefly greeting me, they went into a chaotic conversation about flights, schedules, and tickets. You’d think that they were planning the trip instead of just finishing it. By the way, Mom asked, did you call your Dad? He was supposed to have surgery. I hadn’t heard anything about that.
Amidst this, I scrambled to dress. They’d given me a uniform. I put that on but now I couldn’t find my glove, bat, and ball. The first two were located with help from my Mom’s boyfriend, but then I couldn’t locate the ball. At last, a cat was spotted batting it around and chasing it.
I retrieved the ball, a mold-covered lime orb that had no resemblance to a baseball or softball. What the hell, that wasn’t important, I decided, and I was running late. Scramble, scramble.
I headed for the field. Along the way, I met my wife. She was going to the game. But first, we were being assembled in a classroom. Some of my friends from this period in my life were there. Weird. The teacher (an old high school English teacher of mine who didn’t remember me) was going around, passing out reading material that we were to read aloud. Each of us were given excerpts from different classic pieces of literature.
Then, though, I protested that I had to go. Telling them that I’d see them at the game, I rushed away. Now I’m in this huge U.S. Air Force facility, passing displays about AF history, technology, and traditions. I’m with some of my military peers. We agree, boy, has this stuff changed.
As I pass through the AF facility, I’m trying to understand where we are. It seems like an air base, mall, museum, and flying ship at the same time. I have a deep, sneaking suspicion that those impressions were all true, that we were somewhere high in the atmosphere.
There wasn’t time to consider it more than that, because, oh! Time! Baseball game. I wasn’t sure what time I was supposed to be there, but now I believed that I was definitely late. Rushing to the field where we were supposed to play, I discover that no one else from my team has already, not even the coach. Holy shit, where is everyone? What’s happening? Am I in the wrong time, place, and date?
Some young players show up. My tensions eases. The coach still hasn’t shown. What the hell, we’re supposed to play soon.
He finally shows, and apologizes for being late, but there was a family thing. I talk to him, and end up counseling him on how difficult families can be. Then he tells me that I’m going to be the starting pitcher. Can I handle that?
Sure, I can, I answer, but I’m enormously doubtful. I remind myself that I was successful before. But that was different, it was unexpected, and now, given the chance, I was overthinking it all, and that would probably skew my performance. I needed to relax and not worry, I told myself.
As I take the mound to warm up, the dream ends.
Friday’s Theme Music
Today’s theme music choice emerged reflections on my dream. Written by Paul Simon over fifty years ago, it was used in a movie, The Graduate, as well as standing as a hit on its own. It came about in my stream today because of the reference to a baseball player, Joe DiMaggio.
From 1968, Simon & Garfunkel with “Mrs. Robinson”. Fascinating to listen to the lyrics again.
“We’d like to know a little bit about you for our files.
“We’d like to help you learn to help yourself.
“Look around and all you see are sympathetic eyes.
“Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home.”
Strategy
She was home.
He moved into the living room and his little electric heater. He preferred warm air. She (she claimed) liked it ‘normal’. It exasperated the hell out of him. Wasn’t like he was choosing to prefer hot. His need for heat (he’d probably never see that on a movie poster) was derived from injuries, illnesses, and diseases. Life demanded a harsh toll from him.
Hurrying to the heater, he turned it up from low to med. Then, with silent swiftness, he settled into his recliner, grabbed his book, and pretended like her arrival was a surprise.
“Oh, you’re home.”
“Yes.” She talked about things going on outside as she removed her coat. Then, as he turned away, he watched her reflection in the television screen out of the corner of his eye. Soon as she saw his back was turned, she took two long fast steps to the heater and bent over it. A soft click followed.
She bustled away as he turned back. Smiling to himself, he glanced at the heater. On low, just as he preferred.
A happy marriage sometimes required a little guile.
A Spy Dream
Six of us were there, to start, males and females (nobody that I knew), in an old part of a modern city. Sunset had passed. Shadows grew among the narrow bridges and streets wedged in among canals and buildings. Silence grew as businesses closed and people retired to their houses.
We were supposed to be finding our way through the city. I don’t know who the others were, or why we were tasked with this. But the assignment unnerved us. Then, trying to be bolder, one made a decision to go down an alley, thinking that was the right way. We never saw him again.
As the dark grew deeper, we depended on light coming from windows to see. Growing more nervous, the others crowded closer. But, I said, “Wait. I know what’s going on. We’re being tested.” We thought they were testing our direction, but I realized that they were testing our mettle.
Talking it through with the rest, I convinced them that I was right. As they finally agreed, the lights came up. A man lead a group forward. Talking with us, he confirmed that I was right. It was a test, and it was over.
“Follow me,” he directed, leading us into a building. The halls were narrow. He put two of my group into one room, “Because they were done,” and then lead me and two others into another room.
The room wasn’t large. Stereo speakers crowded it. A window allowed people to watch us. Music played. As it played, we were told to select colors from a panel as fast as we could. When this was done, after what seemed like just ten seconds, I was led away.
“Your thinking tells us that you can be a spy,” the man told me as I was led off. “Your respond to music with colors in the same way that trained spies usually respond, so we want to make you a spy.”
I didn’t know who he meant wanted to make me a spy, nor what I was to spy on. Everything was happening with bewildering speed. As he led me forward, he said, “Take off your shirt.” I did, and then he opened another door.
I went in. I was on a stage with a dozen others. A motley collection of people watched from tables and chairs. The man said, “Okay, everyone, these are our spies. You know most of them, but we have one new one. I’m going to introduce them all.”
As he began calling out names, I shivered, because I was cold. I saw that others were studying me and tried to remain nonchalant.
The dream ended.
Floofluid
Floofluid (floofinition) – Able (or willing) to accept different animal species as friends.
In use: “First was the goat, but then came the horse, a rescue from California’s fire-ravaged north. After the goat and horse became friends, they showed how floofluid they were, becoming buddies to a calico cat who stole in and gave birth (and befriending the little kittens), and another rescue, a weary old yellow dog, and then the injured raccoon. Sami didn’t know what to think about her growing collection, but it struck her that something magical seemed to be happening. She began planning a book, The Magic with Animals.”