The Room Dream

I arrived home as a young man. Mom gave me a room. I was happy to see her and happy to be there. We were living on a train, and the room she gave me was an entire train car. Long and narrow, I had a bed, desk, dresser, bookcase, chair, and wardrobe. I set them up to provide separate sleeping and living areas, using the bookcase and vanity as a makeshift wall. As I set it up, my young sisters came in and visited. Sometimes they brought young neighbor boys that they were watching. Mom would also occasionally come by.

I stacked my books and organized my desk, made my narrow bed, and slid against one wall. One side of the train had windows, and I set my desk up under them so I could look outside.

Young people in a sixties era Chevy Impala convertible (after the fins were dropped) began driving by. Whenever they did, some of my things would get shifted, annoying me. This worsened; even as I cleaned and organized again, they drove by, knocking things over. They never reached in or anything, but I knew it was them, as they were laughing about it.

I decided I’d put a stop to that and devised a way by changing the room around. The new arrangement was less satisfying, but it was staying neat and still workable. However, one of the little neighbor boys my sisters were watching kept sneaking into my room and tearing things up. He was fair and blonde, giggling often, but crying whenever he was stopped or reprimanded. I kept putting him out, warning him not to do that, and warning others to keep him out, and then cleaning up again, and again, but he kept getting in there. Mom came to me and told me to be more patient and tolerant because he was a small child and had mental and emotional health issues. I complained to her but took her point and promised I would try.

The train with my room went on the move. That pleased me because I thought we’d moved away from the boy causing the problem. But he got in there again. I was bewildered. My sisters explained that he’d come with us. I felt that I had no choice but to close and lock my doors. After I did that, I discovered him sliding in under the door. It looked like he could completely flattened himself, becoming as pliable and flexible as a sheet of paper.

My exasperation and irritation spiked. How was I supposed to deal with that. I took hold of the boy to take him out of the room. He immediately screamed, writhing and crying in my grasp. Others came running in. I said that I hadn’t done anything to him, that he was overly sensitive, defending myself with the claim, I was just stopping him from ruining things again. My sisters took him out of my room.

Dream end.

Friday’s Theme Music

Let us turn the page. Turning a calendar page has a waning crowd. It’s like spending a dime. Dropping the penny. Looking a gift horse in the mouth or having a pig in a poke.

Today is April 1, 2022, Friday. Sun’s first light was peeping into the valley well before our official kickoff at 6:51 this morning. Clouds have faded into high pale shadows of themselves, trickles of white braced against a hazy blue field. Temperatures dropped to 33 F last night, driving the cats back in — well, just the one really, as the other is older and has decided he prefers indoor life and firm sunshine over the cold dark. We’re now up to 44, though, and expect the mercury to reach 66 as our high. Do young people understand temperature and our links to mercury references?

Which delivers me to the morning mental music stream. A friend referred to “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac from 1977 the other night. Inspired by being outside last night, listening to the wind blow as shadows and darkness took over after sunset, the neurons began playing the song for me. They have yet to stop. Oh, those crazy neurons.

Here’s the song. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, etc. We’re on the hunt for a second booster. We were originally J&Jers and my wife is immunocompromised. Every small edge is pursued and appreciated. It’s not ready to be delivered yet, as no one in the valley has it available, except Walgreen’s in Medford. We’ll keep looking, calling, searching, etc.

Speaking of appreciation, I think I’ll go get my coffee. The neurons will appreciate it.


A Floof Toast

Here’s to the players

The goofs

Zoomin’ through the rooms

The ones in a tug of war

Stalking others

And evening the score

Here’s to the eaters

The watchers

The ones who sleep and snore

The ones who entertain us daily

Slayin’ life’s dull bore

Here’s to the chubby ones

The chow hounds

The ones who always want a treat

The tall ones

The little ones

Still growing to their feet

Here’s to those with stubby legs

Wagging tails

Swishing tails

And tails that they chase

Here’s to the ones who smile at us

Nibble toes

Bite our nose

And take a tongue to our face

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