Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I was a young man, as I often seem to be in my dreams these days. Visiting at a childhood friend’s home. He wasn’t there. His mother, Arlene — who is deceased in RL — was hosted several of us attending a local school. While visiting, we were all watching television. I settled down on the blue carpet and went to sleep.
I awoke sometime later. Sitting up, I discovered that I was in a short-sleeved black dress. A little more explanation is needed. The dress was black, but see-through. It buttoned in the front. It had wide seams which weren’t transparent, and front pockets which also weren’t transparent. The dress came down to my knees, and I was fully dressed, in the same clothes as before.
Standing, I wondered what had happened and how I’d come to be wearing that dress. I attempted to take take it off but the buttons couldn’t be undone. It was tight, but with some maneuvering, I managed to pull it up over my head. Just as I am finishing, I hear a soft tearing sound. That stops me from trying any longer. Just then, my friend’s mother comes in with a tray of food and drink, telling me that it’s time to get ready. She goes on to explain that she put that dress on me to stay warm, sets the tray down, and hastens to help me. As she pulls it over my head and off, she tells me that she hopes she can get this off without tearing it because it’s special to her. We then hear it tear more. Looking at it, she sees that it’s torn and is dismayed, but then tells me to eat because I need to shave, dress, and go.
I eat an egg salad sandwich from the tray and drink coffee, and then start dashing around. My clothes are upstairs but the bathroom I’m to use is down below. As I hustle around, going up and changing clothes, then going down and shaving, others arrrive. I hear that my friend’s father will be arriving at any moment. (He passed away in RL a few years ago.) I want to be dressed and ready to go before he gets there. But then, he comes in.
I’m called upstairs. As I go up the steps, someone else tells me that Fred — the father — and Arlene want to see me. I step into the dining room where they are. Fred has a box on the table, and is opening. As he says hello to me, Arlene explains that Fred just purchased his first CD player and she wanted to know if I had any CDs for him to play because he doesn’t have any. I tell them that I have just the thing and dash downstairs.
I’m thinking that I’ll loan them several of my classical music CDs, which will surprise them, thinking that it’s more like the kind of music that they would like, rather than the rock I listen to. But I brought my little CD case, and there’s no classical music in it. I select a few blues CD and take them back up to them. Grinning, I explain the whole thing about the classical music CD.
Dream end.
I’ve not seen my friend since my late teens. Oddly, I’ve dream of him since then, as well as his parents.
The Day Gods delivered Sunday. The Cloud Gods poured frothy clouds across the sky and added a tincture of gray to them. The Sun Gods arrived at 6:59 this morning and pushed some clouds aside, admitting slates of blue sky and sunshine. The Tree Gods yawned and made no changes to the panoply of colorful leaves.
It’s November 13, 2022.
The Sun Gods will remove the valley’s light at 4:51 PM, letting the Night Gods creep back in. Meanwhile, the Gods of Heat and Warmth have the temperature at 40 F. They will have us crack 52 F, they tell us through their spokespeople. Since it all started, the Wind Gods have implemented gusts and winds, and the Sky Gods have cleaned up the clouds, giving sunshine and blue sky unfettered control — for the moment. It’s a typical day for the gods as they act and counter act, working for a sustained advantage.
Reading the news about a rookie cop shooting someone in the back after misidentifying them has The Neurons busy. It was a tragic mistake, the police chief tells us, and the rookie is fired. The family of the teenager — that’s the shooting victim — and the girl who was with him are distraught. But, it’s a mistake. Mistakes happen. Seizing that, The Neurons pour the 1983 Men At Work song, “It’s A Mistake”, into the morning mental music stream.
The Coffee Gods have come through with their goods, so I’m off. Stay positive and test negative. Here’s the music. Wishing you the best. Cheers
He has noticed that as he gets older, he more frequently pronounces things as ‘just right’. It’s like he’d becoming one of the three bears who visit Goldilocks.
Owning the Peeps (floofinition) – A strategy among animals that focuses on being sweet or humorous in order to control and manipulate humans, or ‘peeps’.
In use: “Owning the peeps by kittens and puppies is often as simple as invoking ‘big eyes’, wherein the animal presents a wide-eyed look of innocence when they’re caught doing something wrong.”
The dream involved two pubs-café-coffee shops. Hard to say exactly what they were. Both were tiny places. One at the top of a parking lot, and the other at the parking lot’s bottom. The parking lot was rutted and in disarray, with a large sugar maple tree about midway down. The sugar maple tree is interesting to me because it reminds me of the one on my in-laws’ land when was younger.
I was younger in the dream but had my current panoply of friends. Among these were several friends who’ve passed away. They were drinking beer with me in the shop at the hill’s top. Well-lit, the place was elbow to asses with people, and we were squeezed in around a small table. In response to comments by one, I replied, “That proves that the other business is being set up to fail.”
A deceased friend answered, “You’re wrong.”
I began to argue back but checked up. “You know something.”
He nodded. “I know something.”
We finished our beers, rose, and walked out. Like that, I was walking into the parking lot the next morning. With me was my back pack with my computer. I was going to the place we’d frequented the previous night. On a whim, I decided to check the other place, which was the one we’d been discussing. Going down the hill, passing the sugar maple tree, I saw a large opening formed in the trunk by the roots. Inside was a large though muddy, comfortable space lit by a single white candle with a yellow flame. Thinking of how it reminded me of a hobbit’s place, I wondered who lit the candle, as no one else was there. It’d be a good place to shelter, in my mind, going on, leaving the candle lit.
The bottom shop was constructed from wood and painted gray. Ancient and splintered, the shop needed fresh paint. Large trees bracketed it on either side. Reaching the entrance required crossing a short but wide wooden bridge which matched the building.
Inside, I set up my computer and then met the owner. He spoke with me about my backpack, commenting that it looked heavy. I replied, it was dependent on what’s inside. When it’s just my computer, it’s less than twenty-five pounds but adding books added weight. He answered, “That makes sense.”
I told him that he needs to take care of his business. I met this as a warning, which I explained to him, based on what I’d seen and heard. I then left to go up to the other place. Almost immediately, I realized that I had my backpack but had forgotten my computer. Fortunately, a little girl who’d been in the shop chased me down with it. I thanked her and pressed on.
Back up the hill, I struggled to enter the shop. A large tree had grown close to their front door. Growing at an angle, the tree’s girth forced me to shift sideways to enter the business. All this surprised me, prompting comments to myself about not remembering the tree being like that. Getting in, I set up my computer and ordered coffee. People gathered around to ask me what I was doing. Writing, I explained. They began asking questions about what I was writing, prompting me to share and expand on what I was writing. Finding my coffee cup empty, I made to leave, but they insisted they wanted to hear more, and bought me another cup of coffee. This mug was much larger, which I joked about. As I took the first sip, I discovered that the shop was full with people waiting to hear me continue my story.
Dream end.
The coffee shop was half full. Looking around, he counted ten other patrons. Another four people were working behind the counter. All were female except him.
He was the only male presence. The realization made him feel a little conspicuous. Being the only one present conferred enormous responsibility on him.
At least in his mind.
Into Saturday’s bloom of light we go! Despite the bloom, the 38 degrees F has the cats saying, give me a little warmth, sugar.
Today is November 12, 2022. We were out shopping yesterday. High inflation didn’t seem to keep anyone home on this holiday. Stores and restaurants were as filled as unopened cans of beer. Masks were worn by relatively few. We felt special having them on. We’re due for our next boosters next Friday. Looking forward to the happening.
Meanwhile, though we’re speeding toward Thanksgiving in the U.S., stores looked like Christmas exploded all over them. Other pieces of the holiday season such as Kwanza and Hanukkah were missing. As the wife noted, “Looks like they’re betting big on Christmas spending this year.”
Despite forecasts to the contrary, the sun got comfortable behind a fortress of clouds and let rain soak us. Good to have rain but snow on the mountains are what we need. Today again looks mostly sunny. 47 is the expected high, in Fahrenheit. The sun conducted its dawn blooming at 6:57 AM. The sun will close up shop and take away its light and heat bonanza at 4:52 PM, when the Earth spins our area away, crying as it does, “Away! Away with thee.”
Although sleep delivered a plethora of dreams, several of which involved bars, computers, and beer, I have a song called “I Wish You Love” inhabiting the morning mental music stream. Its presence flabbergasts me and The Neurons, technically referred to as satanistic boogerheads, are being surly and silent about it. I don’t know which version is in my head. I mean, yeah, it’s the English language version, but which performer? I know it’s female and a rendition as old as me. This is one of those songs that often turned up on Mom’s turntable during the winter season. Yes, we’re not in the winter season yet, and no snowflakes are falling. So, why dear Neurons, why?
Someday, perhaps technology will emerge with the means to tell us what our neurons are thinking.
Stay positive and test negative. I’m going for a coffee topoff, as there are mini cranberry cherry scones in the kitchen whispering invitations to eat them up. Here’s the music. Hope you know the song. If you don’t, let me introduce you. I ended up with the Judy Garland version, as I think it’s closest to the one in my head.
Cheers
Floofstruck (floofinition) – 1. To become completely enamored with an animal.
In use: “As soon as he saw the big old Great Pyrenees sitting on the floor, panting, tongue drooping from his mouth like a rug being aired, he was floofstruck. There was no question that he and this dog were meant to be.”
2. To be startled or astonished by an animal.
In use: “Four AM, a massive meow lifted Jill out of a deep slumber. Turning on the light, she was floofstruck by a small tabby — she didn’t have a cat!”
Michael Seidel, writer 