A Confused Dream

Middle-aged, I was teaching others. Two younger people, male and female, were under my tutelage. I was teaching them to deliver something. The something was a small white contain, about the size of a six ounce jar of skin cream, with gold metallic lettering. Don’t know what the lettering said.

This was to be delivered to customers for use in a larger project. It was important to the customers. My assistants and I had three cars to choose from. Wanting one of them to drive, I let them choose which car. A small white car was selected. One began driving. Raining, we were on a crowded freeway. Underway, we discovered that they didn’t know where they were going because they had not taken the print out with them.

I acknowledged that as my error, as I was supposed to be teaching them. Lesson one, I told them: first, make sure you know where you’re going.

We stopped to address this. The male student began peeling the bottom of the white jar open. He was removing layers of lead. “What are you doing?” I asked, amused.

“I’m going to look inside the jar to see what it’s in it. That might give us a clue about where we’re supposed to take it.”

“One, there’s a black lid on top to open the container,” I said. “And opening it will ruin it for the customer. We’ll go back and get the address.”

We returned to HQ. This was a small office building, parking underneath, additional parking outside, on a small campus. Inside, another office working, female, at a computer, asked me, “What are you doing back so soon?”

I picked up the paper with the address. “We forgot the address. We didn’t know where we were going.”

Leaving with the paper, I became confused. Where did I park? I found my car, a red Porsche. Except, I remembered, I didn’t come in my car. That’s right, I came with the students in the little white car. I’d gotten into Porsche and had moved the car. Looking for a convenient parking space, I pulled it. It was reserved for another, but I thought management would take care of it. When I left the car, I discovered that it was white. That perplexed me for several seconds. I was certain that I’d been in a red car. How could it turn white. Dismissing that, I went into the rain, looking for the other car.

Time to Paint

The blinds needed to be removed.

This was a requirement to paint around the frames. Somehow in the madness of life, I’ve decided that I need to paint the living and dining rooms. Together, they are, ‘The Great Room’.

Point of order: my wife hectored me into doing it. “These rooms are too dark. We need a lighter color.”

Me: “Huh-huh, you’re right.”

“When can you do it?”

“Wait, what?”

Life sometimes needs a rewind function.

Into the garage! To the tools! My tools are not greatly organized. Shelves hold several power tools and their requirements, along with a large toolbox. It’s augmented by a small thing with a work surface and four drawers. One drawer has lost its front. (I’m going to fix it sometime.) The top drawers are well organized with screws, anchors, glues, nails, sandpiper. The bottom two drawers are stuffed full of whatever I can get in there. I avoid opening them, except to retrieve tape and edger/trimmer string. My tape variety is impressive.

The screws holding the mounting brackets have a Philips-head X on it. They would not budge despite my grunting. “Get a screwdriver with more torque,” I muttered to myself. I already had the biggest. I would use the drill on it, but there’s not enough clearance. Bummer.

Sighing in frustration, I hit the ratchet wrenches. For some reason, I’ve acquired three complete sets. No, there’s more. At least two sets are metric. I bought them because I lived in Germany and Japan. Metric was used there, and I owned foreign cars – BMW, Porsche, Mercedes, Audi, Toyota, Nissan, Mazda, Honda, Toyopet. Plus, at least one set was priced at a dollar at a garage sale. Who can resist tools at a garage sale? They’re like books. You gotta look and see what might fill that imaginary hole in your library or toolbox.

The sockets are semi-disorganized. Most are in their proper places but the smallest sockets always go strolling. I go through them, looking for the 1/4 inch, along with the proper adapter to go from big to small. With all those socket kits, I have a multitude of options for changing spark plugs. Every manufacturer had a different size of socket required. Some had several. I also have a number of tools for setting the gaps on plugs and rotors, and wires for cleaning them.

Which reminded me of computers. Back in the office closet lives a set of shelves. On it resides office requirements like Wite-out, file folders, label maker, pens for the next century (if they don’t dry up), paper for the printer, ink for the same, assorted docks for laptops I no longer use, another printer I no longer use, cables for laptops and printers… You get it, right?

Disk drives also live on these shelves. Floppy 5.25 inch. Hard floppy 3.5 inch. Zip drives. CDs. All are ready to be formatted and written. I have not formatted anything in over a decade, maybe longer. I used to format things several times a week, back in, um, the last century. Strange that something that once was so common is now rare.

Not really. We were riding horses and trolleys more back in the last century, too. I only rode horses a few times for entertainment. Never mounted one to go to the store, or to visit the neighbors.

I don’t change my car’s oil any longer, either, although I have the wrenches for that, too, and the big wrench to remove an oil pan nut. I have baskets of computer and electronic gear. Ribbon wires, chipsets, an old power supply, old fan, along with a huge variety of RCA cords and adapters. There’s an extra monitor, too, and a VHS head cleaner for the VHS deck that I no longer use. I also own bearing grease, quart jugs of motor oil, and car cleaning supplies, like polishes and waxes.

Sometime, someone needs to go in there and clean all this stuff out. Not me, not today.

Time for me to paint.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Today is Tuesday, know what that means? Means it’s May 18, 2021. Your reality may vary.

Sol pulled out over the hills and sluggishly beamed into the valley where Ashland is nestled at about 5:47 AM. His visit is expected to last until about 8:28 PM, when we’ll wave farewell and watch him set off for the rest of his daily visits. It’s never ending for that guy. He just keeps going and going…

Sol’s arrival was sluggish because surly clouds, puffed up and thick as steroid-infused weightlifters, wouldn’t make room. Some rain could be in our day, fingers crossed. ‘Too dry’ is how I’d label this spring. Temperatures will tug onto the lower seventies, maybe just the high sixties, depending.

Historically, Mount St. Helens blew on this day back in 1980. I just read it, otherwise it would’ve blown right past me. The old volcano had been threatening for a few months. When it finally blew, it made major headline news. We just don’t experience many volcanos erupting in the continental United States.

I was in the Randolph AFB Command Post at the time (in the Taj Mahal, under the water tower — yes, it’s true), and called the commander with the information when the volcano finally erupted. My wife and I lived in base housing with two cats, P.K. and Roary, watching cable TV on a big Magnavox console. We were getting ready to leave and head to Okinawa on assignment. Our car was a metallic copper Pontiac Firebird, the first new car we ever bought.

Dredging up music, I came up with Pink Floyd The Wall and Billy Joel. “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me” was a big song at that point. Billy Joel was on a roll, pumping out albums and hits, and in the news because of his successful roll. I’m going with it because of its sentimental connections with who I was when. “Hot funk, cool punk, even it it’s old junk, it’s still rock and roll to me.” We can add a few more genres now, can’t we? It’s still rock and roll.

Stay positive, test negative, adjust your mask wearing as appropriate, and get the vax. Also encourage your friends and relatives to get the vax. Here’s the music. I’m gonna get coffee. Be right back. Ta

Further Friday Frustrations

  1. Besides COVID-19, the drought and the threat of wildfires, we’re wondering about how the crazy worms will affect us.
  2. I’m also concerned that I’m not cheugy.
  3. Well, not that concerned.
  4. I’ve been accepted by Medicare. As a military retiree of a certain era, I’m covered by Tricare. Tricare requires me to get Medicare A and B when I turn 65. That happens in July. I applied when I became eligible. A few days later, I was accepted. Meanwhile, I receive phone calls, emails, and snail mail from individuals and companies offering to help me navigate making my Medicare choices. It’s another industry. Everything becomes an industry, and as you reach certain milestones, they make you aware of it. It used to be that my junk mail was all about buying a new car, shopping for clothes, or taking vacations. Now it’s about hearing aids, funeral services, Medicare, reverse mortgages, and Viagra.
  5. Of course, there’s a few new industries afflicting all of us who own a home or car. We receive regular phone calls about our car and home warranties. In our house, we don’t answer the phone unless we recognize the number. The other industry that’s aggressively chasing us is insurance against our water pipes bursting in our yard. A WaPo article says, in essence, yeah, it’s another scam.
  6. I think one of my cats has short-term memory issues. Whenever Boo encounters our other cats, Papi and Tucker, he reacts like, “OMG, who the hell are you?”
  7. To mitigate the fire threat in our town, a ‘firewise’ program has been established. Basically, don’t use any bark mulch on the ground. Don’t grow any flammable plants within five feet of the house. Store wood products that you might have at east thirty feet from the house. Trim back all branches so they’re not touching the house or close enough for flames to leap from the tree to the roof. Get rid of wooden decks, wooden fences, conifers and blackberries. Walking around Ashland, I can see that the program has made little progress. We were affected by a fire last year. There were actually three fires on the same very windy day. All three were started by individuals. The firewise program can’t address the wind or deliberate fires.
  8. They also tell us to keep your plants watered so they don’t dry out and become fuel, but we’re in an extreme drought, so hey, there’s little water to water plants. The only option appears to be to pull out all your plants except those of a desert variety and put small stones or pebbles in your yard to help reduce moisture. Of course, I’m also exploring polymers that are supposed to help the soil retain moisture.
  9. Delivering decorative bark (or mulch) had become a growing industry. Go to any hardware store’s garden area and there’s bags and bags of variations. Blower trucks will load up and come to your house and spread it for you with a giant reverse vacuum cleaner. Now, I suspect a new industry, to vacuum it all back up, will begin taking root.
  10. I thought that killer bees and murder hornets were bad. Now we can add crazy worms to the list of things nature has devised to make the world more interesting. The MSN story says, “Pick one up, and you’ll see why, as the creepy-crawly jerks, writhes and springs out of your hand. (It may even leave its tail behind, as a grim souvenir.) And now, scientists are finding the wrigglers have spread to at least 15 states across the U.S.” They resemble regular worms and are bad for the soil.
  11. I have a crazy cat. I really don’t want crazy worms.
  12. My wife is on her weekly coffee clatch call. Pre-COVID-19, they’d meet after exercise class every M-W-F. Their pandemic compromise is to meet every Friday after exercise class. They have a good time. Lots of laughing. I hear her now talking about her sagging breasts and my drooping scrotum. I’d told her that my sack hung in the water in the hotel toilet during our visit last week. Disgusting, right? Once you feel and know it, you can take action by not sitting all the way down. This is another reason why I prefer to stand and pee, even though I’m cursed with a forked stream. Aging. There’s always something.
  13. Haven’t smelled any skunk for over thirty days, yeah, knock on wood. I’m superstitious that way. Haven’t smelled the skunk, or sighted one, but my wife reports that she heard a thump last night for the first time in weeks. Time to block the entry (again) and see what happens. I would mount my camera but it has quit working. I’ve not been able to reset it and connect it nor receive any images from it. I don’t want to buy a new one because, waste. We’re such a throw-away consuming society. It’s frustrating.
  14. Being cheugy doesn’t offend me. And, from what I understand, I am cheugy. Apparently emerging from TikTok, cheugy is the new ‘square’, a way of saying something is passé, or out of it. Tres important, right? I’m bothered by too many other things, like crazy worms and skunks under the house, to think about being trendy.
  15. Got my coffee. Time to go write like crazy at least one more time. Before the crazy worms get here. We’re already full up on crazy. Even bought a warranty. It was offered on the phone.

The Two Dads Dream

I encountered two versions of my father in a dream last night. One was younger, as I remember him from when I was a child. The other was middle-aged. I was also middle-aged. Both were energetic and in good-humor. Against the backdrop of having two fathers, I was starting a new job. Young Dad provided me a place to stay during orientation, a new car, and new clothes. He also provided menus for me to order food. I was sort of laughing at the offerings, telling him that they weren’t necessary, but also thanking him.

The new car was a white Alfa-Romeo convertible, a Spider similar to what was in The Graduate. Although I didn’t see myself driving it, I parked and was walking into the airport. That’s where I seemed to be working. Others I knew were working there. I was shown around and told that I wasn’t working ‘on the floor’, but in a management position. I asked to see my office but we ran out of time for the day.

I then encountered middle-aged Dad and chatted with him about the new job. I was excited about the new job. Middle-aged Dad asked me if I needed a place to stay, money, or clothing. Telling him no, my Dad was covering those things for me, I took him to my new home. My young Dad was there. I introduced the two but they were not enthusiastic about the other. I told each not to worry, that both were important to me. Middle-aged Dad left. I went to settle into my new digs, which was upstairs from where my young Dad lived. I moved all my new clothing up there. One outlandish white outfit blew me away. It reminded me of the outfit that Elvis Presley wore on his television special, Aloha from Hawaii. Holding it up, I said, “I’m not going to wear this.”

Young Dad called up the steps to me. He said that he’d had a bunch of dinner menus. “I noticed that you got rid of all those,” he said. “I guess you didn’t think they were healthy enough or something.” No, I didn’t get rid of them, I replied. As I was unpacking, I discovered a white binder. Its ornate cover said, “Dinner Menus”. It was like one of those binders of menus found in hotels. “Here’s your dinner menu binder, Dad,” I called down to him.

That’s where it ended.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

“Wednesday, Wednesday. Can’t stand that day.”

Yes, happy humpday, April 14, 2021. I have nothing against Wednesdays, myself. I enjoy Wednesdays. It’s a nice midpoint. I guess I’m a ‘week is half-done’ sort of person.

The sun snuck up on us at 6:32 AM and will shy back behind the planet at 7:51 PM. The weather is strolling away from winter, gaining more spring confidence everyday. Green thickens in the trees around us and adorns the rolling hills. Although it’s now 49 degrees F, we expect the thermometers to see 73 before beginning its evening descent.

I found myself singing a 1982 song. I dreamed of a Porsche 911 SC, which was produced between 1978 and 1983 (yeah, I looked it up to confirm what I recalled). Thinking of the car and the years the model was produced led me through the memory vaults. I recalled that I lived in Texas in 1978, having been assigned there in the military after I returned from the Philippines, then got out, moved to West Virginia, went back into the military a year later, was assigned again to Texas in 1979, and then ended up on Okinawa by 1981. The song that came to mind then was “Rock the Casbah” by The Clash.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, get the vax, and enjoy the music! Cheers

A Key Dream

The dream began with me buying a Porsche. A 911 SC model, which would make it between 1978 and 1983, it was dark blue – ‘Sunoco blue’, in my mind, after the color used by Penkse/Donahue in the late 1960s and early 1970s (on, for example, the Ferrari 512 they raced at LeMans/Daytona or the Porsche 917 used in Can Am racing in the first year) with a tan leather interior. Very classy and clean to me, even though it had right rear quarter panel damage. Seeing it, I made an offer, which was accept. I paid $10,000 for it, transferring the money via Paypal. After driving it home, I told my wife. She was pleased with the purchase. I told her I was going to have the body repaired. I wasn’t certain whether I’d keep it or sell it after that, vacillating between the options.

Penske Sunoco Ferrari 512, LeMans, 1971

After parking the Porsche at home, which was a sort of compound of buildings, I walked around, preparing for guests. They were already arriving. Someone needed a key. I had a spare that they could use to unlock a door. As I gave them that key to use, I noticed several emergency keys were by the doors, often hanging above the door. I told others that I didn’t think that was very smart. While, yes, it was convenient to have the keys there in case you forget the key, outsiders might come, see the keys, and use them to get in when they’re not supposed to.

I entered the main house where most guests were congregating. Dad was there, taking measurements for a project. He and I had a discussion about what he was doing, and more importantly, why he was doing it at that time, since the guests were arriving for a party. He replied that it would only take a little bit, and besides, the contractors were there.

Yes, the contractors were there, in the foyer by the front door on the other side of the crowded living room. I told them that Dad was taking measurements. The contractors, two men, were testy and impatient. Dad began calling out numbers. Hearing them, I repeated them to the contractors, telling them that those were the numbers they needed. Dad kept doing this, but the party noise was increasing, making it difficult to hear, and the contractors were slow to start writing the numbers down, forcing me to remember and repeat the numbers. As Dad kept moving around, calling out numbers, guests began acting as intermediaries between him and me, listening to the numbers when he called them out, then coming to me to tell me the number and where it was from, which I would then give to the contractors. This all struck me as pretty hilarious.

The dream ended while we were in the middle of doing this.

A Short Car Dream

Don’t quite know what to make of this dream. This dream was all close first-person POV. A friend was with me but I never saw them, just heard them laugh or swear. I don’t know who it was. I’d purchased a new car, a unique, exotic collectible of sorts. (I never did clearly see the car in the dream). I’d acquired it at a large outdoor option. After purchasing it, I was inside, driving it, following a similar car. The car ahead came to a stop sign. Like me, it was turning left, according to its flashing signal. Nothing was coming, but it didn’t proceed. Impatience growing, I beeped to get them to move. The driver flashed me the finger, but then drove. I pulled up to the sign. As I stopped, a second hot rod pulled up alongside me on my right, then ran the stop sign and turned left in front of me, highly pissing me.

I turned left, drove a short way, and pulled in to park in a designated slot. I saw the first driver and their parked car but didn’t comment or take action. Throngs of people were moving in both directions. After parking my car, I picked it up and started carrying it under my arm. As I did, I saw a young woman coming toward me. She had a strap around her shoulders which was attached to her car, which was hanging on her back. I said, “That’s what I need to get. I can carry my car with me and leave my hands free. I won’t even need to park. I’ll just take my car with me wherever I go.”

A Riddle In A Dream

I had a dream in which I ended up wondering, while in the dream, if I’d dreamed what I was thinking. I’ve gone similar routes to this before, but this one ended up as a laugher to me.

I was racing at LeMans in a D type Jaguar. The race had just begun. My co-driver (name not given, never seen), had qualified us, putting us at the front of the grid (but not pole). I was starting the race for the team. I managed a great start, and was battling for the lead.

From my point of view in the open cockpit, another driver and I raced our cars down a long straight, engines screaming, car shaking and vibrating around me. Taking the car to the absolute limit, holding it there, I edged my car’s nose ahead past a competitor on my right.

Now for a surreal bit. There was a small, bright green, bean bag hanging to the left along the straight. Whoever reached the bag and pulled it down was the leader of the first lap. I raced toward it, pulling ahead of the other car. Veering left, I threw my hand up and caught the bean bag.

Wasn’t over, though. We were hurtling toward the final corner. My competition wasn’t making it easy for me. They were holding back to brake at the last second; they also had the inside line, the true racing line. Coming up on the corner, I counseled myself, “Wait, wait,” watching the competitor. When he finally braked I told myself, “Now, brake, downshift, turn.”

I guided the car into the turn. Teetering on the edge of cohesion, the car progressed through the long righthander. Then I was through, in the lead, leading the first lap of LeMans. Jubilation roared through me as crowds cheered me on.

Then, as the segment ended, I pulled into victory lane.

I’d won the race.

Still in the dream, I was stunned. I’d won LeMans. As it was a D type Jag, that was in the fifties. Sitting before my computer, I searched on “Seidel Wins LeMans”.

Then, I thought, hold on. I couldn’t have won LeMans in the fifties; I wasn’t born until 1956.

And in the dream, I wondered, did I dream that? It seemed so real.

As I was about to tell this to my wife, she brought a tall white man and his daughter into the room. I was like, “Excuse me, WTF, who are they, why are they are?” My wife brushed aside my questions.

The child went to play. The man joined me. Reading a newspaper on the desk beside me, he scoffed. “Mansfield is in trouble.” He scoffed again. “I’ve seen this happen before.” He blithered on about some other companies who’d been in trouble. “They’re going to need help. Search for Mansfield and help.”

I did as he directed. I was only typing with one hand, however, and kept screwing up the search. Then, dream shift, I’m in a writing class with other students. The instructor is telling us about four elements. I’m taking notes.

A man comes in and calls my name. He wants to know if I’m okay. “Yes, fine,” I reply, puzzled. The teacher tells the man that I seem fine, why is he interrupting the class to check on me.

“Because he sent a message that said ‘help’ on a computer,” the man replied. “We received his message.”

Realization rising about what happened, laughter spilled out of me. I explained that I’d been trying to do a search on Mansfield needing help but kept screwing up.

Two other men, stocky, with crew cuts, in suits, solemnly brought stacks of books to me. “What are these?” I asked.

“Help books,” one man replied. “You sent so many messages for help, we thought you could use these books for help.”

End dream.

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