Saturday’s Theme Music

I was on the road today. Naturally, that opened my music stream to road songs. One of them that popped up early is by Canned Heat. AM Radio and the growing pop revolution introduced them to me in my early teens. I didn’t appreciate how much the blues inspired them until about six years later, when I was listening to ZZ Top and the Allman Brothers Band.

Besides Canned Heat, I was singing “Hit the Road, Jack,” “Truckin'”, “Little Red Corvette”, “American Pie”, “Little GTO”, “Beep Beep”, “Uneasy Rider”, “The Way”, “Sweet Hitchhiker”, “Life Is A Highway”, “One Headlight”, “Drive My Car”, “Mustang Sally”, “Little Deuce Coupe”, “Pink Cadillac”, “The Leader of the Pack”, “Dead Man’s Curve”, “On the Road Again”, “Where the Streets Have No Name”, “Route 66”, “Born to Be Wild”, “Ninety-nine Miles From LA”, “Midnight Rider”, “Fast Car”, “Runnin’ Down A Dream”, and “Radar Love”. You can place the performers to the songs.

You have any favorite road songs that I should have been streaming? I’d like to know them. Sharing is caring, friends.

Here’s Canned Heat with “On the Road Again” from 1968.

 

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Manifested

Done for the day, he packed up and walked toward the front door. Seeing Gwen, he veered toward her. Looking up, she said, “Hi, how’re ya?”

“Good.” He stopped at Gwen’s table. “You?”

“The sun’s mostly shining, it’s mostly warm, so I’m good.”

“How’s your car search?”

“Great.” She looked tired around her mouth and her eyes but Gwen grinned. “I was driving down Phoenix Avenue yesterday afternoon. I was thinking of a gold Toyota Camry, and when I stopped at the red light, I looked to the left, and there was a gold Camry for sale in an empty lot on the corner.”

“Wow.”

“I turned and went in there. The owner had just parked it. He’d literally just put it up for sale and was going to go home and post it to eBay. He wanted two thousand. He’s a mechanic and always took care of the car and had all the receipts, and he’d redone the interior.”

“Sounds good.”

“Then, when I was talking to him, he said he was asking two thousand but he liked me so he’d let it go to me for fourteen hundred.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m so pleased that I manifested that for myself. I had a need and I manifested it. And it has a name. He calls the car Goldie.” She showed him a picture of a clean but older gold Camry.

“Good for you, I’m happy for you,” he said. “Congratulations.” As she smiled at him, he said, “I have to go now.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Congratulations again.”

“Thanks.”

“See you later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He walked out into the sunlight and paused to think about the conversation, smiling as he realized that Journey’s song, “Don’t Stop Believin'”, had been playing in the background during their conversation.

Inhaling, he looked up at the sun. It was a beautiful day, a little chilly but boldly sunny. Spreading his wings, he rose into the sky and disappeared.

A Topsy-Turvy Dream

Last night’s dream dragged me through a gamut of feelings — uplifting, frustrating, enervating, and energizing. It was just like writing a novel.

Here’s a little set-up. This dream was apparently a sequel, or part of a series. In a previous dream, I’d driven an exotic high-performance sports car. I had a great time with it, but while cutting through traffic, I lightly clipped another car. I need it in the dream, but I was having too much fun to care. I thought, who cares? It’s a dream. Enjoy it.

My dream last night began with me with my wife in our home. I received a document in the mail. Opening it, I found a letter from my previous employer, IBM. It was signed by like sixteen people, including a senior VP. The letter had a photograph of me in the car in the previous dream. A video played when I pressed on it, showing the moment when I clipped the other car and drove away. It had a clear image of my dismissive grin. The letter said, “Is this you? Please call.” A phone number was provided.

Shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit. My wife was going to be pissed. I figured that I’d damaged something that belonged to IBM, they found out, and know they wanted me to pay. It’d probably be a substantial amount, and that’s what I thought would piss my wife off.

So I didn’t want her to know. Concealing the letter from her, I called the number. A cold female voice on the other end confirmed who I was, that it was me in the photo (or video), and told me the senior VP wanted to talk to me. An appointment was set.

I went in like I was being sentenced to death. IBM HQ was huge and busy. I stumbled around, lost, until I managed to get to where I needed to be. After I identified myself, the woman behind the desk left and came back with a man. Here it comes, I thought.

He confirmed who I was and that it was me in the vehicle, and then said, “We want to give you a job. The elan you demonstrated in this vehicle was just what we’re looking for. My boss will be out to talk to you about your pay, benefits, and the project, and then we’ll see if we can make a deal.”

Hot damn, I was so surprised and excited. I couldn’t believe it. What good luck. I was looking forward to telling my wife.

But a few minutes later, the woman came out and said, “Sorry, there’s been a change of plans. We’ve decided we don’t want to hire you. Have a nice day.”

Talk about flipping me over. I tried to talk her into another chance but she dismissed me and walked off.

Hurt, angry, and bitter, I left. Instead of walking, I took a train to my car. The train was packed, and I seemed to be in everyone’s way, which was like an anchor on my soul. Arriving at my stop, I left the train and trudged up the steps from the platform into the parking building. Thick burgundy carpeting covered the steps. I was the only one going up them. As I reached the top steps, I discovered a heavy burgundy overcoat. It was obviously expensive. Picking it up, I thought, I need to turn this in or find its owner.

I stepped into the upper level. Burgundy carpeting covered the wide, broad room. A group of men hustled toward me. They were talking about a basketball game. One of them, a short, bald man, seemed to be senior, as they obviously deferred to him. All were carrying briefcases, but he was dressed in a three-piece burgundy suit.

Stopping him, I said, “Excuse me, is this your coat?”

Surprised, he said, “Yes, it is. Where’d you get it? I’ve been looking for it.”

“I found it on the stairs,” I said.

“My goodness, well, thank you for finding it for me. I really appreciate it.”

He reminded me of the proctologist in the Seinfeld Ass Man episode, officially called “Fusilli Jerry”. “You’re welcome,” I said.

He then went to put the coat on, but his hands were full with bags. I said, “Here, let me help you.”

As I helped put him put his coat on, he laughed and said, “Well, thank you. You’re a fine young man.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. He and I turned to go in our separate directions. As we did, one of the other men called to him. Hearing the name, I realized that it was the senior VP that I was supposed to meet, who never met me.

Turning around, I watched him walk away, and felt better, because I thought we were going to meet again.

The dream ended.

What Dreams

Two dreams gained press in my morning reflections.

The first dream placed me in an old white house. My deceased mother-in-law was there, puttering around in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hand, as she did in her healthier years.

Looking outside the kitchen windows, I saw fast-moving brown water had taken over the creek. As I did made coffee and looked at books, I kept an eye on the creek. The waters were rising.

It wasn’t raining but I put together that it’d heavily rained after several days of snow, and we were seeing melting run-off. I told the others about it. Nobody seemed to understand what I was talking about (a common issue in my dreams). The water was then actually three inches above the window’s bottom edge, but it only flowed past on one side. Looking out, I confirmed it was flying above the banks but staying to the banks’ formation.

I told the others, “It’s going to flood. We need to leave.” My mother-in-law said, “No, I think I’ll stay here.”

I thought it was a bad decision but it was her choice. I donned my hat, put my laptop into my backpack, and swung my pack into place. Going to a big white door to leave, I encountered a small white dog looking up at me. With a spurt of blood, its head popped off. I was horrified and struggling what had happened. The dog’s head turned and looked at me from its spot on the wooden floor, and then the head and body re-attached. Tongue lolling, the dog stood, looked at me, and wagged its tail.

“What’s going on here?” I said. “Water overflowing its bank, but continuing to flow as if it’s in its banks, a dog loses its head for no reason, and then it re-attaches? What the hell?”

Nobody paid any attention to my comments. The dream ended.

***

The next dream found me waiting for friends in a parking lot by some docks. I was excited, because we were doing something special that day, going on some sort of ride.

They walked up, my friend and his girlfriend. He was having second thoughts, which disappointed her. He asked me, “How ’bout you? Are you ready to go?” “Yes,” I said without hesitation.

We encountered four other friends. They were going in another car. Grabbing some gear, we got into my friends’ little silver car and took off. It was a quick ride. My friend voiced his uncertainties about what we were going to do, and the girlfriend turned to me and said, “He’s been like this for the last few days.”

I sympathized with both but said nothing.

We arrived and parked, and unloaded our gear. Then we approached the entrance. There was a line and we’d need to wait. They gave us a number. It’d be called when it was our turn.

We went out and sat on a grassy area by a sidewalk. One employee asked us if we wanted to play a game. The game involved us using a small bat, about eighteen inches long, to hit a ball about the size of a golf ball. The ball’s landing place established what you got, from out to home run, with every kind of hit in between, along with things like force outs and put out. Sure, we agreed.

My friend tried first and ended up with a little dribbler that ended as an out. Taking my turn, I hit a single. By the rules, you keep going until you’re out, so I kept going, hitting several more singles, getting better with each until I hit a home run. Everyone was impressed.

I surrendered my turn so that others could play. They were all quickly out, and it was my turn again. I continued hitting doubles, triples, and home runs. The employee said, “You’re better at this than anyone that I’ve ever seen.”

It was time for us to go on our adventure. I opened on of my bags to get my helmet out. I immediately spotted a Royal Stewart band. Pulling it out,  I confirmed that the crash helmet I had had belonged to Sir Jackie Stewart, a retired three-time Formula 1 world champion. I’d been a huge Jackie Stewart fan in my teens, so having the helmet delighted me.

My friend and his girlfriend discovered that they’d forgotten their helmets. As they bemoaned that, I said, “Don’t worry, I have extra helmets.” Opening bags, I found racing helmets. As I wondered why I had so many helmets, I thought that they belonged to retired racing drivers and was going to pull them out to look, but had to pass them on to my friends.

The dream ended.

 

Lane Envy

Lane Envy – anxiety and desire to be in a different lane, often associated with driving and shopping.

In use: “Seeing the other lane going much faster, lane envy struck, prompting him to contemplate moving, but he knew the shopping gods were playing a cruel joke on him. As soon as he changed lanes, this one would go faster, so he stood where he was and bridled his longing to go to another cashier.”

A Ferrari Dream

So many of my recent dreams have been like watching adventure movies. I can’t recall seeing myself in many of them.

I starred in last night’s dream, though. The dialogue was often too fast for me to hear and capture, and there weren’t any captions or replays available. But I was happy, cheerful, and, well, unstoppable, overcoming everything.

The dream took place outside in pleasant, balmy weather, and daytime. Accompanied by my wife, I was somewhere that seemed tropical, but I — we — had to get out of there. The question was, how? Other men, in suits, were trying to keep us there.

My wife and I were armed with small black devices. About the size of a television remote control (clicker, as my wife calls it), it had no buttons. Pointing it at people immobilized them. People with stronger wills could resist it, but they could be overcome by pressing the device against them. The stronger their will, the longer we had to hold it against them, but none required more than several seconds.

It was all kind of frolicky. The men in suits would say, “There they are, get them.” They’d come after that, but there’d be no rush. It was like they were going slow, trying to be clever and unobserved. But we saw them and knew what they were doing. Laughing, we pointed and stopped them without a struggle.

A stalemate delivered. We couldn’t leave, so we’re weren’t escaping, just keeping the others at bay. Along came a man and a woman. They were older than us and well-dressed. My impressions of them were they were wealthy and powerful, but also trapped. I didn’t know them, and observing their exchanges, I thought that they weren’t together but had recently met. I think she was called the duchess.

“Take the Ferrari,” the man said. He pointed.

An older white Ferrari was there. I hadn’t noticed it before. I thought the car was from the sixties. (I confirmed this after researching and finding the model. Here it is, a 1966 California 365, except my dream car was white.)

Ferrari 365 California - 1966

“I can’t take that,” I said, laughing at the audacity of it.

The man said, “Why not?” The woman said. “Yes, you can. Take us with you. Drive us out of here. You can do it.”

So we pointed and stopped the pursuit, got into the Ferrari, and I drove us up through some forest. We couldn’t get all the way out, though. “We need to stop and rest,” I said.

We did that. The dream showed us stopping and then awakening the next morning. Pursuit had caught up to us by then, but they weren’t energetic, and we had our remotes. After doing our point and incapacitate thing on those closest to us, we all got in the car. I was driving and my wife was in the passenger seat, with the other two in the back. I drove us up and out of the situation.

The end. An uplifting dream, it brings a smile to my face as I remember it.

The Portland Dream

After a period of turbulent dreams at the end of 2018 and 2019’s start, my dreams have become amazingly affirming and uplifting. There’s not much to write about. Besides their positive aspects, they’re clear and unambiguous, except for one dream.

In this dream, I’m busy with my normal life when a voice tells me to go to Portland to buy a car. I know that they mean Portland, Oregon, two hundred eighty-six miles away. I respond, “Why?” The disembodied voice from up high explains that I can get better deals there, and then shows me five cars that it thinks I’d like. I’m amused, but check out the cars, and agree, yes, I’d like them and they’re great buys, but what about maintenance. I don’t want to do drive a long way for maintenance.

Persistence and persuasive, the voice keeps trying to convince me that I need to go to Portland to buy a car. I finally agree, mainly just to get it to leave me alone. We part amicably, with me going off to tell my wife that we’re going to Portland to buy a car.

As for the dream’s meaning, I have few clues. Something I’ll need to think about. As I think about it to type, it seems to indicate a large shift in directions, something unexpected, that pleases me.

Driverless Car Returns

Saw a headline slug, “Driverless Cars Return”.

An imagined television news report about a driverless car getting lost and living on the streets by itself for years climbed into my head, and then came the happy reunion, when the driverless car returned to its family for a happy reunion.

“We thought our car was gone forever,” Patty McLaren said about the brown four-door Ford sedan. “We looked for it for everywhere for weeks. We never gave up, really. Every time a driverless car went by, we looked to see if it was our car. Though I never stopped hoping, I never really believed it would come back, though. It’s like a dream come true.”

The car is a little older and rustier, with bald tires and faded paint. Its radio and speakers are gone, apparently torn out by thieves, and the engine smokes.

“Who knows what it went through?” Mrs. McLaren said, stroking the car’s front fender. “I’m amazed it’s still runnin’. I’m just so happy it’s back.”

Mrs. McLaren said that they were going to get the car a new coat of paint and tires. “Then we’re just going to put it in the garage and keep it there, and pamper it.”

Her daughter expressed disappointment that she wouldn’t be allowed to take the car to college with her.

 

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