Category: cars

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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A Rainy Dream

I was with some others. They remained misty and uncertain, voices on the periphery of my awareness.

We were to drive three identical Cadillac automobiles. Cream and brown two-toned sedans, I knew them as late 1940s cars, a model called ‘Sedan de Ville’. I was to be the driver of one of these three large cars.

Sheets of silvery rain were soaking the world outside the building where we talked, striking down visibility whenever I looked out a window. I knew we were in a city. We were addressing a large, electronic map. It showed the route to follow in thick dark green on a yellow background. Part of the discussion was about what to call our exits. Studying the map, I somehow came up with Jo Three, which struck me as funny. I explained why it should be called that and why it was funny but those details are lost to waking me.

Before leaving, white brunette women dressed in 1950s fashion presented each driver with two loaves of freshly baked warm bread. These loaves were set on the back shelf behind the rear seat, on on each side, in all three cars. I happily went about, checking the loaves, verifying what they were (rye, marble rye, whole wheat, etc.), and that each loaf was unique. Satisfied, I confirmed my loaves were where they should be, climbed behind the car’s massive steering wheel, and set off.

Rain still hammered the streets and sidewalks, denuding color so that everything resembled sepia photographs. With no wind, the rain fell straight down. Although it was day, street lights were on. The straight multi-lane roads were in good condition. Traffic was sparse. The place seemed familiar.

I saw a woman walking along a sidewalk under an umbrella. I knew her. I thought she was upset and decided that I needed to speak with her, and that I would offer her a ride. As I caught up with her, she was under an underpass at an intersection, waiting to cross the street. She crossed; I turned left, pulled alongside her, and wound the passenger window down. As she didn’t stop, the car continued parallel to her, propelled by the idling motor.

Leaning across the street, cold as mist came in the open window, I called, asking her if she wanted a ride, speaking loudly over the rain and the car’s engine. She declined, telling me that she enjoyed walking in the rain. I then apologized to her and told her that I understood why she was upset. She replied that she wasn’t upset, and that’s not why she wasn’t accepting a ride. She had been upset but now she just appreciated being alone, walking in the rain.

I accepted her answer and drove off. As I did, I looked back in the rearview mirror and watched her walking on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, getting smaller as the distance increased.

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Sean Connery, Me, and A Cat In A Dream

We were ordered into a car. My companion, a male, was up front in the passenger seat. Top down, the convertible car began speeding along.

I said, “Is it my imagination, or do I detect from the motion that this car is going backwards?”

No answer came. As I processed that null response, I said, “Is this a Rolls Royce?”

The driver was looking back over his shoulder. He was in the right hand front seat. Looking back as he did verified for me that we were going backwards — I couldn’t see over the sides of the car to be sure.

The driver was Sean Connery. As that registered, I debated, Sean Connery or James Bond?

I gathered that we were going backward around a cloverleaf exchange and then accelerated straight onto a highway. At that point, Connery executed a handbrake turn, reversing us 180. We now traveled in the correct position.

After a time, the car was pulled over. Telling us, “See you later,” Connery hopped out and waved good-bye.

My companion — a short, elderly white male — and I were relieved to be free of Connery and have position of our Rolls again, because we needed to turn the car in. Problem was, that wasn’t the car that was expected, and the company would be upset. We traveled back to the turn-in location where a tall, white man in a suit greeted us. After hearing our problem, he said, smiling, “No problem. I can make this go away.”

Some paperwork was processed. As that went on, I checked some physical records. These tracked my health and activities. I was shocked to discover they were marked SECRET in the standard stamp at the top. It flummoxed me to think that those innocuous records were marked secret. I then also discovered my CIA identification, a rueful reminder of the secret world I inhabited.

The tale man returned. “Slide your company card through this card reader.” I smirked at the expression, company card, but did as told. “Your bill is twenty-four dollars,” I was told. As I reacted, he added, “It’s been paid.”

My original companion and I went off in another car. Exiting the building, a young black male stopped us. “You’ll need this to get back in.” He handed us a laminated blue card with black grease pencil writing on it. As he walked off, I called out, “No, we don’t need that, we already have one.” I held our original up, showing it to him, and then flipped the other to him. It sailed like a flying disc.

He caught it without effort. “That was impressive,” I said.

He shrugged. “I do that all the time.”

“How many times a day?”

“At least three.”

That impressed me. My companion and I drove off.

Dream shift. I was on vacation, walking toward a river. Bending down as I reached the roaring, turbulent river, I rubbed a cat’s belly. Wondering who this friendly feline was, I investigated and discovered it was my own ginger mini-puma. As I talked to him, he rolled around and then stood and stretched.

I was worried. We were over a mile from home. “What are you doing here, so far from home?” I asked the cat. In response, he trotted ahead of me, as though he and I were journeying together.

The cat splashed through some water. I crossed onto a natural rock bridge. Standing over the raging white water, I saw something scything through the water ahead. I couldn’t say what it was. Then a bird attacked me. I swatted it away. Another bird then attacked. This bird latched onto my leg. As its claws dug in, I beat it until it released me. Realizing that two birds attacking me was unusual and guessed, they’re probably protecting nests in the rocks around me. With that conclusion, I hurried on.

Dream end.

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The Mall Dream

A dysfunctional, post-apocalyptic world had arrive in the U.S. It wasn’t extreme. Shit had happened. Infrastructure and governments were failing, oil and gas were limited, food and water were scarce, and security was precious.

Somehow, I’d taken over a large mall.

I established myself as its ruler and then set up a society to live within it. I’d managed to make it secure, acquire food and drink, and we were generating power. Details aren’t available.

Friends of different times in my life heard of it. A large horde of them arrived as refugees. Everyone from childhood to the recent past were represented.

After greeting them outside on a sunny day, I took them in, assigning them spaces and familiarizing them with basic concepts: everyone works, no physical violence or abusive behavior, and respect one another. Break one of these, once, and you’re gone.

They quickly settled in. One favorite old friend, Don, became de facto representative of that particular group. He ended up hanging out with me a bit. They had suggestions for improvement. I thought them good and adopted the suggestions.

Meanwhile, I had two Mazda Miatas and gas for both. Both were green but different shades, with the new one being darker, almost forest green. I often drove the older one around. On this day, I decided to take the newer one for a ride. I invited Don along.

But first, I went around pissing on the mall floors. I pissed copiously, everywhere. I was then ready to go, but then regretted pissing everywhere. “I shouldn’t have done that,” I told Don. “I need to clean that up.”

Don, his cheerful, relaxed self, answered, “Don’t worry about it. We got you covered.” He pointed out there, where everyone was already mopping up my mess.

That’s where it ended.

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Floofsday’s Theme Music

Good Night. Today is Floofsday, March 32, 2021. Sunset is at 7:01 AM in Ashland and sunrise will be at 7:45 PM. This morning’s temperature is 75 degrees F but we expect to cool down some, reaching 51 by late tonight.

Yesterday’s walk was gloriously perfect. Sunshine burst through, heaving the heat into the high seventies while a mild breeze countered the worst effects. Trees and flowers are blooming, spreading colorful shapes, threading the air with sweet scents. Lot of walkers were out in the hilly streets where I was roaming. Most of us weren’t masked but shied away, keeping proper distance plus.

This situation kicked the 1985 Dire Straits song, “So Far Away”, into my conscious music stream. “So Far Away” was on Brothers in Arms, the album that included “Money for Nothing” and “Walk of Life”, two of my favorite Dire Straits tunes. Stationed at Shaw Air Force Base in South Carolina, I played that album a lot that year, driving my Mazda around the southeastern United States on temporary duty assignments in the Air Force or going north — a straight shot up I-77 — to visit family.

I thought the song works as a theme song for this day. Last April seems so far away. Although we’re marking progress toward the pandemic’s end, a return to normalcy also seems so far away.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Cheers

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Modern Complaints

Time for a rant. It’s been a while, right? I like to think of myself as Old Faithful, bursting forth with new complaints on a predictable schedule.

I studied my to-do list this morning.

Call Dad.

Schedule Mazda for service.

File income taxes.

Get coronavirus vaccine.

Buy condolence card.

I’d filed the income taxes so I marked that off. The condolence card needed to wait until I went out later.

Dad was back in the hospital. I decided to put that off to do other things that required less exertion.

I haven’t had our Mazda serviced in a year. Putting it in context, though, in the period between March 2020 and March 2021, we put about twelve hundred miles on the odometer. No warning lights are illuminated. I figured that as long as the car had oil and was functioning, I wasn’t going to rest taking it to a dealership or service station for routine stuff. This is also my philosophy for my body.

Then an email arrived from Mazda.

MICHAEL SEIDEL,
LET US TREAT YOUR MAZDA.We warmly invite you to enjoy complimentary Mazda service. Our factory-trained technicians are looking forward to providing the Full Circle Service and unmatched experience you deserve.Take advantage of this special, limited-time offer, available until April 30th, 2021. Contact us for details about this exclusive offer and schedule your appointment today.
THIS COMPLIMENTARY MAZDA SERVICE OFFER1 INCLUDES:•Oil change & tire rotation•Enhanced vehicle cleaning service*•Take the wheel of a complimentary loaner Mazda while we perform maintenance on your vehicle•Full Circle Inspection and vehicle health report card1 Service up to a $75 value. Offer valid for redemption by qualifying VINs at participating Dealers. Not transferable. Limit one (1) complimentary service offer. No cash value. Offer period is March 1, 2021 – April 30, 2021. Contact participating dealer for complete details.

That’s a pretty good deal. As I had things on the schedule (or so I told myself), I tagged the email for later action.

Right now, I felt the COVID-19 vaccination was a higher priority. I’m 64 and lack the underlying conditions that render me a higher priority. That means I’m not eligible for the vaccination yet. I’m retired military member, sometimes called ‘a vet’. The Military Times just had an article informing us that all vets could get the vaccine at local VA facilities. Cool beans, right? That was followed up by a local television channel with a story telling us the same thing. Okay, I would call and request an appointment at my local VA facility in White City.

I’d bookmarked the news article and brought it up now.

“Even veterans who are not currently enrolled, we want you to call that number and we will do our best to get you enrolled so you can have access to the vaccine.” Christina Cellura who is the Chief of Staff for White City SORCC said. 

To make an appointment, call 541-826-2111 extension 4440.’

I called the number and waited for the moment they told me to enter an extension. It didn’t come.

After listening to a laborious list of options, I selected 6 for COVID-19 information. Thus began a long, breathless recording about what I can and could do and how the VA would help. About two thirds of the way through, it said, ‘To make an appointment for a COVID-19 vaccination, call 541-826-2111 extension 4440.’

I looked at the number I’d dialed, confirming, that’s the number I dialed. Hanging up, I repeated the entire process, verifying that the number I’d dialed was telling me to call the number I’d dialed to make an appointment.

It seemed like either a cruel joke or terrible, circular logic.

Disppointed with that, I went to the Mazda email. I clicked on the link provided, as directed. I have an account there — I always take my car there, like a good soldier — so all my information was populated. I kept waiting for them to tell me about the deal, or to inform me that I wasn’t eligible.

They didn’t mention the deal.

Dismayed, I confirmed the appointment. Maybe they’d mention the deal in the confirming email.

Nope.

I sighed.

Next on the list would be to call Dad.

The way things were going, I wasn’t ready to take the chance.

8

Thanksgiving & Wedding Dream

The dream began with a gathering and an agreement. I and two other men would take eight women around on a trip. Don, a friend, was one of the other men. I didn’t know the women but, dressed in white toga gowns, they seemed like friends.

We hopped into a big light blue convertible. I never clearly glimpsed the car, but the imprint gained was it was a large American machine from the sixties. A ’63 Chevy Impala comes to mind. Don’t know any that would fit eleven of us, though. The trip commenced with traffic lights, talk, and confusion about where we were and we were going, never with arguments, though. Just discussions. One stop was a busy water park. The other men and I hadn’t been participating in the women’s activities; we were their drivers and guides. Now, though, we stripped down to shorts and ran through the park, playing in water.

But, it was time for a wedding! That’s why we were here. And I was getting married. I needed to rush to shower and get into suitable wedding attire, which seemed to be black jeans with a black shirt. Dressing as I went, I ran to the church and — that was that. No ceremony ensued. Next that I knew, the wedding was over. The trip was finished.

The women said good-byes. Sitting on the car hood side by side, Don invited me on another trip. He was going and thought I’d be interested. Two trips were available. He described them. As he described the second (no words from it are remembered), I interjected, “That’s the one that I want.”

He smiled. “I thought you would. It’s their traditional thanksgiving, and I was pretty sure that you’d want to go.” We talked about the food. He was smiling, reassuring me, yes, there would be gravy, turkey with stuffing, and mash potatoes.

I grew hungry and excited. Agreeing that I wanted to go, we got into the shiny, light blue convertible with Don driving. The dream ended.

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Two Short Dreams

‘Nudder busy dream night. Two stayed strongest with me. One which I found funny involved my wife.

Before that happened, though, I needed to get my phlegm tested to see if I had the flu. The local lab couldn’t test me for circular, bureaucratic reasons. I knew of a lab, though. Just needed to take my phlegm to another lab. So, I spit into a small piece of plastic, folded that in half, and put it into a plastic bag. Then off I went!

The lab wasn’t amused. They were downright pissed. “We can’t test this! What’s wrong with you?”

Chagrinned, I returned to report my failure to get my flu results because my sample had dried up and become contaminated. The man in charge was angry. He’d just received the report from the lab and was chastising everyone there, demanding to know who was responsible. I immediately went to him and told him, “It was me and only me. I’m the one who did it, all on my own. Put all the blame on me.”

He started righteously chewing me out but as he did, I could tell that he was trying not to laugh. That made me start laughing. He finally gave up and we both started laughing. He told me that what I’d done was silly and not to do it again, and then we went on our ways.

My way took me and my wife into a car on the road. We were young, in our early twenties. Ahead of us, a pickup truck was stopped in our lane. Weirdly, thinking back on it, we were driving on the left side of the road. The steering wheel was in the right place, though. Anyway, a pale metallic green, second-gen Prius — you probably know the type, it’s the ubiquitous spaceship-looking version that I seem to encounter all over the place — crossed the double-yellow line, pulled out into the other lane and passed the pickup — on a hill, going into a curve. Not safe, was what my wife and I said. Much finger gesturing and shouting ensued by both parties involved ahead of us. The pickup immediately started after the Prius with my wife and I right behind them.

We all pulled into a busy, dusty parking lot. My wife and I hurried into a little cafeteria-like place. She rushed to the counter. Two younger blonde twin women were approaching the counter, gabbing as they went. My wife deftly managed to reach the counter first. Holding up a quarter, which the male cashier accepted, she said, “Lemonade, please.”

The cashier answered, “I need to serve these two women first. They were here before you.”

“Then I went my quarter back,” my wife snapped.

“One gently used quarter returned to its previous owner,” the cashier said with a smile. My wife stomped off.

She was angry. Going to a table, she spread out newspaper sections to read. But, too angry to read, she then marched off, leaving the paper there. The cashier came up as she was departing the table. Pointing at the sections, he began, “Could you please,” but she rushed off without looking at him. He then appeared very dejected and walked away.

Seeing this, I quietly went up, folded up the newspaper sections, and put the paper back into the basket.

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A Dream of Five Things

It was an interesting, wide-ranging dream with several friends and family members. It also included the remains of a Roman city…in California; an overdue water bill for $53 dollars; returning rental cars; and picking out seats for an airline trip.

GT, an old friend I was stationed with in another country, was visiting me. I lived in Half Moon Bay, California, as I did for several years at the century’s beginning. GT was telling me about his experience in the town. He’d felt creepy and strange, like someone was watching him.

Yes, I explained to him. That’s because Half Moon Bay is built on Roman city ruins. Everyone feels the same effect. It affects some more than others.

“Really?” GT asked.

“Yes. It’s not felt as much on the main streets but it intensifies as you go down the narrower and smaller side streets. The further you are from a well-traveled road, the stronger it becomes.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the energy, spirits, and souls of the people who lived there before us. They still live there.”

I went on to tell him all about it. I then described how other common friends had visited me and experienced the same impact. There’d been articles about it. Everyone who lived there experienced it. I had, yes.

It was time for me to go. A group of us got into our five rental cars and drove to the airport to turn them in. My car was last in line. I had one passenger; I was giving them a ride. It was night, but when we were waiting in line to return the cars, we turned off the cars’ lights and engines. We were stopped on a hill. The car was facing up it. Sitting in the dark, I worried that other cars were going to come up around that last corner and hitting us. I kept checking the mirrors. For some reason, all the cars were to be backed up. I don’t recall this being communicated, but I released the brakes, put the car in neutral, and let it roll backward. As it picked up speed, my passenger began panicking. I decided I needed to turn on the car and lights, doing that as we stopped.

Inside the terminal now, I moved forward to turn in the rental car. I approached a counter where a man informed me that I had an overdue water bill. Some back and forth followed. I learned the bill was $53 and over thirty days overdue. I wanted to pay it then and there but he wouldn’t let me. Because it was overdue, it had to be paid elsewhere, which turned out to be a counter across from his.

My wife joined me. I told her about the overdue water bill. I was upset; paying those bills were her responsibility. She surprised me by shrugging it off. She knew it was overdue. She’d not forgotten to pay it, but decided not to for her own reasons.

I boarded a wide, modern jet aircraft. Five of us, all friends, were present. Five seats, all different — some were brown leather but others were cloth — were in a half circle. One friend, a VP and former co-worker, was trying different seats, grinning as he explained that he wanted one which reclined and swiveled. I already knew what each seat did. As soon as I could, I took the seat that I wanted in the front and center. My friend was disappointed because he was still trying the seats but I ignored him. I had as much right to the seat as him, and it was the one I wanted.

The end.

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A Dream Variety

A wide selection of remembered dreams fill me this morning. Two acquired prominent positions so I’ll relate them.

The first was about a foot race. Younger, I was gathered along with about twenty other young men. I’d hazard that we were in our late teens/early twenties. We’d just run qualifying races that were one lap (don’t know the distance). Now we were to run the real race of five laps. For some reason, a staggered start was employed. Basically, I was required to wait for my name to be called, then put on my shoes and start running.

Young women of about the same age were in bleachers to watch and cheer us on. Hearing my name, I slammed on black running shoes and took off. I ran hard without breathing hard or breaking a sweat, passing competitors with impressive ease. Finishing, I was surprised, thinking, “Already? That was it?” Thinking that I’d won, or at least finished in the top three – hard to say because the staggered stop meant that we were being judged on time, not track position — I sought the results but couldn’t find anyone willing to give official results.

The next dream found me visiting the parents of childhood friends. I was a young adult; they were of the age they were when I knew them. I snuck into their brick two story house because I’d heard they had a boat in their basement, and I wanted to see their boat. Getting down there, I discovered, yes, they’d constructed a large sail boat in their basement. Admiring its white and blue hull, I circled the boat, astonished by their accomplishment, and perplexed about why they’d build a boat in their basement.

I realized I needed to get home. It was already late evening. The sun had set and I had several miles to go. I didn’t want to walk in the dark. Going upstairs, I found friends from my current life. I asked if I could get a ride with them. One answered, “Yeah, I have my car. You can ride with us.” His car, I knew, was a dark green 1970 Ford LTD. “But you need to wait,” he told me. “It’ll just be a little longer, then we’ll be done.” They were playing with Excel spreadsheets. I began playing with them, too, but didn’t know what I was looking at, and became bored. That’s when the dream ended.

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