Category: cars

Designing Cars Dream

Cars often show up in my dreams. I’m frequently driving sports cars such as Porsches (often), Ferraris, and Lamborghinis. Once in a while, I’m in a racing car. Today, as far as I remember, was a first, because I was designing cars.

They started as toys. I designed and built small toy cars, first from plastic, then from metal. They were impressive little futuristic designs, mostly in silver, black, or metallic red, with doors and hoods that opened, etc. They quite impressed people. After some conversations, a team was established building those. I then surprised everyone by designing and building several real cars based on my models. That impressed people even more.

Then we closed for lunch.

While we were closed for lunch, I decided to bake pastry and bread that looked like my toy cars. As those were discovered and people ate them, I made cars out of chocolate to sell and give away. While I was doing that, I discovered some of my workers asleep on their lunch breaks at their desks in my building. Most were female but all were young, and all were friends. After I asked them why they were sleeping there, several confessed that they had several jobs or were also mothers raising children, or they were going to school. My youngest sister was one of them. I thought, I have to change this, which was where they dream ended.

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The Four Pies Dream

I dreamed I was to deliver four pies to people living in the woods. A young person was assisting me. I don’t know what flavors the pies were, but part of it was that I heat the pies and cut each into six equal slices, and then deliver them. The entire time that this is going on, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is playing. I don’t know the source of that.

Being a dream where things don’t always make sense, the pies were in a car, a light blue little machine of unknown name. Also in a car was a young white child. The child was a threat, others told me; don’t let him bite you, and don’t let him out of the car.

But I also heat the pies in the car, and could see them through two large side glass windows. I’d already cut them before heating them. Now they were ready.

My young assistant and I slide the windows down preparatory to opening the doors to get the pies. Here comes the kid! Oh, no! I was talking to him in a soothing voice, asking him if he’d like a piece of pie. He rushed forward. “He’s going to bite us,” my young assistant yelled. “Put the windows up,” I shouted. We slid them up.

Round two. “This is ridiculous,” I said, laughing. “Let’s try again.” We reheated the pies. How? I don’t know. It’s something I said in the dream, then waited for seconds, if that, and they were done. We slid down the windows. I talked to the child as I did. The child stayed back. We opened the doors and started taking out the pies. The child rushed us. We returned the pies, closed the doors, and shut the windows before he could reach us.

Others were concerned; that’d been close. He almost reached us. “Third times a charm,” I announced. “Let’s try again.” All progressed as before. We were able to get the pies out. I gave the child in the car a piece of pie. I think that was southern pecan. He sat down and started eating.

Success achieved.

Bonus dream: I was with my youngest sister, L. We were in her car, a blue Mustang convertible. The car was about ten years old. She was driving and I was a passenger. We’d stopped for her to talk with a friend. In the course of that, I got out to stretch my legs and was standing a few feet behind the car. The passenger door was open. My sister announced to the other that she was going to back the car up. I called out to her, warning her that her door was open, that she was going to remove the door.

She ignored me or didn’t hear…whatever, she backed the car up. The open door hit a brick wall and was torn away. Reacting with horrified dismay, she stopped the car. As I told her that I’d been telling her about the open door, we hurried to assess the damage. I expected the door to be gone but instead, the top layer of paint had been peeled off like it was molded part that fit over it, leaving the door intact — and still attached to the car — but a flat black color.

As I tried to understand how that had transpired while sympathizing with my sister, she mentioned that it bugged her because she was going to get a new car, and now her trade-in value would be lower. The whole thing left me subdued, wondering what’d happening, how it happening, and at her muted reaction.

The dream ended.

I could go on with the other dreams — oh, what a night — but those two were the prominent ones.

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Another Lamborghini Dream

In this dream, I was taking my Lamborghini Huracán (I think it was a Huracán) in to be painted. It’d acquired some chipping in its travels; I wanted it to look better.

I drove it into the shop — a quick drive through highway traffic — and discussed colors with the staff. Each time a color was mentioned, the car changed colors in the dream: lemon yellow, neon green, bright red, hot orange, merlot, white. No, not a white car! I chose to stay with its original electric blue.

The Lambo shop where I’d taken the car tried selling me a mother-in-law seat. I’d never heard of it. They showed me a red one; it looked like a cross between a booster chair for toddlers and a saddle. The explanation was that it fit over the transmission tunnel to add a temporary seat for a third person. Amused, I declined. My MIL (who is deceased) showed up to declare that she would never sit in that.

I checked into a high rise luxury hotel to wait. When I arrived, Alec Baldwin offered me champagne. He wasn’t drinking any. Alec and I walked about, looking out the windows, chatting and joking around. A young server came by with champagne flutes of apple cider on a silver tray. I was interested but he said, “It’s organic.” I replied, “Oh, I always drink organic.” The server answered, “If you always drink organic, you can have some.”

I accepted the organic apple cider. Alec asked, “You always drink organic?” When I answered, “Yes,” he said, “Then give me the champagne, and I’ll drink that.” I agreed. Then, clowning around, he stuck the champagne bottle up his ass, neck first, so it looked like he was blowing a bottle out of his rear. He thought it was hilarious but I thought it was strange.

They announced that my car was ready. I prepared to leave. The dream ended. Yeah, there’s a lot to unpack in this one.

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A Sisters-in-law Dream

The sitcom dreams have cycled out. Back to casual dreams, as I categorize them. This night featured a dream with my two sisters-in-law.

First, I’m facilitating a small group of people. I don’t know the group’s objective, but it did involve having to use clever means to bridge a fast-moving creek. A bridge was there but incomplete. I found a stretch of fencing and employed it. When others came, I had to show them what I’d done, laying out the fencing to bridge gaps, hold it up, and yet walk across it. That impressed them.

The older of my two sisters-in-law was there and requested a ride home. She was feeling ill. I wasn’t going that way but then discovered another who was. SIL had a baggie of treats. Some of it looked like white cake with raspberry jelly center layer and a coconut whipped cream top. Looked good! She said that I could have it but it wasn’t what it looked like. I took it and discovered it was hard candy. To which I was, bah, no thanks. She then went to get into a yellow SUV. I raised the rear for her. She put her things in but the woman driver started leaving with the rear still raised. I was incredulous but the woman turned and stopped. A short conversation ensued. Clarification achieved about what was going on, SIL entered the vehicle and it departed.

Act Two found me just completing another facilitating session, at a different location, with another group. I’d procured some treats for them. From where, they asked. We talked about that a bit, with me explaining that there was a candy store in a shopping center out on the highway. They said they’d gone there but didn’t find the treats that I had. I realize that they’d gone to another candy store, and then explained to them that there was a smaller shopping center in the corner of a larger shopping center. I’d gone to the candy store in the smaller shopping center. It helped that I could look out the window and see portions of both places, and put it out to them.

The group, probably two hundred people, arrived and settled in chairs. Although leading it, I was at the back, with my other SIL. I was showing an old movie to the group. My SIL wanted a ride home with me, which I agreed to do. The movie didn’t start as planned. I had to walk up as everyone watched, fix the equipment, return to my seat, and begin the film. Afterward, my SIL and I went to my car, the light blue 1985 Mazda RX-7 that my wife and I had bought new when we’d returned to America. I asked SIL if she minded if I removed the sunroof as it was a nice afternoon. She was okay with that.

The dream ended.

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Stuck In Arsehold

I was stuck in Arsehold for the last two weeks. You may have experienced the same.

I’ve been writing a novel while locked away. That’s not so different from my normal life, where I’m always working on a novel. Many people think I’m working on one novel forever and a day, but I’ve finished many. I shrug them off; I enjoy novel writing.

I think under ordinary circumstances, this would have been finished a few months ago. These aren’t normal times, at least for me. I’m assuming a lot with those words. It’s sadly probably normal for quite a few people to stay locked up in one place, with limited contact for other people. I think of prisons. Nursing homes. Hospitals. Yeah, getting downright depressing, isn’t it?

Some say that such solitude is a gift. I’m not one. While I’m a solitary person, I like outside stimulation. (Sounds a bit naughty, doesn’t it?) Like to walk to clear my mind, shift into writing mode, and slip into the noisy solitude of a good cuppa coffee in a coffee shop, hunch over my laptop, and tap away.

All that normal-for-me isn’t available now. Coronavirus lockdown, you know. Although I have coffee and space, I also have wife and cats. They struggle with my writing boundaries. My wife tries respecting them, but news of the world sets her off. I also don’t try enforcing my isolation with her, as she’s in the same situation as me. She’s much more verbal, however, and craves other contact. While she’s dancing and exercising Monday through Friday via Zoom, and meets with her book club once a month with Zoom, and Zooms into a coffee klatch almost every week, she likes expressing her opinions and insights vigorously and out loud. There’s usually a lot of swearing involved, too. She’s quite passionate about social justice, equality, human rights, and women’s rights. She also hates Trump and has little respect for most other Republicans. So I try to indulge, but then I suffer. Either way, one of us must suffer in our situation. We get over it, but it’s not ideal.

The cats, however, don’t give a damn that I’m writing, reading, playing a game, sleeping, eating, showering, or sitting on the toilet. Three cats share ownership over me. They have their own secret agendas, which surprisingly, often involves me. Part of that is which cat owns the most of me, and whether that’s acceptable to the other cats.

Between wife, news of the world, the coming and going of the muses, and the cats, novel writing progress has been uneven.

But I persevere. Sometimes, the worse interruption is by me to myself. Self-doubt. Imposter syndrome. General malaise. It struck hardest in Arsehold.

Arsehold is a place in my novel, wholly made up. I came up with the name months ago, a whim that made me laugh. I stuck with it, creating the setting around the name, devising the history of how it came to be. Yet, my characters struggled to get through Arsehold. I naturally responded, per my proclivities, to overanalyze what was going on and why, attempting to seek the root of my issues. I thought it might be the general tone. Perhaps some of the introduced characters weren’t clear enough. Maybe, maybe my characters shouldn’t be in Arsehold. And what happens after Arsehold?

Writing helps me think by creating a funnel through which I must focus. With all this mental flaying, I did a lot of writing about the novel in progress, addressing the concept, characters, story, plot, locations and settings, etc. Eventually, I took all the assembled material of the novel in progress, one hundred twenty-five thousand words, and began reading, editing, and revising, putting the story into the order that I think it’ll be in published form.

That helped. By the time I’d reached Arsehold (almost sounds like a song lyric — I can hear CCR doing stuck in Arsehold instead of Lodi), I’d discovered that the errors that I thought I was seeing weren’t there. It always scares me to think or say, hey, this is pretty damn good, about what I’m writing, but that’s what I concluded. Of course, it’s my work; if I didn’t think it was good, maybe I should be working on something else, right?

Anyway, I think I might get through Arsehold this week (knock on wood, he said, tapping the side of his head). Got my coffee; time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Dream Slices

To say that I didn’t have dreams last night isn’t correct. Nor is it correct to say that I don’t remember them. More correctly, I don’t have sharp, coherent memories of them.

I have slices of remembered dreams. One involved cars. I’d gotten out of one car. We’re at like a busy outdoor fair. Someone had been driving me. Another couple arrived in a car. I notice it, a convertible. They have the top retracted. A man I meet says something about it being a special car. Someone else asked why. I replied, “It’s an expensive car, a Maserati, isn’t it?” The man replied, “Very good, you noticed. You know your cars.”

I’m then off to be driven away again. I comment that the car that I was in was a Jaguar. “I’ve looked into buying one,” I said to the driver. He’s become quiet. I wonder why. He was smiling and talkative before. When we walk around the car, I discover that the car I’m to enter is a glistening black Mercedes stretch limo. Then, taking a more focused look, I realize that it’s extremely long, maybe forty feet. I then realize that’s probably why the driver became quiet. How did I mix up a Jaguar with a Mercedes stretch limo?

In another slice, I want to order a beer. That beer isn’t available; “Only one kind of beer is available here,” I’m told. “I know, I know,” I reply, accepting an opened bottle of that beer.

Then there is a bizarre sequence involving a water spray, lush green grass, a water sprinkler, and a hose. I’m soaked. I have both ends of the hose, one in each hand; it seems like I’m holding both of those ends up to keep the sprinkler from running so that the giant water spray can do its job. I don’t know what its job is now, although I knew in the dream.

Altogether, it seemed like a lot of unfocused chaos. Maybe that’s because I don’t remember enough, or maybe it was just chaos. Seems odd that three different makes of cars were seen, but all of them were foreign luxury cars, one Italian, one German, and one English.

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Another COVID Dream

COVID-19 and wearing a mask featured in this dream. There was also a meatloaf cap, fruit for cars, and I was back in the military again.

Arrived at a new assignment, I was learning where to go. A new joint base (name unknown), the buildings, walks, and streets were all newly constructed and of the highest order, a very impressive place.

I was attached to the command staff, so my office was in the headquarters building. Leaving there, some kind of plan to paint a sign with black paint was in my head. I don’t know what the sign was supposed to say, but I had black paint on a brush. It kept dripping, marking the unblemished new walk, mortifying me. Staying in a wheeled office chair to go paint the sign exacerbated the mess. As I was outside, I don’t know why I was in that chair. That realization came to me in the dream, and I abandoned the chair and paint.

Next, I needed to find my way to my new quarters. I had a rough idea of where to go. First, though, I ended up in the lobby of the visiting officers’ quarters. Recognizing my mistake, I made to leave. At that point, I realized, I don’t have a mask on. I hadn’t been distancing. Oh, no. Others were sometimes masked but most were staying six feet apart.

I was still in the lobby and made my way to leave. At that point, a young couple, both officers, were trying to leave through the door. Their hands were full, so I held the door open. But I couldn’t keep six feet away and help them. Aha, there was a doorstop. I put it in place. Problem solved, I left.

I was now along a food court where military people in uniform were eating. Along one side was also a small commissary. I saw an advertisement for meat loaf. Then, I saw sliced meat loaf being worn on a cap. As I expressed astonishment, a young woman near me explained that it was a promotional gimmick. I then saw that it was being worn on a friend of mine, Randy. Randy had passed away several years before, so what was he doing here?

I wanted to catch up with Randy but he disappeared in the crowd. With a dream shift, I was in my car. This happened to be an orange 1974 Porsche 914 that I used to own. I was happy to have the car again. Before driving away to the quarters, I decided that I would put fruit on the ground for other cars. Leaving the car, I spaced a peach and an apple at a distance about five feet apart. I figured that spacing would let the car pick it up more easily. Even as I was thinking this in the dream, I was thinking, WTF are you talking about, in the dream. How would a car pick up fruit? Why would it want to? But I persisted in this plan, rationalizing that there were be opening under the car, and I was putting them at just the right space for the opening.

In my car, driving toward my quarters now, the dream ended.

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A Dream of Opportunity

Just a short synopsis of one dream from last night.

Another uplifting dream, I was traveling to Phoenix. I assumed Arizona in the dream but then realized that wasn’t right. This intermittently confused me as things progressed; if it wasn’t Phoenix, AZ, where was it? It wasn’t Phoenix, Oregon, either.

While traveling, I met a very wealthy man, a billionaire, in fact. White and charming, he was about my age, very approachable, and looked almost like Robert Wagner in his role on television as Jonathan Hart. A developer, he was planning changes to Phoenix, and was sharing his ideas with me. Those ideas excited me. When I reached Phoenix, he offered to put me up in his suite. When I entered it, I wasn’t impressed with its size. It was a luxurious place, but I was underwhelmed. Then I realized that I had my own suite within his complex of suites. It was about the same size as his suite. Further, I’d only been in one section; his suite was about three times my original impression.

For some reason, based on things he was saying, I kept trying to associate him with Williams Grand Prix Engineering, a Formula 1 focused outfit. Then, as I checked out the suite I was offered, I realized the color scheme was a rich purple and green, not the colors I associate with Williams Grand Prix Engineering. Then again, the colors I was associating with them, blue, gold, and white, were actually the colors used when Rothmans (a defunct British tobacco company) sponsored Williams in F1 for just a few years in the 1990s.

Getting ready to meet with friends, I was discussing my plans to return home after my Phoenix visit with him. He asked where I was going, and after I replied, he said, “Oh, I’m going there, too. You can travel with me.” After a little back and forth, I realized he meant that he was traveling on a private jet and was offering me a free flight. Pleased, excited, and a little flattered, I accepted. Meeting with friends, I told them about it. I had a sense then that some tremendous opportunity was suddenly available.

Dream end.

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Friday’s Theme Music

There I was in my Jaguar. A gleaming dark blue roadster, the top was up. Looked like a series one. Not sure, because it was part of the dreamscape. The rest of the dream included a sequence in which a woman and I trick one another into not marrying, then realizing at the end that each had the same goal in mind — not to marry the other — and agreed it was for the best.

After that dream, today’s song choice began playing in my mind. “Young Turks” by Rod Stewart was released in 1981. The sound had shifted from previous Stewart offerings as a solo act and as part of a band, but it worked. Although it peaked at number five in the U.S., it hit number one in other places, and generally charted well around the world. Bottom lining it, the song is pretty well known among people of a certain age.

Hope you enjoy it. Stay positive, test negative, and wear a mask. Cheers

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The Indy Dream

Dreamed last night about me and the Indy 500. The Indianopolis 500 is an annual auto race pitting 33 drivers in fast, purpose-built speed machines. In my dream, I was a last minute addition, and was attempting to qualify. A woman was sponsoring me, and I think she also owned the car. All I recall of the car is that it was low, shiny, and purple. It wasn’t today’s specs, but more aligned with the specs and designs of the 1970s, i.e., the McLaren and Eagle.

I got in, and then was out, learning that I’d qualified…dead last. The race was due to start. There was a practice session. I went out again and was faster and in better control, I learned, but had been hampered by not wearing my seat belts. I was the only person aware of that. Next, I was going out and would follow another driver — Juan Pablo Montoya — around the track to become more comfortable with the lines. Then I’d be in the race. I felt good about it all, excited and full of anticipation.

That’s where it ended.

The dream ended then because a cat awoke me. He was preparing to upchuck on the bed beside my head. Reacting but half asleep, I pushed him off the bed. I then dreamed of a flying cat. It was like Rocky the Flying Squirrel, except it was my long-haired black and white big boi, Tucker, flying around.

Dreams. Go figure.

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