A Cat Dream

I was at some way station among people who I know, including a young child. It was a cozy place, a little dim inside, rain beating against tall narrow windows, mild rain battering them. A crowded place. Tables, overstuffed chairs, bookcases, brook stone fireplaces with fires going. Noisy.

Meanwhile, I’m giving the little girl a gift: a small cat. This cat is purple, white, gray, and pink. Really sweet little critter. About ten pounds. Of greatest interest, the cat has a set of controls in its side. See, the cat is a radio. It’s a live animal and it’s also a radio. I’m telling her, “Look at this. Listen.” Showing her the controls. But you can also lightly tap the cat to increase the volume, or tap it in another place to change the song.

The little girl is fascinated. Runs off. Comes back. Time and again as the cat hangs with around me, rolling around on the ground, being petted.

But there’s more! Besides the little cat, there’s a larger, almost identical purple-white-gray-pink radio cat. This one is much larger: forty to fifty pounds. And not as friendly. Or playful.

I’m playing with the little one. It’s on its back. I’m about to rub its belly. The little girl comes running up. “No! Don’t rub its belly! It doesn’t like to have its belly touched.”

I’m petting the belly, though. The little one makes a distressed meow. The big one comes running over through the crowd. Gives me an angry look and some serious tail switching. I leave off petting the little one, who gets up and rubs against me.

It’s time for me to go. I get up and dust off, look for the door, and make my way across the room.

Dream end.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Good morning, peeps. Today is Wednesday, October 13, 2021 in our slice of the valley. Rain is descending. Began last night and just was having so much fun, it kept going. Not heavy rain. Sporadic. Sprinkles to light, you know?

Temperatures are hovering in the mid-forties right now. Expect to flutter toward the mid-fifties before winding down to a cold 34 F for the night. With those brooding, swollen clouds out there, don’t expect much sun relief. Sunrise petered in at 7:21 AM. Sunset comes at 6:32 PM.

Heavy dream play for me last night. Vignettes that danced with memories, leaving me with fading thoughts about things that happened before and questions about what happened to different childhood friends. One of them was John. Haven’t seen him since I was sixteen. He and I hung out all the time between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Then just moved away from one another like a magnet’s polar opposites.

But he’s responsible for today’s morning mental music stream. He brought my attention to a song called “Leader of the Pack” by the Shangri-Las. The song came out in 1964 but John and I were probably talking about it a few years after that. He didn’t care for the song. No; he said, “That sucked.” What John liked was the motorcycle sounds imbued in the music. Early signs were emerging that he was destined to be a motorhead. I later heard through friends and family that he’d moved to North Carolina and opened up a garage. Get the picture?

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Let’s be safe out there. Now. Need to see a machine about a cup of coffee. Here’s the music. Enjoy.

Two Unheard Questions Dream

We were located in an old service station garage. Tall glass garage doors along either side. It’s raining on one side. Just splatter against the window. Through it, I can see another building. I know it’s a coffee house. I can see one person in there, a tall, slender, white, blonde woman with short, curly hair. I want to go over and have coffee. I will when I’m done, I keep telling myself.

I’m conducting two activities in parallel. In one, I’m in charge of a class where people are learning to play music to calm and relax people. Mixed in with the people learning that are people there for advice on retired life. Both are packed classes. One group is filling out paperwork and asking me questions; the other group is selecting music, playing it on radios, and asking me questions. I walk among them, helping, talking, instructing. We’re all tired. We’ve been up a long time. I’d been up over twenty-four hours. I want to go get coffee. Then go to sleep.

We’re done. Classes are finished. The class members all lie down on the floor to rest just for a few minutes. Two ask me questions, one from each class. Settling on the floor with them, I answer, “I didn’t hear your questions. Were they about music or retiring?”

A Hotel Dream

Wife and I were staying in a huge hotel. We were up high, although I don’t know the floor. Red and gold were the only colors used, except for white marble floors in the hallways, which were tall — about two stories — and twenty feet wide. Walls were gold. Lots of tall, gold-framed mirrors and windows. Carpet, drapes, and furniture were red. Quite opulent. Because the place was so tall and sprawling, cafes and stores were on multiple levels.

Going into one upper-floor cafe, I encountered two young men in uniforms. I assumed they were military. Said as much. They issued me a dark, mocking look. One said, “We’re not military. We’re MOAB.” Like I was stupid.

I didn’t know what MOAB was. Assumed it was a quasi military-national guard or reserve situation. I left the two young men for a table. My wife joined me. I told her about my convo with the men. She was like, yeah, they’re MOAB, like everyone knows that. Then explained to me other people that she knew were MOAB, including two sons of our elderly friend. I was stunned that I was so ignorant.

She went off to the room with plans for me to come back to the room to go to a farmer’s market. I stayed, surfing the net and typing on my laptop. Two young men entered. About thirty years old, white. Both looked like Matthew Mcconaughey although their blonde hair was cut in different styles. I considered approaching them to tell them that I knew their mother and confirm they were MOAB but decided against it and left the cafe.

I then spent time roaming the hotel. Its center was an open atrium. You could look down the well and see all the floors, along with the lobby at the bottom. The fourth floor was where the hotel intersected with surface streets. Several of the hotel interior corners were intersections with traffic lights. That floor was also where the hotel mall was located.

I couldn’t figure out how to get from floor to floor, so I began hanging over rails and dropping down, or jumping from floor to floor. I was going to my hotel room to meet my wife but became sidetracked exploring. At one point, I was standing in an empty, carpeted area. I was surprised; it seemed to be the back of a restaurant in the hotel but the decor was different — white walls, low lights, umber carpeting. A shipment arrived for the restaurant. Men began picking up items and putting them away. One pile was off to one side. The manager, a tall, dark individual who appeared Asian glanced at me and said, “What are you doing? Let’s go. Get everything put away.”

I picked up the supplies and went around, trying to learn where everything goes. Another arrived and asked me what I was doing because that was his job. I explained that I was putting things away but first I needed to learn where they go. He took the supplies from me with a disdainful look and head shake.

I left there, sliding down a rail and then jumping off the end to another level. People witnessing this were impressed, loudly saying, did you see what he did? Stopping, I realized that I was late to meet my wife. I then saw her with two friends. They were on the fourth level and walking toward the friends’ car. I realized that she must have become tired of waiting and was leaving for the market.

I rushed to get down to the fourth floor but I was up on the sixteenth floor. I decided that jumping wasn’t going to work and raced about, trying to find elevators and escalators. Looking down, I saw their car pull into traffic and leave the hotel.

I thought that I needed to call my wife and tell her that I’d meet her at the market. Then I couldn’t find my phone.

Dream end.

The Celebration Dream/The Cave

This is a twofer. Like a dream medley. To the first.

It was a bizarre sort of celebration. I knew these people in the dream. Some of them were television characters. But none are people from my real life.

We were celebrating in the woods after working on something. Details of why we celebrated are unclear. It almost seemed spontaneous. We’d finished our work and were lounging along a gravel road. All were sweaty and dirty in assorted jeans and tee shirts. All were happy. Someone arrived with beer. Hurray! Let’s all have some beer. Beer was passed out. Someone mentioned some food would be nice. A large brown bag was beside me. I was told to reach into the bag, see what was there. Well, food was there! I passed it out according to requests — candies, chips, sandwiches. Just as we thought we were out of beer and food, more would arrive. So it went for a while.

People slowly took their leave until three of us remained. A woman, me, and a man. The man was tall, white, lanky, short hair, and wore prescription glasses. The woman was short, with tight blonde hair. The woman said that she was going off to get some rope. I gleaned that we meant to explore a cave. Nervousness set in. We didn’t have flashlights. Nor rope. Knew nothing about caves. But, we thought something was in the cave that made it worth exploring.

So the woman drove off in a red jeep. The man restlessly paced. I waited, fidgeting, wondering when she would get back, sometimes leaning across trees, sometimes walking around. The man decided that he was going to ‘pop into a hole’. The hole was part of the cave system. I didn’t think that was a good idea. Tried talking him out of it. But lanky man was insistent. Dismissed all my worries. He was just going into the hole. No, he didn’t have a flashlight but he had his phone.

This sounded like all kinds of bad to me but he proceeded. Went down into the hole, a rough circle in the ground. After lowering himself as far as he could, he hung, then dropped. He was about ten feet down. Too far for me to help him. I peered down in the hole, watching as he turned in study. He was making comments. Then he walked off.

“Where are you going? What are you doing?” I asked him. Basically, he replied that he was exploring. Then he went silent. Out of sight. I shouted down for him; no reply. Anxiety was taking over me.

The woman in the jeep returned. She had flashlights. Rope. I told her what lanky man had done. She was aghast. Called down the hole for him. We began trying to figure out how to secure ourselves and go in to look for him. But she was worried. She knew something of the caves. Knew that they were complicated, uneven, and extensive, with unexpected vertical shafts. We feared that lanky man had fallen into one of the shafts and was injured, maybe unconscious. But the only way we could know was to get in there.

But he’d taken his phone. I called it. It rang from immediately down in the hole. Like he’d left it there. The woman had me tie the rope around her waist. I tied the other end to the Jeep. I was going to lower her so she could look for lanky. We discovered that she couldn’t fit in the hole. I would need to go down. The rope was tied around my waist. I prepared to go down.

Lanky man suddenly appeared on the scene. He’d found an exit. Had left the cave but got lost coming back here.

Dream end.

The Weird Restroom Dream

Well, here we go.

My wife and I got into a car. This was a used car that she’d bought. Champagne gold color. Small four-door. Japanese manufacturer. She wanted me to drive it. I started it. The engine idled rough. I revved the engine mildly to keep it running. Looked for a choke. Figured out that the air vent in the middle also served as the engine choke. Pulled that out to adjust the idle. Then tried explaining that to her. She wouldn’t pay attention. Didn’t matter; we’d driven across a large parking lot to our destination.

My wife went off to do things. I circulated, looking for something to do. I encountered a group of women. I was young; they were the same age. One of them was immensely attractive to me. Slender. Pale white. Short bobbed dark brown hair. Mild makeup — red lipstick, a little rouge and eye shadow. She wore a black and white top and black pants. I could tell by her smile and look that my interest was reciprocated.

It was a busy place. Like a huge nightclub. We were all drinking. I was getting drunk. I kept circulating, wondering where my wife was, drinking, talking to other men — strangers — and looking for the woman with the dark hair. I’d see her and she’d see me. We’d try to meet to talk. But we never did.

I had to pee. All that drinking. I queued up with other guys to use a restroom. But it was strange. From where I was, I could see toilets not being used. I crashed the line and moved inside.

Weird, weird, weird. No toilets. Iron pedestals on legs, all painted black. I said, “I just need a urinal.” There were no urinals. No sinks. No toilets. No stalls. No piss pots or buckets. But I was certain that I’d seen toilets. Nevermind; I needed to pee.

Woman thronged the sides, watching men pee. Men were embarrassed. I decided that I didn’t care; I needed to pee. I stepped up to one of the funky pedestals. Peed beneath it. My urine was bright yellow and a strong flow. A woman circled around to peek at my junk as I peed. Another woman scolded her for being so bold; the other replied, “I don’t care, I want to see if there’s anything beneath the surface.”

I finished peeing, left, found a place to wash my hands. Then I sat and passed out. Recovering, I decided, I need to leave.

I circled around to where I’d left my brief case with my laptop and other items. The laptop and briefcase were both black. I repacked everything. I discovered I’d been walking around in black socks. I was wearing all black clothes; jeans and a shirt. I had two pairs of shoes. Both were black. Two shoes were shiny dress shoes; the others were flat black activity shoes. I decided I wanted to wear the activity shoes. I sat to put on the shoes. Talked to other men as they went by. They were telling me that they needed to leave. I was agreeing with them, telling them that I was doing the same.

I stood and looked down. Although I planned to wear the activity shoes, I was wearing the shiny dress shoes. Damn it! I sat down, untied and removed the shoes, and went to put on the others. Other people passed. One was the woman with the dark air. We chatted for a minute. I told her that I was leaving. She was disappointed. Wanted me to stay. Sorry, but I needed to go.

I stood. Looked down. I had the wrong shoes on again. Madness! I kicked those shoes off without untying them. Put them in my bag so I wouldn’t put them on again. Sat down to put on the activity shoes. Found I was putting on the dress shoes again. But stopped myself. Put on the right shoes. Joked with myself that putting on shoes shouldn’t be so hard. Packed up the dress shoes. Left.

Dream end.

The Little Girl Dream

It’s a flash dream. A little white girl. Chubby and blonde, in pink shorts and red shirt. She’s about six years old. She shouts, “No! No more children!”

Then she stands and thrusts out a chubby pale arm. “They are what they eat and they eat what they are.”

She strikes a pose on her toes, arms over her head. “Kazamm. It is fixed.”

Another Lost Dream

Here I go again. I’m in a military service but it’s again not the USAF in which I served twenty years. Some other dream-imagined service. I was enlisted as in my USAF but very senior. Wherever I went, my rank brought me respect, honor, and VIP treatment. I was a happy camper.

I’d been away. Now I was returning to my base. My base was a huge indoor structure. Civilians lived there as well as military. The structure also housed schools, a mall, shopping, and a train system with several stations.

Arriving back, I’m informed that they changed my rooms. Sorry, but they moved everything for me. My new room number was 316. Oh, no problem, thanks, I’ll go there. I went to where I had been housed, expecting my new room to be part of that area. Wrong; that room wasn’t there. After some fiddling and walking about, I was able to contact the housing officer. Oh, sorry for the mix-up, I’m told, that’s 316 but it’s in another area. Someone is sent to lead me over there.

This is a dream, so this young kid is immediately there. White, lanky, short blonde hair, doesn’t look like he’s ever shaved. He’s in awe of my rank, which actually makes it hard to deal with him. I joke with him to put him at ease as we walk around. We arrive at the correct area. I go to room 316. My stuff isn’t there. Two other, lower-ranked people are there. My assigned handler is appalled; the two in ‘my’ room are alarmed. I want to know where my stuff is. I’m angry at this point. I’ve been traveling; I’ve been moved without prior notice; my stuff is gone; no one seems to know where it is.

I’m given the names of the people who moved me so I can get answers. They’re students in college. Zip, in dream-fashion, I’m in the school part of the structure. Children of all ages are running around from class to class, level to level — there a number of stairs and levels, all under a huge glass dome where sunshine streams in. We walk around, looking for the college section, following signs and directions from people stopping to help us. I learn the three who moved me on are another moving job. My handler and I jump on the train. We’re transported to the mall section. It teems with shoppers. There’s a growers’ market underway as well. All this complicates my search efforts.

At last they’re found. They insist they put my stuff in room 316 in the cited area. My anger grows: I was there and my stuff wasn’t there. The five of us now — three movers, my handler, and me — all round a corner; we’re right back in the housing area where I’m supposed to reside. The two people in room 316 are confronted. Oh, they moved my stuff. Someone gave them permission because I wasn’t there so they thought it would be okay, and this room is much nicer than their assigned room.

The handler takes over as I steam. Arrangements are made to get them out of my room and get my stuff back into it.

Dream end.

Another Dream About Pennies

I dreamed about pennies again. They seem to be a recurring dream theme for me. In this particular one, I was knee deep in shiny new pennies. They were moving like the ocean. Swells of pennies rose and fell. Penny waves lapped against me and broke on my thighs.

I had a pushbroom. I was expected to push the pennies to one side. I laughed at this, saying, “This is crazy. These pennies are like water. How am I supposed to sweep them?” I kept muttering to myself about that and didn’t make much effort at sweeping them. Thinking about how new they appeared and also wanting to feel them — because they moved like water — I scooped up a handful of pennies. I looked at the date on one and saw, 2022. I began looking at as many as I could, searching for other dates. All I found was 2022.

Holding the pushbroom out to one side, I looked across the sea of pennies under a clear, dark blue sky. Far away to one side was a stretch of rising land. The sun just about them, drifting toward setting. I laughed and thought, “This is so cool.”

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