Category: Dreams

Monday’s Theme Music

It seems like my mind is determined to turn back time in my dreams. It’s also making all these song connections. (Like, boom, Cher has begun singing, “If I could turn back time.”)

The dreams were crazy chaos, leaving images like flashes of sunlight off of windshields. The dreams’ theme was ‘anything goes’. That theme conjured up the show tune from the musical with the same name, “Anything Goes”, which, let’s see…came out twenty-two years before my birth, but the movie did come out the year I was born.

Out of this throwback, go-go sense came the song that’s haunting the morning’s stream (now I have this image of a musical urine stream…oh, boy. (“I heard the news today, oh boy.” Yeah, the Beatles.) It’s from a 1964 movie, so I was eight.

The song is “The Monkey’s Uncle”. Although the Beach Boys perform it with Annette Funicello singing it, it’s written by the Sherman Brothers. Yeah, I looked it up. I knew the first two pieces but not the third. The Sherman Brothers were prolific songwriters. You should check out their list. I can tell you that one of their other songs, “It’s A Small World”, has entered my stream.

Meanwhile, the monkey’s uncle idiom amuses me. In one of those flashes in the dream, someone else says it in what feels like a sitcom moment. I’m looking at the guy when he does. Canned laughter kicks in, and then the song begins.

I don’t hear people say, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” that often any longer. I think it was dying out as a popular saying even when I was young, sputtering along in movies and television where caricatures of old folks say it.

That frenetic dream activity left me felt energized, like it was a storm blowing out my mind’s systems. Anyway, the long and short of it (had to throw that in, it was in dream), is “The Monkey’s Uncle” is today’s theme music.

Feel free to sing along, or if you’re like me, laugh along, with the video.

 

 

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The Friends & Neighbors Dream

As the dream starts, my wife and I are in bed. I’ve awakened but she’s asleep. Gray light slipping through the upper windows makes me believe that it’s early morning. Cats are up and want fed. I oblige.

My neighbor comes in. I’m surprised and confused, wondering how he got in and why he’s there now. He’s apologizing for his behavior (no, not for coming in, but for other things). Not invested in that at the moment — it’s early, I haven’t had my coffee, and the cats are clamoring for attention — I basically try to dismiss him and get him back out. Then he asks to use our bathroom because his girlfriend is asleep in his place and he doesn’t want to wake her. I work out with a glance around that ‘his place’ is a door off the my living room. I don’t understand that arrangement at all. Concluding that his girlfriend is asleep in there, I close the door. He comes out of my bathroom, goes over, and opens that door again, explaining that he needs to keep an eye on her.

My wife awakens and joins me. I attempt to explain what’s going on, but things are becoming more chaotic by the second. Sunshine is streaming through the windows. I’m hungry. I go to find food. Before I can, others interrupt me.

The next thing I know, I’m outside of the house in a hilly, bushy terrain, and I’m putting up signs. They’re simple signs, white heavy cardboard on slender pieces of pointed, cut wood. I don’t know what the signs say; they seem to change as I look at them. Sometimes, I find that the signs that I’ve put up have been pulled out of the ground or aren’t there, exasperating the hell out of me. It’s like I’ll never finish.

Meanwhile, I notice that there’s food under bushes and trees — pancakes, wraps, burritos, sandwiches. Debating about whether I should pick them up as garbage, I decide to leave them there for animals to eat. As I continue rushing around, putting up signs, I encounter friends. None of these people is anyone that I know. Some complain that when I’m putting up signs, I’m in their way. They want me to move. I protest, why should I be the one to move? I need to put up these signs. Yes, I’m told, but it’s easier for you to pause, move aside, and let us go on, and then resume. I agree, just to end the stalemate.

I notice that the food under the bushes isn’t being touched. I thought birds or animals would’ve tone after it, then shrug it off.

My hunger has increased. Hearing music, I realize that a Beatles song is playing. As the melody flows, I recognize “With A Little Help From My Friends”. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Setting the signs aside, I think, I am so hungry, I  must find something to eat. As I do, a woman at a neighboring house opens her front door and steps out onto her porch. “I’m making spaghetti,” she declares in a loud voice. “Who wants some?”

“I do,” I answer as others say, “Me.” We rush her house.

The dream ends.

 

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Once again, my chosen theme music arrives via a dream, but is selected because it stays stuck in my mental stream. That forces me to sing it aloud and share it with others to remove it from my traps.

The dream was about neighbors, friends, and food. It was quite chaotic. At the end, almost like the music to the final scene, “With A Little Help From My Friends” plays. It’s the original 1967 Beatles version, sung by Ringo, a song version that’s both morose and jaunty in my ears. Not my favorite version (yes, that would be Joe Cocker) but it’s the one that was in my dream, so here we go.

As an aside, driven by my reflections on the dream and the song, the song came out when I was eleven, making the song fifty-two years old. Where does the time go?

Feel free to sing along. Cheers

 

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The Stealing Dream

I was at an airport, awaiting a flight. Like it often happens (or its my experience), I’d had to rush, but now I had to wait. Restless, I shopped in a store. There I found a dark blue denim cap. Thinking, this is cool, I bought it.

Calls to board are heard through the noisy bedlam. I head that way but find that I’ve forgotten my hat, explaining to her that it’s new, that I just bought it. Amicably, she replies, you should go back and get it, then.

I head back and retrieve my new hat. As I’m leaving the store, I see another man. He has a package — it looks like a toy. Seeing him, I say, “Oh, no. I forgot to buy a gift. Now I don’t have time.” I think it’s for a young nephew, but I’m not sure.

The man replies with a grin and a wink, “Steal it, like I did.” He brazenly strides on.

Dubious, I think, well, okay, what’s the harm? I grab a package like his and leave the store. Guilt immediately swamps me. I want to return the package but I’m also running late for my flight. I can’t resist the urge to turn around and take the package back to the store. Putting it just inside the entry, I turn, put my new cap on, and run for my flight.

I can see my aircraft, a jet, outside the window. Deciding that I need to reach it, I squeeze myself through the glass, ending up between the white aircraft’s nose and the terminal. Wondering, what just happened, how did I get here, I know immediately, it’s because of everything that I’d just done.

The dream ends there, with me in a state of confusion.

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A Baseball Dream

I began as a middle-aged man, probably in my thirties, in the dream. Somehow, I was asked to come to high school to play baseball.

Several points from reality should be noted: our high school didn’t have a baseball team. I didn’t play for our baseball team.

But in this dream, I said, “Sure,” and went off to play this game. A brief tryout, conducted by my high school football, track, and wrestling coaches, was conducted: “Can you pitch?” I threw some fastballs; they were satisfied.

It was a loose “old-timers vs. young players” game. I was part of the old-timers. Teams were formed: I’ll pick him, I’ll take him. I was selected and was riding the bench until I was asked to pitch in relief in the middle of the game. None of us knew how that would go, but I pitched well, striking out several. Then I batted, and hit a triple. Very cool. By the game’s end, I was considered an unexpected hero.

Back home (after a dream team leap), I was asked to play in a second game. I agreed. Time details were provided.

Now, I was worried. Anxiety levels jumped because, hey, there were expectations. Then I started overthinking things and confusing myself about what time I was supposed to be there.

All sorts of things next happened. I was getting dressed, but paused to pee. When I did, there was a commotion out in the house. Hearing it, I peed on the bathroom wall. It was like, oh, no, but then I threw on a robe to go see what was going on.

My Mom and her boyfriend and their friends had returned from a trip. She and he were their current ages.

They’d arrived home early and unexpected. After briefly greeting me, they went into a chaotic conversation about flights, schedules, and tickets. You’d think that they were planning the trip instead of just finishing it. By the way, Mom asked, did you call your Dad? He was supposed to have surgery. I hadn’t heard anything about that.

Amidst this, I scrambled to dress. They’d given me a uniform. I put that on but now I couldn’t find my glove, bat, and ball. The first two were located with help from my Mom’s boyfriend, but then I couldn’t locate the ball. At last, a cat was spotted batting it around and chasing it.

I retrieved the ball, a mold-covered lime orb that had no resemblance to a baseball or softball. What the hell, that wasn’t important, I decided, and I was running late. Scramble, scramble.

I headed for the field. Along the way, I met my wife. She was going to the game. But first, we were being assembled in a classroom. Some of my friends from this period in my life were there. Weird. The teacher (an old high school English teacher of mine who didn’t remember me) was going around, passing out reading material that we were to read aloud. Each of us were given excerpts from different classic pieces of literature.

Then, though, I protested that I had to go. Telling them that I’d see them at the game, I rushed away. Now I’m in this huge U.S. Air Force facility, passing displays about AF history, technology, and traditions. I’m with some of my military peers. We agree, boy, has this stuff changed.

As I pass through the AF facility, I’m trying to understand where we are. It seems like an air base, mall, museum, and flying ship at the same time. I have a deep, sneaking suspicion that those impressions were all true, that we were somewhere high in the atmosphere.

There wasn’t time to consider it more than that, because, oh! Time! Baseball game. I wasn’t sure what time I was supposed to be there, but now I believed that I was definitely late. Rushing to the field where we were supposed to play, I discover that no one else from my team has already, not even the coach. Holy shit, where is everyone? What’s happening? Am I in the wrong time, place, and date?

Some young players show up. My tensions eases. The coach still hasn’t shown. What the hell, we’re supposed to play soon.

He finally shows, and apologizes for being late, but there was a family thing. I talk to him, and end up counseling him on how difficult families can be. Then he tells me that I’m going to be the starting pitcher. Can I handle that?

Sure, I can, I answer, but I’m enormously doubtful. I remind myself that I was successful before. But that was different, it was unexpected, and now, given the chance, I was overthinking it all, and that would probably skew my performance. I needed to relax and not worry, I told myself.

As I take the mound to warm up, the dream ends.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music choice emerged reflections on my dream. Written by Paul Simon over fifty years ago, it was used in a movie, The Graduate, as well as standing as a hit on its own. It came about in my stream today because of the reference to a baseball player, Joe DiMaggio.

From 1968, Simon & Garfunkel with “Mrs. Robinson”. Fascinating to listen to the lyrics again.

“We’d like to know a little bit about you for our files.

“We’d like to help you learn to help yourself.

“Look around and all you see are sympathetic eyes.

“Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home.”

 

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A Spy Dream

Six of us were there, to start, males and females (nobody that I knew), in an old part of a modern city. Sunset had passed. Shadows grew among the narrow bridges and streets wedged in among canals and buildings. Silence grew as businesses closed and people retired to their houses.

We were supposed to be finding our way through the city. I don’t know who the others were, or why we were tasked with this. But the assignment unnerved us. Then, trying to be bolder, one made a decision to go down an alley, thinking that was the right way. We never saw him again.

As the dark grew deeper, we depended on light coming from windows to see. Growing more nervous, the others crowded closer. But, I said, “Wait. I know what’s going on. We’re being tested.” We thought they were testing our direction, but I realized that they were testing our mettle.

Talking it through with the rest, I convinced them that I was right. As they finally agreed, the lights came up. A man lead a group forward. Talking with us, he confirmed that I was right. It was a test, and it was over.

“Follow me,” he directed, leading us into a building. The halls were narrow. He put two of my group into one room, “Because they were done,” and then lead me and two others into another room.

The room wasn’t large. Stereo speakers crowded it. A window allowed people to watch us. Music played. As it played, we were told to select colors from a panel as fast as we could. When this was done, after what seemed like just ten seconds, I was led away.

“Your thinking tells us that you can be a spy,” the man told me as I was led off. “Your respond to music with colors in the same way that trained spies usually respond, so we want to make you a spy.”

I didn’t know who he meant wanted to make me a spy, nor what I was to spy on. Everything was happening with bewildering speed. As he led me forward, he said, “Take off your shirt.” I did, and then he opened another door.

I went in. I was on a stage with a dozen others. A motley collection of people watched from tables and chairs. The man said, “Okay, everyone, these are our spies. You know most of them, but we have one new one. I’m going to introduce them all.”

As he began calling out names, I shivered, because I was cold. I saw that others were studying me and tried to remain nonchalant.

The dream ended.

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Water Dream

It was a water dream featuring Dad.

He and I lived in a house together. I was a teenager. Our house was pleasant and modern, with water features in the backyard.

We were going about the early morning with him talking to me about something as we were in the backyard. Hearing running water, I traced the source to a pipe sticking out of the house’s side beside the faucet. I’d never seen that on a house.

Water started flowing from it. I put my hand under it; it was was warm. I said, “Dad, I think something is wrong. There’s warm water coming out of this pipe.”

Dad said, “Yeah, we’d better check it out.” Then he went on about how he needed to go out and get something to eat. When he talked about the food, his choices appalled me. He was saying something about getting about a dozen sliders and I ended up asking him to get me a couple.

“But what about the water?” I asked.

“You take care of that for me,” he said.

I went into the house. Shock struck. Water was seeping out of everywhere. The kitchen floor was swollen with a huge lump in the middle. Horror seizing me, I thought, “This water is pent up and is going to burst, where are the valves, I need to shut the water off,” and ran to find the valves.

Dad returned (I don’t think he’d actually left but had been in another part of the house). I showed him the lump and leaks. I told him that I’d shut the water off. He said, “We’d better do something about that. Find someone to call.”

Ready for the pipes to burst, I dug out the phone book to call a plumber.

The dream ended.

Editing note: No, I didn’t get up and go to the bathroom.

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The Déjà Vu Dream

I believe it was a dream. But —

I often enjoy oatmeal for breakfast. Berries, fruit, and nuts are frequently added for taste and nutrition.

A large bag of walnut pieces is kept in the refrigerator (so they won’t go rancid). As I pulled them out, I flashed on the bag falling open. Walnut pieces poured out.

Standing there, I didn’t recall anything like that happening to me, and thought that it was a dream. It seemed so startling real that I looked around to see if any walnuts were in the refrigerator or on the floor.

I remembered then that I’d been talking to someone as I was doing this. Music had been playing in the background. I was aware of the music and recognized it but I don’t know what it was now.

So many walnuts poured out of the back, it seemed like half of the bag had emptied. Yet, when I closed the bag, I was surprised to discover it was still almost full. But the refrigerator drawer had enough walnuts in it to fill another bag.

Whoever was with me hadn’t noticed anything going on, so I said, “Look at this. Look at all these walnuts.”

They asked, “Where’d they come from?”

Holding up the bag, I said, “From this bag. But the bag is still almost full.”

The other came over and looked. “Yeah, that’s something.”

End of dream (or memory).

I am about ninety percent certain that it was a dream. Thinking about it as I finished making my oatmeal, I chuckled to myself. Was I telling myself that I was nuttier than I realized?

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After I typed this out, I saw a photo of a squirrel on the net. The photo triggered a fuller memory. The walnut incident was a dream last night.

After the walnuts had spilled out, etc., the dream continued. I’d gone outside. Two cats were present. One was ours and the other belonged to a neighbor. (Neither are cats that I know/recognize from life.)

My wife and I were trying to keep ourselves safe, along with the cats. To that end, the cats were kept in a  large and hilly fenced yard with many trees, but the cats kept getting out. I kept asking, “How are these cats getting out?” Watching them, I’d discover a secret path or a hole in the fence and block it only to see them out there again, and discover that another secret way existed.

The neighbor’s cat then came in through a secret tunnel with a squirrel in their mouth. The squirrel was alive. I then noticed the yard had many squirrels. I concluded that the cat was going out, finding squirrels, capturing them, and bringing them in. As I realized this, I saw her coming in through another underground tunnel, carrying another squirrel in her mouth.

I told my wife what I was seeing. Then, remembering the walnuts, I rushed inside, got the bag of walnuts, and brought them out to feed the squirrels.

Dream ended.

 

 

 

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The Help Dream

Located in a large office, I was busy. Although modern and plush, with room for dozens, only one other was in the office with me. We were calling into a help line. My purpose, though, was to find an assignment for someone who I could help.

I struggled with the line. Static garbled messages. I wasn’t certain if I’d reached a live voice or a recording. They couldn’t understand me, either.

After several times of calling, not frustrated, but amused and determined, I decided to go down to dispatch to talk to them in person.

Dispatch was busy and chaotic. Obviously, something had gone awry with the system. Others, thinking like me (or me, thinking like them), went down to dispatch to get assignments (and, from eavesdropping, to provide feedback and updates). Several dispatchers were busy at work behind a dark counter. Not knowing where the line began and end, or where people queued, I marched back and forth, mocking the system. That annoyed the dispatchers, who asked me to stop doing that because it distracted them. Though I found it all funny, they didn’t.

A food bar offered choices of snacks from sandwiches and salads to pizzas, hot dogs, donuts and bagels, along with coffee and tea. I checked it out but passed.

At last, with many gone, the lines finally in order, I approached the counter and was given an assignment. Pleased with that, I went off to the phones to contact the one I was supposed to help.

The dream ended.

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