Category: Dreams

A Traveling Dream

The beginning was chaotic. My wife and I were younger people. She had a girlfriend staying with us, no one knew from RL. We also had a small brown puppy on a red leash, a very smart dog.

She and her friend were trying to start a business. As I wasn’t involved, the details are scant to me. I was busy fixing things around the house, working in bathroom pipes around the sink and tub, then dashing over to work on the computer, helping my wife and her friend with their computer and the printer. All the time, the puppy follows me around and I talk to you. My wife will sometimes say, “Oh, no, where is the puppy,” because the puppy isn’t where she left him. “Relax,” I answer, “he’s right here beside me.”

Wife makes a tentative decision. Someone is interested in their business but they have to go meet them, which is a five-hour drive away. Will I take her? We jockey back and forth in the conversation, we me explaining that I don’t want to stay overnight because we have the puppy and there are things I must do, followed up by asking her, are you staying the night? How long will you be there?

She’s anxious with excitement, indecisive and scattered, frustrating me. I finally force the issue: I’ll drive you up and then return tonight. I’ll be driving ten hours. A neighbor comes and takes the puppy.

Then we’re in a car on a highway. I’m driving. I’m in the right-hand land of this divided highway, behind a car. The car is slowing. There’s a motorcycle in the left-hand lane but they’re several hundred yards back. I want to change lanes but the car in front of me is suddenly slowing. Checking my driver-side mirror, I discover that the motorcycle has caught up. I accelerate a little, create space, and change lanes.

That lane is now also slowing by a tremendous amount. What’s going on? I wonder, trying to see what’s ahead. First, we’re no longer on concrete; we’re on a soft dirt path. There are construction signs. The road is being worked on. Everyone, including us, is on foot, following one another like we’re cars.

We’re slowing. Ahead is a vertical pipe. We must climb up that. I’m carrying all of my wife’s luggage plus some long, heavy metal thing. I realize that I’d need to climb without using my hands. My wife and her friend anxiously watch, waiting for my decision about what I’ll do.

I realize, nobody else is carrying anything. They left it in their vehicle. Why didn’t we do that? I intuit that the construction people will transport the cars up to the other end of the pipe. This infuriates me; why do we need to leave our car at all? Why can’t they just transport the cars with us in it?

“Come on,” I tell the others. “We’re going back to the car.” I figure that there must be another way.

We’re back in the car. I drive fast in the opposite direction. There’s a detour sign on my left. I turn the car that way even though my wife wants to stop and think it over. We’re suddenly at our destination. “I knew it,” I crow, pleased.

2

Thursday’s Theme Music

They call it snowy Thursday. Early afternoon yesterday, sitting at the coffee shop. 41 F out. Rain falls, turning to snow as it drops. Temperature loses its grip, slipping to 39 F. Snow begins sticking. Within an hour, we had an inch. Two and a half inches before the snow stopped two hours later. By then, it was 36 F.

Yes, it was a very wet snow. As temperatures tumbled for us to the upper twenties last night, visions of slippery roads and sidewalks filled conversations and emails. But this morning, it was wet but not slick. Snow had iced but was rapidly retreating. 34 F now, snow clouds rule the air. We’ll see how that goes. None of us were expecting yesterday’s snow.

It’s Thursday, January 19, 2023. Winter snow finally came to Ashlandia’s valley.

Sun influence came over the peaks and ridges 7:36-ish this morning. Sun’s retreat from the valley will be about 5:08 PM. A 40 degree F high temperature is expected.

I have Simply Red with “Holding Back the Years” from 1985 swirling around the morning mental music stream. A mellow song, I can’t trace its origins in today’s head, but I blame dreams. I also blame The Neurons. They can’t be trusted. I will say that when I was driving long distances in 1985, as I was frequently required to do, I didn’t like it when “Holding Back the Years” came on the radio. Out on the road on assignment, away from family for a week to months, the song was just a downer.

Speaking of downers, time for me to down a cup of coffee. Stay positive and do what you need to be healthy. Merry Christmas. Just thought I’d get an early start on that season. Here’s the music. Cheers

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The Hotel Dream

Several memorable aspects emerged from this dream. My wife and I, younger folks, had bought an older place. Having moved in, we discovered it was a hotel and we had several guests. I knew them; all were male salesmen, white, with short black hair, wearing suits, with very broad shoulders. They looked like ex-offensive line men and I knew one had been. Right after I realized they were in the rooms, they began checking out. Turned out there were three.

The first salesman checking out forced me to realize that I didn’t know what was happening. Scrambling to catch up, I went through the small hotel. Dinghy wallpaper was hung, which I declared needed to be replaced. At least three stories were found. The rooms were small and the halls were tall and narrow. Several cats were present. I began taking care of them while inventorying the hotel. It was dilapidated, with a strange, brownish carpet which was bare in many spots. The salesman was ready to go and needed to pay and get a receipt. I found a system hidden behind pieces of paper taped to the top of them. The paper were notes to staff about how to use the system according to the header on one, but all were blank.

I wrote out a receipt longhand for the guest, thinking through all the line items a receipt like that should have. He was comfortable with that and prompted me, “You also need the date.” I then signed it. Holding up a fat tome, he mentioned he had a paperback book that was in the room and wanted to take it with him. I told him, “No charge,” because we had bought it used at a Goodwill for a quarter.

My wife, who’d been wandering around the place rushed over, urging me to charge him, complaining, “That’s why we’re losing money.”

I told her that I didn’t think a quarter would break us. We argued about little things adding up. I noticed that the carpet’s edges were green.

Meanwhile, I was thinking, I need to organize a checkout system. I removed the papers from atop the system and found a small gray system. Looking very old, it was turned off and didn’t seem to be attached to anything. I decided not to use it but just do everything by hand myself. The second man showed up to checkout. This went better, but he had to tell me when he arrived because I had no idea.

I realized by this point that the odd carpet was withered grass. Finding a spray bottle of water, I began walking around, spraying the grass to encourage it to grow back. As I did, I discovered petunias and tulips springing up in full bloom and called out to my wife, “Hey, look, we have flowers in our yard.” I was thinking as I did this it would be lovely to have a lush green lawn as my carpet. This lawn was full of weeds. That didn’t worry me; I would pull the weeds. Since they were inside, the weeds shouldn’t return as long as I kept pulling them when they appeared and watered the grass. Many parts of it were already green and restored. I would let the flowers stay.

At this point, the third man arrived to check out. Since I was working on the carpet-lawn, I told her to check him out and explained what to do, which she did.

After that, a very slick-appearing man in a uniform appeared. He introduced himself as ‘the major’ and showed me so beautiful shiny blue things which he’d acquired from foreign countries. He wanted to display them for sale in my hotel. My wife was instantly against that, telling me, “Don’t give him any money.” I informed the man that I wasn’t paying anything or giving money or security in any form, no security deposits, nothing, and that we would not be liable for his objects. He seemed to be agreeing with that. Then he sat down and put his legs up. His feet were replaced by prosthetics. I asked him if that happened in the war, and he said, “Yes.”

Dream end.

5

Another Dead Person Dream

Last night’s dream had a special guest, a stepfather who died years after Mom divorced him. He’s father to two of my sisters. An addicted gambler, he lived in a room in a church, given to him with a small stipend for being the church caretaker, in the years before his death, forced to go there after the factory where he worked on a baking assembly line was shut down.

I always felt sorry for him and said so to my half-sisters, his daughters. One snapped, “I love him but he was very stupid and made bad decisions. He never learned from anything that he did.”

Hearing her say that shocked me, although it had been my opinion of him. All that is background to the dream, along with the note that I’ve had about six dreams featuring dead people in 2023. This is George’s first appearance.

To the dream.

I was visiting Mom at her house. She and I and everyone present were decades younger than RL. George, the deceased stepfather, was there, planning to go on a trip. His presence surprised me; I knew he was dead and I knew that he and Mom were divorced, but there he was.

‘There’ was a half-finished house. I couldn’t fully grasp what was done, as it wasn’t consistent in the dream. George mostly emerged from the bathroom and was in the kitchen when I encountered him. One oddity about the unfinished house was that the yard outside of it was covered in white carpeting. Sometimes a part of the yard was set up as a room, carpet on the floor, trees around it.

My two little sisters, George’s daughters, were there, young teenagers. George didn’t like me and was showing it. I was making comments to Mom. When I did, George would correct me. He’s right, I would realize, astonished. I was wrong and he was right.

I poured myself a glass of red wine and drank it, repeating that two more times. When I checked the bottle, it was still full. I chortled to myself, I’m going to keep this bottle, and took it with me.

George emerged from the bathroom. I tried being polite with him, asking, where are you going? How long will you be away? He gave me mean looks, refusing to answer, walking up the stairs to the kitchen. which didn’t have any walls.

Going outside with my bottle of wine, I met my youngest sister by a table. A single glass was on top of the table. As I spoke with her about George’s surprising intelligence, I poured wine into the glass. I completely missed the glass! Red wine made a huge stain on the white carpet.

Horror struck me. Oh, my god, what was I going to do? My sister was anxious about it, too. We threw glances back at the house and warned one another, Mom better not find out.

I went back to the house. George was about to leave. I told him to have a good journey and to stay safe. He departed without replying.

2

Five Dreams, A Few Thoughts

Five dreams are remembered this morning. Takes a while to process them. I usually do this in bed, eyes closed, pulling out their sequences. What normally happens is that I have a dream and wake up with it in mind, process it, and return to sleep. Then I dream again and repeat the process. Later, I sit and freehand the dreams. Sometimes, when the dreams become larger, more involved and remembered, I type them up. And sometimes I post that result, usually without any insights I acquired, just presenting the raw dream. In this instance, because there were five sharply remembered dreams, I just wanted to share intriguing aspects of two.

I was with my father. It was Christmas. His third wife was there, too. I’d brought twelve gifts meant for my cousins. Several of those cousins are dead. I knew that in the dream. When I showed Dad what I’d bought for who, I actually said, “Even though he died,” when I introduced their gifts. Dad laughed at that and I responded, “They’re dead but they still deserve a gift.”

Gifts included beer, pastries, pasta, and books. I explained to Dad when describing the gifts, showing them to him, why I selected each present. Dad seemed particularly surprised by the beer, which was a German Pilsner with a flippy top, which were common in Germany when I lived there.

What happened next is that I went off for a bit, returning to find that Dad gave away several of the presents to the people because he forgot buy them. So instead of a gift for my cousin, Jeff, for example, Dad gave it to his nephew, Jeff. That left me speechless. In Dad’s usual style, he laughed off my protests and explained that he just said it was from both of us so what difference does it make? The people received the gift, which is the intent of the gift being bought.

I didn’t fully buy into Dad’s position but decided yes, the person getting the gift was most important, so why be an asshole about it?

He later asked me if I had other gifts to give people, because he didn’t buy gifts for others but he thought he should receive a gift. I laughed at him, mocking his lack of preparation and planning, but took him to a white chest freezer and began pulling things out. He asked me why I put them into the freezer. I answered, “Ask your wife. She gets it.”

The other dream had a segment involving a vase. I was in a dim warehouse sort of building, metal, with high, dull lights. Items were stacked on shelves, creating a labyrinth, and lots of shadowy places.

White and tall, with flowers and dragons painted on it, the vase had several cutouts. I noticed the vase and remarked on its beauty. When I did that, one of vase’s cutouts yawned wider and issued a black cloud. I jumped back, pushing the others with me back to avoid it. We discussed, “What is that?” Several, including me, believed it to be poison. We wanted to get out of there fast but there was only one narrow path out. The vase was up on a shelf at head level along the path.

We needed to pass the vase to leave, we found, because we found every other way blocked. Two attempts were made to race past the vase but it moved each time, growing larger and growling at us. Finding a hammer, I attempted to attack it. The vase counter attacked, growling more and growing larger again, issuing more scary black gas. The vase’s cutouts now had teeth.

Someone said, “You have to get rid of that vase.”

“I know,” I answered. Swinging the hammer, I knocked the vase onto the floor. It rolled toward us in a rush. I hurdled it, but it was trapping others. I rushed the vase. It spun around me. Jumping back, I dropped the hammer. Teeth bared and roaring, the vase charged me. Dodging it, I pulled a shelf partially over, stopping it from getting me. I spotted an old black, portable television on a shelf. Grabbing the television, I lifted it over my head and slammed it down on the vase. The television and vase both broke. Enough of the television remained for me to hit it again with the television.

The vase pieces were trying to come back together. Someone threw the hammer to me. It bounced on the cement floor. I seized it and hit the larger pieces of the vase. The vase hissed out wisps of the black cloud. I started kicking its pieces around, shouting at the others to run past it and escape. After the last of them had gotten past, I picked up the largest piece of vase, threw it across the warehouse, turned and ran.

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Food & Growth Dream

It began with drinking a cup of coffee. I was at a place which I knew was my home but it wasn’t a RL home. I seemed about forty years old so younger than RL but otherwise the same. Drinking the coffee, I walked along the living room’s length toward the kitchen. A hallway which led to the bedrooms and bathrooms broke off to right. The floor was carpeted with a light China blue plush carpet. I was wearing shoes and I noticed all this because my head was almost brushing the ceiling. That amused me as I’m only 5’8″.

My wife comes out of the bedroom hallways and we chat. I then go back across the living room and back. This time, my ceiling is rubbing against the ceiling enough that I’m bending my head to avoid it. I point this out to her, laughing that either I’m growing or the ceiling is being lowered. She checks it out and agrees, I seem to be taller. I muse that it must be a practical joke; how can I be getting taller? Someone — one of my nieces, nephews, or cousins — must have inserted lifts into my shoes without me noticing. But then, going to set the coffee table down, I found that I’m even taller. They can’t be putting lifts in my shoes because I’m wearing them. I must be growing. How was that possible?

The dream scene changes. I’m having dinner with former co-workers from various employers. These are all RL folk that I’ve not seen in decades. Men and women are segregated. That puzzles me and I ask why but nobody gives me a reasonable answer. Most commonly heard is, ‘because they made the food’. I’m basically sitting alone at the end of a table, with others to the right. Food is being served. I’m making fun of some of the food because it seems unusual and I’m annoyed that we’re being served like the wives are our servants, but it’s tasty food and I’m eating it, and enjoying myself.

Friends call me over to another side. I respond, heading over there. One of the wives wants me to try this special dish which she made. Her husband sets a plate in front of me. It looks like a flat hotdog bun with a hotdog splayed open lengthwise, covered by what looks like dark green ice and a thin piece of steak. I want explanations for what I’m facing. For one thing, I don’t eat hotdogs. She tells me it’s not a regular hotdog, that she actually made it herself, and that it’s very healthy. Okay, I trust her about that, but what about the green ice? I’m not given an answer.

The thing is hard to keep together, but I do so that I can try it. I’m stunned by the flavor, especially the green ice. It’s an exhilarating, cleansing flavor unlike anything I’ve ever had and not anything like I expected. For starters, it’s not cold.

I exclaim appreciation for it, which delights her. She tells me that she knew I would appreciate it. She won’t tell me anything about what it is, but I don’t mind. We joke about it could and I thank her.

Her husband calls me in to join him and other men and women in another room. It’s like a round table setting. They’re having a conversation and he wants to know, what was I good at when I was younger, and gives some background to what he means. I tell him without hesitation, “Music, computers, and art,” then I shrug. They were always effortless to me although I never pursued any of them and regret that.

Dream end.

2

Road Dream

Had four remembered dreams last night. I’ll only post one.

I called it the road movie dream. The movie was done in black and white and reminded me of the old Cosby and Hope road movies. Three men traveled with me, and from cultural and fashion clues, we were in the 1950s, maybe the early 1960s. The three I traveled with were all RL friends who have passed away.

Our primary travel was via a huge ocean liner. A photo was taken of the four of us before we boarded the ship. Then, dream shift, we were walking off the ship at a foreign port and walking through a city. A large, old-fashioned typewriter was dropped out of a high-rise window. My three friends jumped aside and then congratulated one another that it had missed ‘us’. They turned around to discover it had struck my foot.

Next, we learned my foot was broken and was in a cast. We’re getting off the ship back at our home port. We come down the gangway to its bottom where our photo is again taken. We then learn that I completed a manuscript on the ship during the trip, using the typewriter which had broken my foot, and sold that manuscript. The book is being published, and my road movie ended with me holding up the book, surrounded by my three friends.

2

A Short, Satisfying Dream

I was in charge of some undefined group and was enormously successful. As part of my responsibilities, I mentored others, including a young man who was very dissatisfied with his position and progress. His frustration felt like heat blowing out of a furnace. The company was planning to move him, but he would be going to a place where his didn’t want to go, so he was anxious about it and was thinking about leaving the company to get out of it. I told him to hang in there, that I would help him.

Meanwhile, the company told me and my wife that they wanted to move me somewhere else. Nothing of us were interested in that, so I began making other plans. I decided that I would retire but I didn’t want to do so immediately.

I made calls on the young man’s behalf and found him a new assignment. He came past a while later. I asked him if he’d gotten word on that. He answered that he had. His wife was with him. I asked if the new assignment would work for them, and they both replied, “Absolutely, yes!” That satisfied me.

I was then notified that my retirement was approved and was effective on 12/31. Almost immediately, I was told that the new assignment was coming down. Laughing, I replied, “Did you know that I’m out of here on December 31?” They didn’t. Hearing about it, the reassignment was rescinded. My wife and I went on, pleased with the outcome.

The dream felt good because I was taking control and making positive changes for myself and others.

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The Best Years Dream

Totally different environment for me. A young man, I didn’t look anything like the me from RL, except of the commonalities of being a white male with brown hair. I’d joined a household. I’m not sure what my status. I was given tasks and expected to get them done. I was working alone.

I was working alone, going in and out of the kitchen to the outside, as others came but mostly went. They ignored me so I only glanced at them, seeing who they were and so on. My job was to select fruit, mostly pears, to throw away. The pears were large, of the Bartlett or Bosc varieties often found in grocery stores, but larger than you’d find. Some were almost as large as my head.

As I worked this, transferring them from one location to another, I thought, why are we throwing these pears away? After examining them, I questioned what was going on and concluded they would be perfectly good to eat. Changing my process, I removed the tossed pears to a kitchen location and moved the rest of the pears there.

Then, on a whim, I made lunch for everyone. I wasn’t certain what to do and learned on the fly but made and baked a square pizza. Without planning to, I ended up with a house on it. As I did this, I encountered a bearded man with curly hair leaving the bathroom. Saying, “Excuse me,” I pushed past him, but thought, who is he?

I turned back and introduced myself, sticking out my hand as I did. “Michael,” I said.

We shook as he said, “Patrick.” But he didn’t call me Michael at any point in the dream. The name he called me was something like Metcalf.

Most of the people, including the head man, had returned. Seeing the pears, he said, “What are those?”

I explained what I’d done and asked him, “Do you think you can eat these?”

I cut one up for his inspection. As he looked at it, he said, “Where did these come from?”

“There were grown here, in your garden,” I replied.

He looked at a woman beside him and asked, “Is this true?”

“Yes,” she answered.

I gathered that he didn’t know what he was growing here.

Next, I showed them my house pizza. Patrick and others declared that they wouldn’t eat it. They thought it inedible. I defended the pizza but they refused. Shrugging that off, I cut some off and ate it myself, finding it delicious.

We’d moved outside. There were sixteen or seventeen of us on a sloping green lawn. As a sort of outside, I was on the edge and alone. A tiger approached me. Patrick said, “Don’t worry [some name], I’ll take care of him.”

Annoyed, I answered, “That’s not my name, and I’m not worried.”

They began talking. I asked, “What are you talking about?” None replied to me, feeding my irritation.

Finally Patrick said, “You haven’t said what you think, [some name].”

I said, “Why can’t you get my name right? I introduced myself to you. I’m Michael. And I can’t say what I think because none of you would tell me what you’re talking about.”

The head guy said, “We’re talking about how we would summarize 2022. What would you say about it?”

After a second of thought, I said, “I’d call it one of the best years in the last fifty years.” I was saying that to get a rise out of them because they’d been saying that it was a bad year. Then, doing the math, because ‘fifty’ was an impulse, I realized that fifty years ago was when I turned sixteen.

Dream end.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

It’s a nice day for a white sky. Trees still demonstrate a belly-dance shimmy to the wind’s energetic music. Temperatures have climbed to 41 F. Sunshine sneaks in, lays a flash on us, and darts back away. A high of 46 F is on the way, they say.

Today is Tuesday, Jan. 3, 2023. I find myself surprised. Tuesday, already? Three days into the new year. Well, that was fast. It’s like the year is racing in to claim it as its own. Sunrise was at the same time as the last two days, 7:40 AM, but sunset has moved another minute back, to 4:51 PM. I cherish the extra light.

News has me delayed from the posting the theme music. First there was news that another friend died last year. Nobody knew what had happened to her. We kept asking others. Yesterday, we learned that she died the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving. Processing that used some emotional currency. Then, watching that NFL game last night, and witnessing what happened to the Bills Safety, Damar Hamlin. I instantly thought, cardiac arrest from how he dropped. When they mentioned he was hit in the chest during the play and I saw the impact, I was absolutely certain, and waited to hear what happened to him. Yes, it’s a violent game. The world is a violent place and yet we play these games. It’s another part of my socialization, playing it as a child, through my teenage years, and then watching it. I admire and appreciate the athleticism and experience vicarious joy when my team wins or the players do well. Hamlin’s injury is a terrible shock and highlights my frustrations with myself and my choices. Regardless, I despise those who try to blame Hamlin’s collapse on COVID-19 vaccinations. They offer no proof. They disgust me.

Then there was the House Speaker drama. Kevin McCarthy did not win. Not surprising to anyone following the buildup. What’s terrible is the impact to House business. None can be done until a Speaker is voted in. The question before us is, will compromise among the GOP factions be achieved so that we can move forward? The last time this happened, I read, was in 1923. Nine votes were required to elect a Speaker that year.

I’ve been swimming in dreams for the last two weeks. Reviewing today’s dreams, I thought, it’s a good thing that I’m not being charged for my dreams. Wouldn’t that be an interesting world? No dreams allowed until you pay the dream tax. That’s the law.

Anyway, as part of that cogitation, The Neurons burst into the morning mental music stream with a Blondie song from 1979, “Dreaming”. Seems to fit. Besides the nocturnal brain action, the energetic music affirms plans, hopes, and efforts — you know, the elements of the real-world dreams which I pursue through writing, plotting, and murder. Oops, not the last. Nobody has been harmed in my RW dreams except my ass and various organs.

Stay pos and test neg. I’m about to murder another cup o’ coffee. Hope good fortune has kick-started your 2023 and you can ride that fortune all year long. Cheers

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