Category: Dreams

Broken-down Cars Dream

Let’s begin in the middle. As the dream seemed to do.

My wife and I were out somewhere. Broken down. Limited view of the setting, like, not important, but seemed like thin scrub brush, black asphalt road, and dry. Vehicle was a black sports car. Could have been a Jaguar XK-E or a Mazda RX-7. Its identity fluttered and shifted, always black, a sleek sports car, but different makes each time I looked at it.

Another man, in a faded yellow short sleeve short and torn blue jeans, was there, trying to go somewhere else. Seemed homeless, with little going for him.

Also present was a young woman, also with a broken-down vehicle, a sixties era white Volkswagen Beetle.

We needed parts and tools to fix the cars. I could get mine running. Plans were formed and tried. We couldn’t get all four people into my car. Should someone be left behind? Maybe her Beetle could fit into my car.

The VW’s body was removed. They tried fitting it in. Sort of got it in there but the consensus rose, that’s not going to work. We had to get it back out but it was wedged in tight. I told them, “Stand back. I got this.” I reached into the car, picked it up, and pulled it out using leverage. “Impressive,” everyone said. The woman said, “You’re really strong.” My wife said, “He’s always been weirdly strong.”

I decided, “This is what we’ll do. Leave the VW here. Get in my car. Go to the nearest town. Get the tools and parts needed, fix my car, then I’ll return and fix the other.” I finished, telling the woman, “You’ll go back with me to your car.” Everyone accepted the plan. I got into my car’s driver seat. Wife got into the passenger side. The car had a hatch. The other two got in there. We left the hatch open and drive the twenty something miles to town.

First, we met a group of other people. They needed help, rides, money, etc., to get elsewhere. For some reason, they thought my wife and I were there to help them. That surprised us, but we agreed we would.

Next, we decided we needed clothes, shirts and pants, and entered a crowded discount store. I found an orange pullover with green trim. After putting it on, my wife came up in a new shirt. “I went with a sports team on my shirt,” she said. “Looks like you went with something else.”

The others needing help were white haired, elderly, thin or thick, men and women. They followed me around. After raising the hood and fiddling, I announced that I’d fixed my car. Now the woman and I would go get her Volkswagen. The woman said that she would sell it after it was fixed and buy a larger vehicle. She and I got into my car and zipped away. Seconds later in dream time, I was back in town when she drove her VW in.

Dream end.

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A Dream of Money & Fighting

Many of my recent dreams have been about self-doubt, communication problems, and confusion. Last night’s dream added a different twist. A sort of duality emerged right at the beginning.

I was a civilian but arrived at a military complex. Walking in, I assumed my military persona as an experienced senior NCO. I had a huge cache of cash with me, US currency, twenties, fifties, hundreds. I was trying to put them into a leather bag. There was so much, it would fit. I shoved some into pockets but was left with more.

While this transpired, I grew aware of three men watching me. One black, two whites. All taller than me. Bigger. But middle-aged, as I was in dream world.

I suspected they were planning to jump and rob me. I wasn’t going to permit that to happen and placed my keys in my hand with the tips outward between my fingers. One of the men came close. I turned on him as he reached for me, and swung hard at him.

I completely missed.

But he was surprised, taken aback. Dropping back, he stumbled, fell, hit his head, and lost consciousness. One down. Similar things happened with the other two, where I was completely clumsy and ridiculous in my fighting efforts — I am not a fighter in real life or dreams — but still won. With them dispatched, I went to find my room, number 2407.

The complex was like a maze. Signage was almost non-existence. Doors were closed but no locked. I ended up going through quarters for different people, along with operations areas and work rooms for different squadrons. People sometimes challenged me as I walked in on dental and surgical operations, counseling sessions, and newcomer orientations. I kept walking through, trying to find my way, often telling them when they accosted me, “I wouldn’t be here if you guys had signs. This is totally ridiculous.” I vowed as I went that I would write this up to give them feedback about the lack of signs, and the disorganization which I encountered.

When I found my room, it was locked. I had a key, though. It was a calm oasis within. Paused there, I reflected on the dream’s elements while still dreaming, and realized how much it reflected my personal issues, real and imagined. Then I drew out my cash and realized that I was wealthy.

That’s how it ended.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Hello to all you deceivers and believers, along with the in-betweeners. That’s something Willie Nelson sang about.

Despite everything that happened in everyone’s lives, at least in this reality, the world has continued spinning, bringing us to Saturday, April 8, 2023. Despite those pronouncements about day and date, nature and the world outside of humanity goes about its business. Date and day and time doesn’t matter to it. We’re the believers, deceivers, and in-betweeners worrying about it.

The sun lightened the sky at 6:42 this morning. The world will spin Ashlandia into darkness at 1944, as far as we know. It’s 45 F now but 66 is possible, the weather goobers tell us. Mind the rain, it’ll be in and out all day, dismaying the cats, who were counting on sunshine.

Today’s song comes from getting out of bed. As the light in the room grew louder, I said to myself, get up, get up. That shifted to rise up, but memory of a dream was preoccupying my energy. Toward the end of that contemplation, The Neurons slipped “Run” by Snow Patrol out of 2004 into the morning mental music stream. “Light up, light up, as if you have a choice.” That brought a chuckle up. Staying in bed isn’t an option. Words to write and books to read were waiting, along with coffee and feed.

Then there are the cats, talking about me as if I was dead, conversing with one another, “Is he alive?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna put a claw to his cheek and see what he does. Oh, yes, he’s alive.”

I guess I owe getting up to the cats. Well, they’ve been fed and released to the backyard where the hunt for sun entertains them.’re Stay pos. Coffee is ready so I’m gonna rise up and get a cup. There’s also vegan blueberry scones. Home made by my SO, who remains on a baking kick. I’m the beneficiary. Care for one? They go well with coffee. If you’re not a scone’r , she also made vegan chocolate chip muffins, which also go well with coffee. Plenty here and I assure you, they’re terrific.

Here’s Snow Patrol’s power ballad. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Deceptive-son is here. Ashlandia’s valley is deep with muted sunshine. But on my step out to test it all, winter still holds the ruler’s scepter as cold air keeps temperatures in the low thirties. Birds were plentiful and noisy, urging something that we non-birds didn’t understand. The floofs embraced sunlit spaces and conducted their post-breakfast washup. As J. Denver sang, “Sunshine on my kitties makes me happy.”

It’s Wednesday, April 5, 2023. Beer with friends is in the schedule for this afternoon. Weather spies passed a note that rain is on the way and the high will be 55 F. That’s a twenty-degree step up from now.

Democracy was vigorous in New York yesterday as former POTUS Trump showed up to be arrested. People turned up to protest him and support him, and to challenge ideas and positions. You can say it was an embarrassment for the country or a celebration of the nation’s first amendment.

A series about fast cars ruled the dream sequence. I drove red, silver, and blue cars, Ferraris, Porsches, Mercedes, among others, traveling to different places. Arriving at one place, I’d admired the view and then resume my travels. Sometimes I’d see a different car and know it as mine. Other times, I’d be told it’s mine and given keys. My wife was generally with me. Nothing eventful or untoward happened. I was just driving and enjoying myself.

With cars still revving in my head when I awoke, The Neurons were busy pulling out songs about cars. The one which ended up ruling the morning mental music stream is a ballad, “Drive”, by The Cars, 1984. If you know the song, it’s not about a car, but abut driving. The song embraces rhetorical questions, beginning, “Who’s gonna tell you when it’s too late? Who’s gonna tell you things aren’t so great?”

Enough of this typing. The day awaits. Stay pos and be strong. Here’s The Cars. And, look, coffee, and a slice of iced lemon cake. Ah, good morning.

Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Disappointed and relieved. We’ve had days of buildup about this storm on the way. Well, unlike the Feb & March storms, this one didn’t bother us. Not even on the nearby mountains. Still doesn’t feel like spring out there, though.

It’s 43 F today, Sunday, April 2, 2023. Sunlight is being shy but the clouds have gathered like a clowder of kittens hearing the kibble coming out. High will be 48 F, the weather oracles tell us. I think it might get higher, like 50. A few degrees make a difference in Ashlandia.

I dreamed about cats of my past last night. We — my wife and I — were in the white BMW 2002 we drove in Germany. Pulling off the road, we stopped. We were looking for somewhere, so we got out, asking, “Is this it?” It was a little wiggle of an asphalt road, working through ups and downs between older houses. Suddenly, many floof friends who graced us with their presence appeared, meowing greetings our way. Little Quinn, the fluffy furred gray black foot, was directly behind me when cats we didn’t know emerged and raced toward us. One was a diluted tortie, dashing right for us and Quinn. But tail up, they gave my leg a broadside of fur and went on to Quinn. The two greeted each other like familiars, as did all the cats, presently me with happiness. I mentioned it to my wife but she was walking away, my words unnoticed.

Today’s song is from 1971, by a gifted singer and songwriter named John Prine, who passed from COVID back in 2020. “Hello In There” is about aging and life changes. The Neurons brought it back to me as I watched people at the coffee house and on the streets. Some seemed very old. Now I might be considered old by some, like my wife. She is a year younger than me as she doesn’t fail to remind me. I’m 67.75 years old but as my Mom once answered me when I pointed out that she was getting elderly, “I’m talking about really old people, like 90, or 100.” That was a few years ago. Mom is almost to that age now. Like many, I’m a different age inside, 38 for me. But watching the other folks established in years passing by and pursuing activities, the John Prine song heard in my youth surfaced.

Stay pos and make this Sunday what you want. It’s writing, reading, and shopping for moi. I shall begin with coffee. Here’s the music. It’s a Sunday morning piece, a quiet offering for contemplation.

Cheers

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A Dream About Previous Work

It was such a long, uninterrupted dream. It involved Michele, an ex-coworker, and the BlackICE computer security product we sold and supported.

I came across Michele. She and I had worked together for ten years. She told me that BlackICE was working again. I was surprised; did it ever stop working? Not that I knew. She told me that it had ceased and then disappeared from the market. Then, suddenly, it was back. She, along with others, were trying to learn who brought it back.

I offered to help, which was gratefully accepted. She led me down a narrow path through a short field past a few trees. Going through a gray metal door, we entered a two-story place. A minimalist place, constructed from cinder blocks, it had two dirty windows. Old wooden workbenches with old, old, large computer pieces lined the walls. Up narrow metal stairs which shook when we walked up them, was a loft with an old gray desk, monitor and computer on it. Two people, men who I knew were engineers, were working, one downstairs, one up. Both greeted me.

“There it is,” one man said. “It’s live again.”

Michele had explained to me that they hoped that it would go live, allowing them to trace it. That’s what they started doing. She told me a more senior engineer was due and asked me to go outside and wait for him so I could bring him in. As I went to leave, he entered, slender with a gray beard and hair, wearing a tan trench coat, carrying a brown attaché. Someone said, “That’s Alexc,” to which I replied, “I know.” Seeing me, Alexsaid, “Oh, you.”

It sounded a little derogatory. I replied, “You know me, Alex. We’ve met before.”

He nodded, I guess acknowledging that.

Alex went to a computer, studied it, and then directed some activity. We were to continue monitoring the systems for further activity. Michele was told to go upstairs. She did. Though I wasn’t officially involved, I went up after her. There was another room up there which I hadn’t noticed before. Very dark, it lacked furniture but was loaded with stacked servers, keyboards and monitors, and was very cold. She settled on the floor in near darkness and used her jacket as a blanket. I told her, “I’ll stay up here with you if you want.”

She answered, “I appreciate that.”

I sat on the floor beside her, our backs against the wall. Alex came up to check on her. He said, “It’s going to take a very long time. We’re setting up another place. When it’s ready, I’ll send for you.” He then thanked me for helping and departed.

Michele and I began falling asleep. We decided to nudge each other to stay awake. One of the monitors leaped into life. Numbers and graphs danced across it. Jumping up, I said, “Michele, look.” Her eyes were closed and she was snoring. I shook her awake. Another engineer came up and said, “We’re set up at the new place. Come on.”

We arrived at the new place after a short walk through the night. This new facility was low and modern, cement, with blacked out glass windows. The three of us entered. Long consoles loaded with gear were manned. People greeted us. Michele was shown to her workstation. Alex asked me if I wanted to stay and be a part of it. This is where the dream ended.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

It’s been raining all night. No sunshine in sight. If clouds are your thing, the sky is a delight.

37 F outside but it’s cozy in mi casa. It looks like day destined for inside activities, like writing, reading, and of course cleaning. Cuz it’s Saturday. Saturday is about cleaning in this casa.

Slept great last night. No cat woke me. Didn’t get up to pee. No, didn’t pee the bed either, those of you who went there, as I would. Had a lengthy, uninterrupted dream about previous employment and co-workers. Sunrise before seven, sunset after 7:30 PM. This is Thursday, April 1, 2023.

The cats not waking me worried this morning. Tucker was on the bed by me, sitting and watching, looking like he thought, oh, good, he’s alive. I won’t need to eat him to survive. Papi was out on the sofa curled up. At my approach, he yawned, stood, stretched, and then join Tucker and I to get some breakfast. Both seemed well. Letting me sleep all night makes me suspicious, though. I wonder what they’re up to.

I have The J. Geils Band playing “Must of Got Lost” from 1974 in the morning mental music stream. I can’t trace the origins or intent for playing this tune. The Neurons tell me, the reason must have got lost, then they cackle like crazy folks.

Stay pos. and enjoy your day. I’m off for brekkie and coffee. Here is the music. Cheers

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The Roger Moore Dream

I was given a DVD. “Review this. It’s your life.”

I don’t know who spoke to me. I took the disc and put it in a player and sat in a chair, feet on ottoman, remote in my hand. Surprise number one: I looked like a young Roger Moore.

Watching the video of a young child doing things outside in bright sunshine, I felt doubt. This isn’t my life, is it? Doubts increased when a blonde white woman in a red dress showed up. That’s not me. She was driving a red Lamborghini Urraco. Dream me drove a gray Urraco. She couldn’t be me, could she? My doubts began diminishing as a watched her driving around, walking around, attending classes, talking to people, all snippets, all while she wore various red dresses.

Another woman, Campbell, came on screen. Also white, brunette, she drove a white Urraco. White cars are not my preference, so it couldn’t be me, but she weirdly resembled me — she could be Roger Moore’s sister. Like the other, I witnessed her doing various activies always dressed in white but not always a dress. All of it was weirdly familiar, as if another person had been plugged into my life. These were dream memories, not RL memories.

Then I appeared in a dark gray Lamborghini Urraco, the car dream me drove. Okay, that is me, I was confident. But how could all of these be me when two are female? It has to be more about us than the cars. But the memories being shown were familiar. While I watched, I thought, the car represents my body. Why different colors, then? To present different aspects of myself? Sounded feasible but needed more research.

Stopping the video, I moved over to my desk and laptop, and searched for colors in dreams. A man came to the office door and said, “You need to finish the review. We have good things planned for you but you need to know yourself before we can go forward.”

I replied, “That sounds very new age-y.”

The man was short, white, black hat, black suit. “Finish your review. Get on it.”

I felt impelled to do as he said and rose, moving around the desk to continue.

Dream end.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

I raise the bedroom blinds a few minutes before seven to see how the day looks. I know it’s Wednesday but it looks like Tuesday. To be fair, Tuesday wasn’t a bad day, with some spring breaking through winter’s facade in the mid-afternoon, to treat us to what it should be for about six wonderful minutes. Then winter wind knifed in, mocking us, not yet.

So here with are with clouds. A sun is up there, we know, but the clouds front them. If we saw this sky from space, it’d be a little gray marble. Rain is expected this afternoon. 36 F now, up from 32, the weather minders say we’ll reach 50 F. Sunrise is after 7:30 PM.

Dreams have loaded up my mind. Out of that porridge, The Neurons decided the appropriate song is Queen, “Keep Yourself Alive”, 1973. It’s a recording of a live show with everyone alive, young, and in good health. Terrific performance.

Speaking of cats, Tucker, my b&w almost long-haired floof with crazy-head whiskers and ginormous paws, has a habit of laying down beside me in bed and then stroking my chin with claws. He came to us with one damaged eye so his depth perception is a little hinkie. Thus, the claws pluck my skin. Not as adorable as you might think when you’re half awake.

Stay positive and test negative. Friends just enduring a short but brutal COVID bout, reminding it that it’s still out there. We’re in the extreme minority when masking, which we still do in many public buildings. But you do you and I’ll do me. Here’s the tune, and look, coffee! Praise be.

Cheers

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