Category: Dreams

The Bread Dream

I was having dinner at my in-laws’ house. The small dining room was crowded with several tables, Maple wood, Americana design. The tables are full of food. It’s like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, al set up at once. The tables and chairs are crowded together, making walking around difficult. Careful paths must be followed.

I was making a plate up for my mother-in-law. In RL, she died several years ago. I’d filled half of a flowery China plate with food for her. I was walking around with the plate in my hand, looking for mashed potatoes. While looking for them, I kept finding huge stashes of bread. It was all variations available – rye loaves, sourdough, sliced, rolls, hamburger and hot dog buns, some small, fancy loaves, seeded loaves, long baguettes. Wholly unlike my RL in-laws who ate white hamburger and hot dog buns and Roman Meal bread. I never saw a baguette in their house in forty-five years of knowing them. The bread is everywhere, on the tables, under the tables, on the chairs, on the floor, in the corners. Some of it is bagged and some of it is loose.

She was on the other side of the room with her back to me. I said to her, “Wow, you sure do have a lot of bread. Why do you have so much bread?” An answer wasn’t given; I kept looking for the mashed potatoes.

Dream shift. It’s now night. My wife and I are in a car. We’re waiting to pick up something from my FIL. In RL, he passed away at the end of 1991. I’m waiting to back into a spot on the street. The street is wet. Before I can park where I want, I need to wait for a truck to pull out and leave, otherwise, I’ll block him in. I’m watching the truck in my mirror, muttering, “Come on, come on, what is taking so long?”

The truck finally pulls away. I back into the desired spot, and parallel park with amazing perfection. My FIL comes out. I open the trunk. I turn to see what he’s loading. I’m incredulous as I realize he’s putting bread in the trunk. I tell him, “Why do you need so much bread? You have a ton of the stuff at home.”

He closes the trunk and tells me to pull back to another location. I do that, and then get out to see how I’m parked. The dark car is perfectly parked again. My FIL comes out with his arms full and tells me to open the back door. I do; he puts more bread in it. I ask again, “Why do you want so much bread?”

Dream ends.

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The Mustang Dream

Dreamed my wife bought me a Mustang convertible as a surprise. Let’s get into it.

To start, it was night. I left the house and drove around with a friend in his Mustang. He had some special edition, white with fat blue stripes. As he drove, I realized we were in my current town, Ashland. Stopping in the street parallel to some apartments, he powered his window down. I was asking, “What are you doing?” Grinning, he responded, “Wait.”

What he was doing was using a remote control to open and close his trunk. He’d stopped parallel to another Mustang, which was doing the same thing. Behind my buddy’s car was another Mustang, white with blue stripes, doing the same thing. “It’s how we greet each other,” my friend said. I said, “I didn’t know there were so many Mustangs in this town.”

He dropped me off at my house, which wasn’t my RL place. It was now day. A light blue Mustang convertible with its top down was sitting in the driveway. The interior was dark blue. The car wasn’t new, but gently used. I went into the house to see who owned the car and my wife announced, “Surprise! I bought that for you.”

I had to leave to pick up friends, so I took the Mustang. I picked up friends from a military unit I served in, and we drove around. We weren’t in my town any longer, but a large city’s business district. I checked things on the Mustang and commented on it. I wondered about its price, too. I also kept going the wrong way down one-way streets. I’d catch myself almost immediately and then turn around, but it was embarrassing.

I dropped off friends and returned home. A woman was there. She said she was the car sales rep and wanted to know how I liked the car. As we talked, my wife joined me and the three of us walked over to the car dealership. I was ambivalent about keeping it — I didn’t know the mileage, the year, or the cost — and told all that. The dealership was closing. We all rushed to get out the doors before it did because we were worried that we’d be forced to stay overnight in the dealership. The rolldown doors were closed, but two workers raised them and slipped out, closing them behind them. I then did the same, holding the doors up for me and my wife to leave.

The dream ended.

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The Designing Dream

First, a woman and I each were given a task to design a swimming pool. This was done in a wide building with low lights. I couldn’t see anything except our work. We each built one but came up with the same L design in off-white. We built them quickly. Along the way, we had lessons in ensuring seams were smooth and tight. Then it came time to fill it. I rolled a suitcase up to one side, inside the pool, jockeying it around on its wheels until I thought it perfectly parked. I then opened the suitcase and began pulling out clothing. I examined each piece, ensuring it was neatly folded, then piled the clothes around me. The clothes piles multiplied like rabbits during breeding season.

That segment ended. I was told that I need to come up with a new ear canal. I quickly devised one, put it in someone’s ear, then walked into it. The ear canal was straight, round, and light blue, but tapered as it went in, ending in the ear drum. “Oh,” I said, inspecting it. “It shouldn’t go straight back to the ear drum like that. The ear drum is left too exposed. Curves are needed to protect it.” Developing curves, the ear canal grew light pink. I backed out of it until I was standing beside a man looking into his ear.

A new segment began. I was at my aunt’s house. She’d had a new place designed and built, she said, effusively greeting me amid charming smiles. Many cousins were present, not just from that aunt, but from all my uncles and aunts on Dad’s side. I was about twenty. They were all eager to impress me and show me around. The setting seemed luxurious. Arched stained-glass windows lined the walls, along with paintings in gold frames. Dark green houseplants were everywhere. Dark green carpeting, and overstuffed leather chairs and a sofa arranged polished, dark wood end tables and coffee tables completed the setting. I could see into other rooms as well, glimpsing a long, polished dining table, part of a modern kitchen, and the side of a billiard table through an open doorway.

A cousin said, “Let me show you around.” In RL, this is a man who was four years younger than me, who died years ago, passing away in his forties from a heart attack as a pizza was delivered to him. This aunt wasn’t his mother, either; her youngest sister was the deceased cousin’s mother.

I asked where a specific room is. He answered, “That’s downstairs.” Seeing a staircase that went down, I confidently headed for it.

He caught up with me and asked, “What are you doing?”

I said, “You said that it was downstairs.”

“You can’t get to it from those stairs. Follow me.” He turned and led me up a staircase to an open area above everything. Looking down, I saw people with drinks engaged in conversations and milling about the rooms. My cousin pointed to another flight of stairs going down. “That’s how you get down.”

I said with some wonder, “You need to go up to get down?” I thought that was a strange design.

My aunt appeared beside me and nodded with a smile. “You need to go up to get down.”

The dream ended.

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The Five Incidents Dream

I was back in the military. The dream featured people I worked with from several units.

It began with an incident involving a major who had a handgun. This was morning. The duty day was just starting. I was a senior non-commissioned officer. I was walking through the HQ building with a cup of coffee. The major had spent part of the previous night threatening to shoot someone, incorporating a real incident that once took place. He’d been protecting himself, he told everyone. In the dream, I was involved because the commander walked by. As he did, he told the major, “Brief him on the incident. Make sure he’s aware.” He pointed to me. Then he told me, “I want you up to speed on this.” The commander went on.

No problem, I understood. That was part of how things were done. The major explained to me how he’d felt driven to defend himself by things he heard and saw. I had the gun removed from him and went on. Another pair of people found me. They’d been involved in a confrontation over suspected adultery. They’d been told to come and tell me about it so I could counsel them on what to do. As the day progressed, I was approached by others with things which had happened.

Several hours had passed. There were now four incidents involving eight people reported: the major with the gun; a couple accusing one another of cheating; some missing money and theft; and a fight over presumed insults and mocking. I suddenly realized that this wasn’t happenstance. Someone was coordinating pieces of misinformation to orchestrate confrontation, which resulted in division and distrust, and distracted us. By now, it was almost the duty day’s end. I went about, collecting the people who’d been involved so that I could specifically warn them that they would probably hear or see something else overnight to further anger, frighten, or confuse them, because someone was using them and their situation to sabotage us and our mission completion. After bringing the eight together, because I thought that by giving them the larger picture of what had transpired, they would better understand, I told them that they needed to be on guard against that, and to not react. After briefing these eight people, I headed off to tell the commander.

I’d seen the commander throughout the day. A little humorously, ‘the commander’ was played by different commanders from throughout my career. All were colonels, though, regardless of how they were later promoted. While going for the commander, I heard a discussion going on among a cluster of officers. Among them was the deputy commander.

She was complaining that the night duty officer schedule had been changed. As a result, nobody was scheduled to be the duty officer that night. The person on the schedule wasn’t available because they were on leave and traveling. Others were certain that this individual wasn’t the one scheduled to be on duty, regardless of what the roster said, but they weren’t sure who it was supposed to be.

I wasn’t surprised. I told the deputy commander that I believed the schedule change had been done deliberately by someone trying to hamstring our effectiveness to respond. I then told her it was the fifth incident and explained the previous four. After all, what were the chances that all of those things would happen at the same time? All were based on festering, long-term issues, but now they were suddenly coming to a head at the same time? I was dubious of that coincidence.

I then warned the deputy commander that I thought she needed to have a backup plan to her backup plan, and then contingency and backup plans to those backup plans, to the order of five. Further, that there was at least one person in the unit behind this, because the officer duty schedule was in a secure area. One of our people had to have been the one who changed it.

Dream end

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The Confused Writing Dream

I was in a small building where there was a small office busy with people. It had a feel that seemed lifted from a 1950s movie. They had published something. Different authors were asked to read it and express what they thought. I was one, and my response was not like everyone else’s, triggering a new path.

Yet, I was never certain what was going on. I’d read and commented on something, but it seemed vague throughout the dream. My response made them ask me attend a conference with them. An old friend, a college professor, was going, too. He and I would go together, driving across country in a big, dark blue Lincoln Continental. He prepared to go in a hectic frenzy. I seemed baffled about everything he did and confused about what was going to happen next. Yet, soon we were in the car, driving across the country through light rain.

He was driving. I said something about seeing people needing a ride and wishing we could help them. Next thing that I knew, he pulled over for a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker climbed into the back. I offered to take a turn driving but the professor insisted that he was fine.

Seeing several more people on the side of the road, he pulled over and offered them a ride. I was leery of this, feeling that we didn’t have the room, but people crammed into the car. I looked into the back seat; it looked like a small, cluttered room. A blanket covered the rear window. That was to keep out the light so people could sleep, I guessed, but worried that it was illegal and we’d be pulled over. I again offered to drive, but he dismissed the offer.

We arrived at the conference. My impression was that it was a giant flea market, although it was indoors. People selling junk seemed to cover every square foot. Moving was done slowly, carefully, patiently. Food was being sold. I was hungry but passed on getting something to eat because I was reminded that we were having a big banquet. Someone gave me cookies, which I ate.

The head, a tall and bald white, middle-aged male wearing hornrim glasses, gave a short speech. He told everyone else that I was going to write about my impressions of the article they’d published. That startled me. Everyone applauded except me. Bewilderment was overtaking me. I was to do what, when? I didn’t understand but didn’t know how to ask the question.

Then, without me doing anything, the professor told me it was time to go. I realized that it was the weekend and that he needed to be back in order to teach Monday morning. We rushed around, packing things into the car. I offered to drive, since he’d driven us out there. He agreed. The dream ended as I entered the car and put my hands on the steering wheel.

7

The Movie Dream

I dreamed I was in a movie. Then I realized it was a movie and not life, so I stepped out of it. But then, remembering that I’d seen the movie, I tried recalling how it went. It seemed different, so I stepped back in to follow.

The dream was about a man protecting the Pope. Dressed in a black leather trench coat, with a black hat pulled low over his head, he was in a big white Lincoln Town Car. After some changes in camera perspective and mild action, it emerged that he’d been shot. People were after him and he was after them, trying to be proactive by getting them before they got him. I was very young, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with shaggy brown hair. At one point, I was accused of being the one who’d shot him. I was ready to proclaim my innocence, but the Pope’s bodyguard identified me and said, “He’s one of the good guys.” I was flattered to be cited as a good guy.

Now, though, I felt like I had to live up to that billing. I kept my eye on the Pope’s bodyguard, and spied others trying to sneak up on him. I went to give him warning, but he’d noticed them and was on it. It was at this point in my dream when I thought, wasn’t this a movie? Stepping out, I watched on a big screen as a fine silver thread was spooled out along a winding path through a business area. The silver thread was lit.

A fuse, I realized. But isn’t that different from the movie? That’s not how I remembered it happening.

I stepped back into it. Something was going to explode. I raced forward and scuffed out the silver thread. That ignited all manner of chaos as bad guys — in white clothing, or light clothing, male and female — rushing out to re-light the fuse and the Pope’s bodyguard fighting them off.

Which is where it ended, or was interrupted, by an unnamed cat called Tucker.

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The Sheriff Dream

I was asked if I would be Sheriff. People would need to vote me in, of course. I accepted the offer because I didn’t think it would come about. I didn’t campaign so I was surprised to hear that I’d won. I was also surprised to hear me referred to as ‘the short guy with the short hair’.

I was young and happy. Becoming Sheriff was something I took seriously but was also that I wasn’t going to let dominate me. As I was leaving to walk around with a friend, an older man sharply said in passing, “I prefer my sheriff with his gun.”

Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten my gun. Guess I needed to carry that around. As I began walking out with my gun and my friend, the same older acquaintance said, “I prefer my sheriff to wear his gun in his holster properly.”

Oh, silly me, of course. With my friend’s help, I holstered my gun and put on my holster around my waist. He and I walked around. He was going on a journey to the north. I was helping him review what he needed to take with him and offering any help that I could give. Everywhere we went, people commented on the ‘short-haired guy who is our new sheriff’. I thought that was funny.

Rain fell. I had to put on a coat. That demanded I rearrange my gun holster. My friend helped me with that. As soon as we did it, the rain stopped. He and I entered a shop. An argument was going on. As it escalated, someone said, “Sheriff, can you intervene?”

I walked over and told the participants to break it up. They asked, who are you? I replied, “I’m the sheriff.”

They laughed. “You’re not the sheriff.”

“I am,” I answered. “I have a badge, I have the power and authority, and I have a gun.”

That shut them up. They walked away. My friend and I walked outside. I said good-bye to him and shook his hand.

Dream end.

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The Pencil Threat Dream

In my early twenties, I was second-in-charge of an enormous global competition. People had gathered from around the world. The games’ name started with a Z and was something like Zweimeckel. Others worked for me as judges, referees, and umpires. They rushed about, watching and ruling over the various events underway and scoring them, a noisy, busy sight under blue skies, while I strode along, grinning and nodding in approval. I mostly saw the workers and was indifferent to the events and competitors. Those things only mattered to me if something went wrong.

Something did. A young female competitor broke the games’ harmony with sudden threats. I responded to the site and found she was complaining, then grabbed a yellow pencil off a clipboard and brandished it like a sword. Her threats found laughter: what could she do with a pencil? “Plenty,” she defiantly responded, and then pulled the pencil point out. “I can stab someone with this?” The point was so small, she couldn’t hold onto it and kept dropping it. That brought a round of greater laughter.

Everyone paused, waiting to see what I would say. I ruled that she wasn’t a threat but that she was dismissed from the games. She was being removed as I turned away.

Dream end.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Sunrise came, quiet as smoke, 6:43 AM. Clouds dominated. Soft rang sang a light ditty. We’re happy for the rain. Give us a little more, please. It’ll be a good day to light the fire and pull out a book. I’m reading Razorblade Tears, and I’m eager to continue.

Today is Thursday, March 3, 2022. Sunset will be at 6:03 PM. Meanwhile, our temperature is 43 F, with a high of 47 possible. A train is chugging through town, its warning horns a higher note under the engine’s low, steady thrum. The tracks are about three quarters of a mile from my house. The sounds remind me of my childhood. Grandpa was a model train enthusiast and bought me train sets, which I set up, emulating him. Many seasons have been swept under the rug since I last played with trains.

I have “Helen Wheels” by Paul McCartney and Wings from 1973 playing loud in the morning mental music stream. Came about because of a dream. Awoke thinking about said dream, which prompted thoughts about said song, and here I am. The dream was about traveling in cars, so the dream and song connection make sense, as the song is also about traveling.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vaxes and boosters as needed. Speaking of needed, I think I’ll go into the kitchen and help a cup of coffee fulfill its purpose of melding with my taste buds. Here’s the tune. Cheers

2

The Silver Cars Dream

Again, my dream made me a young man. I was with others, driving in cars on wide, busy boulevards. Sunshine blessed us so we had the roof down on my car, which was turquoise. An entertaining time was being had. It was all about a car show. All these old model cars were there to be judged. We guessed there were hundreds, maybe thousands. Old Porsche variations and European sports cars and GTs dominated, but there were also 1960s and early 1970s American muscle — Mustangs, Camaro Z28s and SS, Firebirds (including Trans-Ams), Cougars, GTOs, Cudas, and Chargers. All the cars were silver except for a few black, white, and turquoise ones, with one other exception. Silver abounded, making us laugh.

We had a list of the cars and were driving around to see them but the cars being judged were also being driven around, creating an entertaining game. Friends had their cars entered, and so did Dad, and old silver Thunderbird. Although I was sometimes driving, I was a passenger at one point, looking at the list of cars. I call it a list, but it was like a small newspaper. The car’s make, model, and year would always be in bold. I was running my thumb along the lists, exclaiming as I noted friends and celebrities’ cars, when I looked up.

Traffic was going in three lines in each direction, very busy. Ahead of us was by several car lengths was the car, I believed, the rarest and most exotic. I said, “That’s it! Catch that car.” The driver (don’t know who it was, never saw them) accelerated. Dad, who was in another car, which was gold, the single gold car in sight, said, “You’re never gonna catch them.” I replied, “Watch us.” Our car shot forward.

But the car we were chasing — was it a Jaguar, Ferrari, Lamborghini? — accelerated more. Pulling away, like they were trying to evade us, they began cutting in and out of traffic. “They’re going to crash,” I said. Dad, from the other car said, “That car is never going to crash. It can’t crash.”

Just then, the car we chased spun and flipped. Wildly, it righted in air and landed neatly. Now facing the wrong way, straddling two lanes, and now black, it sat there as cars went around it. Then it executed a backflip with a twist, landing on its wheels, now silver again, back in the right direction, in one lane, and accelerated away.

So cool, we shouted with laughter in my car. So cool.

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