When I was brushing my teeth after lunch, I remembered a dream I had last night. Basically, all that happened in the dream is that a young woman of color came to me and said, “I’m a dentist. Let me fix and clean your teeth.” She sat me in a dentist chair and did some work on them. I don’t have the greatest of teeth — I was terrible at taking care of them as a child — but no current problems. Wonder what made my mind dream that up?
A Commnication Dream
I was traveling alone. Between flights, I was staying at a hotel. The hotel was pleasant, and I was in a mini suite. It was a smooth trip. I had everything I needed and all was working. My fight was at 6:35 AM. I thought that was perfect; I always prefer traveling early. I made my plans, working backward, getting there ninety minutes before the flight, traveling to the airport, checking out of the hotel. Meanwhile, I passed time by having dinner, surfing the net, having a drink, and socializing with strangers. All smooth, under control, relaxed. I decide to dress, check out, and head for the airport. But before I do, I’ll check emails. I found that my wife had sent me messages but that I’d missed them. She wants me to call.
I check out and call her on the way to the airport. The connection is horrible. She’s angy and upset. It sounds like she’s telling me someone died. I set my phone down. It gets misplaced but two woman come up with it as I’m searching for it. The phone has a code on it in red numbers: 752. I somehow understand that this a code to lock the phone because a problem has been detected. I’m exasperated because I don’t think the phone has a problem, and I need to use it now. But using it requires me to call corporate to get it unlocked. I’m confused about where to call because I don’t work. Is it IBM, ISS, Network ICE, Tyco, some other corporation who employed me?
Somehow, though, using my computer, I manage to get the help needed to unlock the phone. It’s still plenty of time before my flight. I call my wife; she tells me my brother-in-law died. Who? Which? Give me details. Instead, she chastises me because I’d not called her in several days. I realize that she’s right, that I hadn’t called or emailed her in almost seven days.
The dream ends.
The Graduation Dream
My wife and I were attending a graduation. We were young adults but were back to watch our high school’s latest graduation ceremony. We thought it would be ‘fun’. She and I were dressed business casual, although she wore a light blue sun hat.
We arrived and milled around, part of a large crowd in a huge cafetorium. I met a woman about my age. She wore a dark purple skirt and a lighter purple blouse. Brunette, she and I hit it off, flirting with one another.
An announcement was made for everyone to find a seat. My wife and I selected some advantageous seats up by the front, by the stage. As we looked around, we realized that we were alone in that section, which was about twenty by fifty feet, because it was marked off by tape. Somehow, we’d missed seeing the tape. Meanwhile, the woman in purple and I spotted one another across the room and exchanged waves. As I looked around, I saw that everyone was staring at us. The rest of the people were either on one narrow end of the cafetorium or were behind the tape on risers behind us. Most were dressed very casually; one young bearded man that I saw looking at me was wearing a sagging, worn yellow tee shirt. He reminded me of the actor/comedian, Chris Elliot.
“We need to move,” I told my wife. “I think we’re in the graduation area for the students.” Which, kind of made sense; why else would it be blocked off? But chairs weren’t provided for them. I didn’t see anyone in cap and gown and guessed that maybe they’d enter and stand in this section.
We stood to do so. At that point, an announcer said something that we didn’t understand. All the people behind us on the risers rose, turned and went up and out of the building. The people on the left remained, but stood and began chatting and collecting their items to leave.
“They’re not having a ceremony,” I said, realizations arriving. “It’s over. They’re all leaving.” It was the strangest thing I’d ever witnessed.
We walked around, talking to others. I didn’t seem to know anyone. My wife said something about saying hello to someone just as the woman in purple arrived and greeted us. The woman told me she found me very attractive. I thanked her and answered, “I have to go find my wife!” Then I scurried away, peering through the crowd for her. It took several minutes of walking around but then I spotted her hat. For some reason, I then said to her, “I can’t believe that you slept in that hat.”
The dream ended.
Monday’s Theme Music
Today is Monday, January 24, 2022. Happy anniversary to you, if it’s your anniversary. Happy birthday, I wish you a lifetime of increasing joy and happiness.
The sun’s slow-mo chase, pushing night back as the earth did its spin, began in our valley at 7:32 AM. Night’s turn to chase day will begin at 5:15 PM as the spin takes the sun out of our sky one more time. Now 37 degrees F, it was 35 degrees, with a projected high of 62, making it pretty much a repetition of yesterday. Yet, the mild pleasant weather is a worry; yes, it’s nice, but we need the snow, WE NEED THE SNOW. Otherwise, it’s gonna be another hot, dry summer coping with wildfires and water rationing.
I experienced five dreams last night that I remember. I typically remember two to four. Normally two are sharp and the others are more like photos that aren’t in focus. This time, all five were sharp. Amusing to me. “You’re a busy head at night, aren’t you?” I told myself. I typically awaken — usually because a cat has done something — take care of the cat, recall the dream, think it over, and zip back to sleep. Last night remained SOP. Two of the dreams were military things, which, yawn, I wrote about without giving them much greater thought. I posted about the tornado dream, but also dismissed the two erotic dreams. Been having those more frequently. Weird to me because I’d think that’d be contrary to expectations, that I’d have fewer erotic dreams as I age instead of more. Something to add to the research list.
Today’s morning mental music stream song is “Found Out About You” by the Gin Blossoms from 1993. That song and Lenny Kravitz’s “Are You Gonna Go My Way” were playing in my head after one of the erotic dreams, first one, and then the other. I asked my mind, “What exactly is going on in there? Are you doing drugs behind my back?” My mind assured me that it was not doing any drugs except a beer once in a while along with my daily caffeine. “Okay,” I replied, “but I have my eye on you.”
Here’s the music. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vaccine and boosts when you can. Gotta go get my mind its fix. Cheers
The Tornado Dream
I remember five dreams from last night. Two were military dreams. The enticing dream was the tornado dream.
I was a small boy when I went outside to look at the sky. As children will, I heard of something happening. I didn’t understand most of it but the gist was that it had something to do with the sky and the weather.
So out I went. It seemed pleasant outside. Calm. I looked across a rolling housing development similar to one where I resided outside of Pittsburgh, PA, when I was young. Low lines of brick houses with aluminum siding and one and two car garages aligned on either side of neat, wide streets. No sidewalks, all the houses were setback, with proudly maintained green lawns and tidy bushes.
As I’m looking, a shout rings out. I see a man and woman pointing, then children pointing. I hear them shouting, “Tornado!” They’re pointing toward me. I look up. A narrow, silvery gray funnel is descending from the clouds toward me.
Crying for help, I throw myself down and clutch the grass, yelling as the funnel cloud rotates around me, tugging at my body. I hang on, shouting for Mom, “Help, the tornado is trying to get me.” I look back. It’s still there. Other funnels are descending.
I keep hanging on until the tornado vanishes. Nobody comes to help me, but I survive unscathed. Dream end.
Saturday’s Theme Music
Another day arrived. Called Saturday, January 22, 2022, it was laden with promise and dread, hope and weariness, much like other days. Daylight broke around 7:33 AM. A narrow stretch of white clouds, like snakes spotted slithering away, caught the first eastern light, gray, pink, and silver. Frost huddles in shadows as the temperature hung around 32 degrees F. The temperature has since marched briskly up to 37. The sun counsels us, don’t worry, we’ll get to the mid-fifties today. Then the sun will slip away (about 5:13, they say), and we’ll head toward midnight and a fresh new day.
Sarah McLachlan’s 1997 song, “Building A Mystery”, is the mental music stream’s morning inhabitant. A dream dialed the song up. Dreams enriched my slumber all night. The song was the final component of one dream that involved my wife, me, nekkidness, and a search for clothing in another person’s house. The song’s enigmatic words about an individual — perhaps a fucked-up man, which often is used to describe moi — was a nice echo to the dream’s fading scenes and is a good choice for today’s theme music.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed (make it an N95, if possible), and get the vax and booster jabs. Now you wait here. I’ll fetch the coffee. Here’s something to soothe your psyche while you wait. Cheers
The Power Crystals Dream
The dream reminded me of a video game.
I was a young man striding up and down hills beside a well-maintained highway. A clear and sunny day with pleasant temperatures, I could see a long way and was enjoying the trees, grasses, and glimpses of the shiny city that was my destination. There were no cars anywhere. Like a video game, I had discovered power crystals. In hues of every color available to an artist on his palette, they were slightly smaller than a walnut. I had learned that possessing these crystals gave me powers. I was eager to collect as many as I could. As I gathered them, I would put them in me by pressing them against me until my body sucked them in.
Once in a while, I paused to test what I could do. Yes, I could fly. Yes, I was elastic man and could stretch my limbs. Yes, I could see greater and greater distances with sharper clarity. I could hear more and access people’s thinking. Then I could run faster. Amazed and delighted, I kept collecting crystals while slowly devising ideas about what I would do with my new powers.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
I have the Blues Traveler singing and playing in Wednesday’s morning mental music stream. I ask myself why this is so. It started with “Run Around” before drifting to “Hook” and finally, “Most Precarious” from 1997. It was a commuting song, you know? A tune heard on the radio while driving to or from work, or to go shopping. I lived in the SF Bay Area at that time, in a little town called Mountain View. I worked in Menlo Park, which was just a bounce up Highway 101. Traffic on that short trip usually ate forty-five minutes to an hour twice a day, morning and evening, so there was time for songs on the airwaves. Dreams, of course, took me to that time period on the git. A co-worker from the life era showed up in a dream. Makes me wonder what’s going on in their life. Googled them but nada was found.
Today is January 19, 2023. The sun’s promise of warmth and light broke into my reality at 7:35 AM. The sunlight will do its goodbye at 5:10 PM. Mild and dry weather still dominates us. The low was 41 F and the high will be about 55 F, depending upon where you sit in the valley, and how shadows enfold you. It is now 46 F.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask to meet needs, and receive the jabs as you can. Here’s my coffee, and here’s the music. Cheers
A Dream Mystery
This was a fun dream. I wasn’t actually a participant. This was more like watching a television, a police procedural – mystery – thriller. What really struck me was the main character. Tall white man in his mid-thirties with fine gray hair. His name was Andi Houle. The name caused a pause in my dream as the neurons chased that name. They came up with Houle from the tv series “19-2” (he was the sergeant). Why Andi? The neurons shrugged their shoulders over that.
In the dream, Houle was investigating a murder. As he did, he began realizing that evidence was adding up that he was the murder. Someone was framing him. Of course, he was racing to save himself and find the real killer and understand what was going on. Sadly, I was awakened before the climax. Damn cats.
The Beer & Organization Dream
Middle-aged to the young side, I’d join some sort of commune. We were interested in helping one another by joining resources. It was a sprawling, wooded compound with multiple cabins and buildings. I wasn’t part of the core group, but I was an early member, joining while the group was still small. I was member number ten.
After joining, I noticed that they were a bit disorganized. I’d always had a knack and desire for organization and began addressing the organizational needs. I didn’t want to be aggressive about it nor upset the balance; I just wanted us to be more organized. As newcomers arrived to join — a young couple, then a smiling, middle-aged white male (who turned out to be retired military, like me), then several single women — I began inserting gentle reminders to the people placing them about where we’d put others, suggesting we could write these things down.
Several people suggested we have beer. A group of us sat down and sampled several different beers — IPAs, red and brown ales, stouts, porters, lagers. Another man asked me how I viewed the general groups. I told him my first preferences were stouts and porters, then ale and IPA, followed by pilsners and lagers. But drinking beer was like listening to music, and my preference and desires changed with the moment. We had a good conversation, full of laughter, about this.
We went back to the compound. It was a sunny day. More arrivals entered. One of them, a tall, tall-haired man, came to me and suggested I was the resident beer expert. I denied that and we joked back and forth. Then he invited me to have a beer with him. We sat down at a table. A woman asked us what we wanted. I wanted to know if she had any Oregon beers. She didn’t know and invited me to look around.
While looking at the beers and going through them, I noticed a food section that’d fallen into chaos. It was part of a circular display. Beers were on top; under them were layers of food, napkins, and utensils. Gleaning what was meant to happen with the setup, I re-organized it into what I thought was a better flow. A burly black man came up and announced, “I’m the proprietor of this establishment. I saw what you did with that display, and I’d like to offer you a job.”
We shook hands, and I thought about it, but declined the job with a smile. He replied, “I didn’t think you’d take it because you don’t look like you need it, but it never hurts to ask.” He told me to help myself, that he’d cover my bill.
I was flattered by his generosity. I found a dark, creamy ale to take back to my body. I poured into a glass; the creamy head rose up and overflowed. I sipped off head, laughing while I did. After talking about what I liked about the beer, I invited him to sample some. He did and declared that it wasn’t to his taste. “Too creamy.” I understood his criticism, as others had said that. “It’d been good as a beer float,” I told him. He’d never had one. I explained what it was and offered to order one for him when I realized that I was supposed to be meeting others. I said bye and left.
The others were supposed to meet me in a pub along the street. There were dozens of pubs, so I started at one end and entered, looking for them. Someone bought be a beer to sample at each. I thought it was would be boorish to decline their offers, so I accepted and drank. By the time I reached the last pub and found my friends, I’d drunk a lot of beers.
The new place was light and airy, with light pine walls, many windows, and picnic tables. I apologized to the others for being late and found that one of them, a female, worked there as a server. I didn’t know that and told her so, then sat. She brought me a beer.
On the table was a pair of women’s athletic shoes and a tube of pink gel. I wondered about these. The serving woman pointed out that the shoes had grass stains. The pink gel was supposed to get them off but it didn’t work.
Well, that was like a challenge to me. I took a shoe and applied pink gel. The gel started sliding off. She said, “That’s what always happened.” Undeterred, I used my finger to spread the pink gel along the shoe. Like that, the grass stains disappeared.
“You did it. You’re my hero,” she said.
The dream ended.
