Category: Dreams

A Dream of Nerds

I was on location somewhere. Huge friggin’ building. Mixed used. Offices, classrooms, and dorms. Not sure of my purpose there. Clearly a visitor as others introduced me. Looked me over. Showed me the ups and downs. Overall, the raisons d’être seemed about learning, teaching, and solving problems related to electronic communications and computer networks. We would form impromptu erratic groups that changed composition. All were young. Very smart. Male and female of multiple races and ethnicities were present. After forming in halls or lobbies, we’d be told something like, “So and so wants us in the blah blah blah,” and off we’d scurry. Never caught names. None of the faces were familiar. They were distinctly nebbish and nerdish, though. A vibe. The machines absorbed their intention. They made silly jokes.

They wanted to befriend me but I was dubious about being there. I didn’t select going there. Wasn’t certain of what was going on. But did learn that I would only be there a short time. A few days. This was a catalyst for them all to want to spend more time with me and be my friend. All kept trying to grab me so they could talk to me, pulling me close, pulling me away from others, following me as a herd, swamping me as I walked the halls and stairs. I was flattered and overwhelmed.

In the evenings, we could go to a club. Have beers. Well, that appealed to me. That immediately appealed to my new cohort. They were all for it. Going then involved an elaborate process of acquiring passes to leave and enter the right buildings and halls, and possessing the correct identification and means to buy beers. Totally bewildering to me on the first night. My new friends took me through it.

By the second day, I was more familiar, comfortable, and assertive. I was finding where I wanted to go. What I wanted to do. Then, beer again in the evening. My friends were less sure. Beer? Again? But we did that last night. Another group, who’d missed out on the previous evening, heard and wanted to go, so everyone went. Huge crowd.

Third time I spent more time in the classrooms. I was introduced to computer networks. They were having problems. We begin changing out components. The teacher led this process. I thought it haphazard. Shouldn’t we be tracking what we did and the results? It became more chaotic. Noisier. The volume deafened me. I focused on what was going on with fixing the computer networks. Can’t articulate in our real existence what was going on. Only that a fix was needed. We were removing and installing silver modules about the size of ancient removable hard drives. After doing a number of them, I discerned a pattern and began suggesting changes.

That’s where the dream ended.

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The Blackberry Dream

Blackberries. Love to eat them. They add sweet juiciness to everything. But they’re invasive. Will take over. And highly flammable. These traits make them threats to urban areas.

We soldier against a blackberry plant. Never with pesticides. Cut it back. Dig it up. Last night, they returned, in my dreams.

I was outside our house. The dream house wasn’t like our real house. The dream house had walls with garden beds all around the house, up against the foundation. I liked the arrangement and was walking through, admiring it, when I discovered blackberry bushes growing in it. Wasn’t the ordinary blackberry growth, though, no. These blackberry branches were several inches thick. They were pushing out the cut end and had not leaves, stems, branches, or berries. They had large thorns, though.

I was appalled by what I saw and headed back inside to talk with my wife and make plans. To return inside the house required me to pass through a cafeteria-style cafe. Make sense? No, but this is dream land. A young woman with her infant was sitting down at a table with three friend. She was complaining about the blackberry bushes’ sudden appearance at her house. I stopped to commiserate and flirt. Yes, I flirted with blackberry bush invasions as my baseline, trying to launch off that to impress her with my charm, knowledge, and wit. Such a dream flirt, I am. It fell completely flat.

I hurried on to my wife. When I arrived in our home, she greeted me with her discovery of the blackberry bushes. Demands of how did this happen and what are we going to do followed. I explained that I’d just learned of it. She cut me off to tell me about the unusual growth. Yeah, I know, I basically responded.

Meanwhile, two young nephews were eating at the table. They had blackberry bushes and were joking about the growths and laughing. I tried explaining our concerns about them but they paid no attention.

Dream end.

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The Red Pick-up Truck Dream

The red truck looked new, or vintage mint. A Chevy Silverado, it was a mid-seventies model. Things like time are often less relevant in dreams, so the truck may have been new. Standard cab. Nothing fancy.

I’d inherited it and was going to pick it up. A caveat was attached: I shared the truck with four others as owners. Unusual deal for a truck but I was happy. I arrived and met two of my co-owners. Dream anonymous, they’re nobody I know from my life. Nor can I provide any description. They were just there. They showed me the truck and explained the problem: nobody had a key. That needed to be fixed. “Well,” I answered, “did you look in this drawer?” I walked over and opened a drawer on a small end table. Within was a key. I held it up. “Did you try this key?”

No, they’d never seen that key before. We went out and tried it. It worked!

We walked around, talking about the situation — sharing truck ownership — and admiring the truck. Seemed odd to me that someone would do something like that in their will, unless there was something different about the truck. Investigating, I discovered many parts of the truck was made of precious metal. As I explored and discovered, the others joined me. We discovered many pieces made of gold and silver. The truck was a rolling treasure.

Our final two owners arrived, as anonymous as the first two. We shared our news about the truck’s gold and silver. After we all rejoiced, I suggested that we take a drive. We piled in, three in the cab, two in the back, with me behind the wheel. The truck was shown from above, driving down a pristine highway, glittering with reflected sunshine.

Dream end.

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Back to Normal Dreams

Yes, dreams were no longer short, sharp, and clear last night. Nor were they elaborate productions. Last night’s dominant dream — the one most remembered — was about command posts were I’d worked. I was in the military, the U.S. Air Force, for over twenty years. Worked in command and control. Fighter aircraft, nukes, space operations, military airlift, air training, special ops. Permanent and temporary command posts were worked in Asia, the far east, United States, Europe, and Africa.

I visited several of them as a young man in last night’s dream. While visiting military sites, I was dressed in civvies. Often accompanied by people who worked for me in different places (including some people who have passed away), I went around to those command posts, remembering what they were, discovering what they now were, dream-wise. Don’t know what they’re really like. Haven’t been to a command post since I retired.

It seemed like the dream was hammering the point, hey, things have changed. Forget the past. Move forward. A sledge hammer was being used to slam down roofing nails. I said to my dream psyche, yes, I get it, which seemed to satisfy it. Then, in my dream, I went to bed, and to sleep, only to then wake up in real life, a trippy transition.

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Friday’s Theme Music

“What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours.”

It made a difference here. Blue skies. Unfiltered sunshine. Just a taste of smoke southern Oregon’s air. A tincture of dirty cloud on the western horizon. AQI is back down to 40 — the lower, the better — and in the green. Green is good. Most of Jackson County and southern Oregon remains yellow, with warnings to take precautions in effect. Our windows are open for now. A cool breeze bathes my back. Hopes this is a reflection that the fires are now out, or lined, contained, you know, no longer growing.

Today is Friday, August 6, 2021. Ashland’s temperature is expected to top out in the mid to upper eighties. Sunrise fell upon us at 6:09 AM. The Earth will turn us away from the sun at 8:24 PM.

Going with A-Ha and “Take On Me” from 1984 for my theme music. My wife and I were in a military cafeteria in Japan when we first saw the video for this song. It seemed interesting, different, attention-arresting. It’s in my head this morning due to dreams. Cogitating on their details, I said, “Aha.” And there’s the connection. It’s a little deeper in reality; the dreams were all superficially military oriented, hammering the point about change and the past.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as necessary, and get the vaccine. Pleased to report that local pharmacies are suddenly swamped with people seeking one of the COVID-19 vaccines. Stories of people losing their lives or several loved ones from the virus because they were unsure about the vaccine have been circulating. They seem to be affecting people. Terrible reading about, example, a woman losing her husband, grandmother, mother, and husband’s father to COVID-19 because they wanted the vaccine to be more thoroughly tested first. Now she regrets their decision but she’s the only one who can get the vaccine. Too late for the rest.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Dream and Dream Again

First dream was one of those short, sharp ones my mind has been recently providing.

My wife and I have a home. Two stories. Not a house but part of a building. The outer walls are open to the other places. We’re making improvements. I’m pleased with the progress. As I go about, though, I discover that a neighbor has installed a central vac system. There’s an open outlet on a kitchen wall that sucks in air whenever they turn their system on. Well, that’s not acceptable. Who wants a hole making news and sucking air out of your place? I was in a good mood though. Heard the neighbors and went over and informed them of the error.

Off I went again. That was all upstairs. I went downstairs. Confusion reigned of the Abbott & Costello ‘Who’s On First’ variety. Used to be that there was a room opposite the stairs when you went down. Thought it was the kitchen. But I just left the kitchen. Are there two flights of stairs? Did we used to have two flights of stairs or is this new? Do we have two kitchens. I darted about looking for answers that didn’t come before the brief dream ended.

Second dream was long, involved, and anxiety driven. Mild understatement.

Wife and I were vacationing. Our last day. We somehow get separated. Where is she? I’m looking everywhere. Panic is rising like a thermometer on a hot day. I can’t find her and we need to check out and catch our flight. With time passing, worse fears that something has happened to her is growing.

I hurry past buses disgorging tourists. Among them is Jennifer Aniston as Rachel from “Friends”. She’s in a dress with messages attached to her with safety pins. Don’t know what that’s about. Deciding it’s not related to me, I go on.

Stopping to tie my shoe, I set my glasses down. A young boy with his father pulls his suitcase into me and then picks up my glasses. The father picks up his son and apologizes to me. I accept those apologies but where are my glasses? I need those, thanks. The child doesn’t have them. I discover them sticking out of the father’s shirt pocket. “My son must have put them there,” the father exclaims, proud, amused, appalled, apologetic. No problem. I take my glasses and hasten on. I must find my wife.

Anxiety growing, so does confusion and bewilderment. Where is our hotel? What room is it? What day is it? I can’t remember these things. I can’t remember our airline or flight numbers, or what time we need to be there. I can’t find the tickets or room key. Can’t recall how to work the electronic device in my hand. Seems to be a phone but it looks weird to me. Can’t recall what email account I used. And can’t find my wife.

Somehow, I acquire all our bags. I’m carrying something in each hand, on each shoulder, and on my back. Then, there’s my wife. She’s been shopping. I’m outraged. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to go.” She’s vague, disconnected. She’s been right here. She doesn’t understand the problem.

Never mind, we need to go. I find our rental car. We’re in it and driving with other traffic but there are no lane markers or directions. The road is slick and smooth. There’s no traction. The car is sliding all over. I discern that there are some markers but it’s all faded away. Never mind, we’ll follow other cars.

We reach a parking garage and stop. It’s inside a building lined with stores. I’m thinking, now they’re putting stores in parking garages, too. I remember my email account and suddenly understand how to use the phone to retrieve my email but, oh, no, we forgot to check out of the hotel.

Dream ends.

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Two Flash Dream Snippets

First dream: my wife and I are walking through a store. We come across a man. Bald. Sitting. Glasses. Middle-aged. White. Wearing a blue store vest. In front of him is a conveyor belt.

We stop in puzzlement. What’s this? Oh, it’s the bottle recycling site. As we realize it — talking aloud between ourselves — the man confirms that this is what we’ve stumbled across.

“I don’t have any bottles to recycle right now,” he says. “It’s really slow. Go get your bottles.”

My wife and I discuss. Should we get our bottles? The dream ends.

It’s a reflection of life and first world problems. The bottle recycling landscape has changed. We’ve gone five times to recycle our bottles over the past several months. The lines are longer each time. We arrived just after it opened one time, thinking, hey, we’ll beat the crowd. There wasn’t even parking space. Our bottles — these are the ones for which we paid a deposit — are piling up. People go around collecting them. I say, put them out for them, hon. Hon says, no. She’s tight-fisted; she paid for those bottles. The bottle battle goes on.

Next dream.

I’d finished a manuscript and was looking for a place to type so I could begin the next one. Some unknown person read the ms and said, “This is brilliant.” They asked questions to confirm I was the author.

I answered all of that. Then I said, “I have a million of them,” and continued searching for a place to work. I didn’t have a laptop. People offered me places where there were computers. I tried three different locations. I would start typing but encountered vexing interruptions at each one.

The three people who’d offered me writing sanctuary met with me at an intersection on a flight of stairs. They pressed me to use the facilities they’d offered. I turned them down. I had my laptop now. I said, “I have to go off and do this on my own. But thanks for the offers.”

Then I went off to write.

Dream end.

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Another Flash Dream

Recent dreams — or memories of them (probably more likely) — have taken on a flash story aspect. They’re short. Concise.

I dreamed of football again. American football, playing it. My team was a ragtag group of friend. Male and female. We had no uniforms. The rules were a little weirder, too. Our playing field was a funnel about ten feet wide.

The dream initiated me to the middle of the action. I’d been put into the lineup. Others doubted me and my role. Why me and not others? I heard their doubt. Shared it myself. I resolved to impress everyone. Show them wrong.

My team was down. Time was running out. Rain was falling. Desperation hung over us. We needed a first down. The ball was thrown to me. I caught it and ran down the field. Got almost to the goal line before I was brought down. Everyone responded, “That was Seidel?” Yes, it was me.

We huddled. I put forward an idea for one of the women to carry the ball. The rest of us would block. Straightforward power run. That idea was rejected. Something else installed. The results was a shambles. I made my pitch again. I was more forceful. This time, others agreed.

We ran the play. She was not going to score. I ran back and pushed her forward, gathering others to help me. We scored as time expired.

Did we win? We thoughts so. The larger question was, were we advancing to the playoffs? Other games remained in progress. Rain fell harder. We stood as a team, awaiting word. We were told, our record was either oh and three — no wins and three losses — or three and three — or six and three. We didn’t understand. It depended on others, we were told. Wait.

Dream end.

2

Choose Your Color

It was a strange and strong blur of a dream, if that makes sense. In a crowd. Seems like I was going somewhere, following the crowd, like we were heading into a concert or amusement park. Currents of excitement. Streams of chatter and laughter. I’m with others in my party, half-listening but tuned out of them, mostly just there, impatiently queuing, moving forward with halting, shuffling steps. But I don’t mind. I’m going forward. The destination is almost in view ahead. Fresh air. Forested hills and low mountains cup us in a bowl from what I see. Late afternoon blue sky. Darkening but still daylight, cruising toward night. Warm but cooling.

Odd. Saw myself from a perspective down below. Looking up. Perspective focused on me. Following me through the crowd.

Then, interrupted. Discover hands before me. Three? Four? They’re closed into fists. Open. Colors are on the palm. Paper? Red. Blue. Yellow. Purple. Voice says, “Choose your color.”

I’m confused. Try backing away. Wonder where my people are. Who this person is. Why I’m being asked to choose. He persists. I’m blocked in by the crowd. Can’t get away from him. Never see anything of him but his hands holding these colors.

French blue. Sunflower yellow. Apple red. Bright purple. It calls me. I point at it. “Purple.”

Dream end.

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