Category: Dreams

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.

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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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The Fireplace Dream

My wife and I were visiting one of my sisters and her family. Partially completed, their house was made mostly of cinder blocks. I was looking down into it from behind and above. They didn’t have heat. They had a fireplace. Shifting perspective, my wife and I told them, “We have rocks that will heat your house. We’ll put them in your fireplace.” They were skeptical but we told them, “You’ll see.”

The fireplace rock seemed like a piece of broken cinderblock. It put out heat, though, lots of heat. My sister’s fireplace was back toward the house’s rear, away from the bedrooms. Because of that, most of the house wasn’t heated. They’ll all gone to bed, sleeping in one room to stay warm. For some reason, we had to keep the existence of the heating rock secret. Never understood that. But my wife and I managed to find another place to safely place it in my sister’s house, and then moved it without anyone knowing.

When my sister and her family got up, we showed/told them what we’d done. They were concerned that we wouldn’t be able to heat our own place. My wife and I laughed at that. “No, we have many fireplaces and each of them has a rock.”

I then took my sister and her family around, showing her our places. All were brick, with large yards. Sis knew of one or two, but I showed her five or six. I was letting others use these places. My wife didn’t know of some of these places, either, which made me laugh as I went about showing all the places. Some were hidden to others. I kept revealing more as we went around, opening doors to more, almost as if I was recalling them as I came across them. We then went about confirming that we did have ‘fire rocks’ in each of our places.

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A Multi-layered Dream

I began, with many other people, in a domed city. I was on the circular city’s perimeter. Spaced every six feet were covered holes. The covers were hard plastic. Opening one, I discovered water within them. My curiosity was satisfied.

We were aware that storms were going on beyond our city. It didn’t overly concern us. To the north, pieces of a golden city appeared just outside of our domed city. I, like others, stopped to marvel at it. Who built it? How was it built so quickly? Exquisite looking, with multiple levels, it already towered over our domed city. But more was being added. How was that possible?

I went with a handful of others to see more. When I reached our domed city’s northern exits, I could see that the city beyond was a holograph. There was no city, and it was pouring rain. I was baffled; why would anyone create an illusion like that? I wondered about motives and angles.

It dawned on me that we were being distracted from a danger to our domed city. Hurrying back, I returned to roughly where I’d been and pried one white lid from a hole. The water was higher, and churning. I realized, the water is rising. Our city was in danger of being flooded.

I needed to warn others. I started pointing out the holes to others. Directing them to take off the lids, I showed them how the water, now foaming with a faint yellowish tinge, was rising higher and higher. Meanwhile, a young man approached me with a U.S. military-style flight cap. He had a pen and wanted to write on it. I was baffled; why couldn’t he write on it? What did he want written? It was a joke, he explained. He wanted someone to write, ‘I went to command school and all I got was this hat.’

Not much of a joke to me. The hat had two stars on it, signifying it belonged to a major general. Instead of being silver, the stars were gold, however. That puzzled me; silver stars are always used on American insignia. I looked for a name inside the hat: Redmond. I recalled dealing with a Redmond. He’d been buying Dionne Warwick and Friends concert tickets.

The general himself appeared, a short and amiable guy with neat and wavy black hair. I encountered a handful of major generals in my Air Force career. This guy was more affable than any of them. I told him that I had his hat and exposed what the other wanted to do with it. The general thought that was a great joke. I talked about his Dionne Warwick tickets. He remembered wanting to go to the show but didn’t remember buying the tickets nor going. I recounted helping him look for the tickets, having the tickets delivered, and then a conversation with him about going to the concert. He vaguely remembered these things, he answered with a broad grin.

Meanwhile, water was almost boiling out of two of the holes and had become more yellow. I thought the yellowing was a serious sign of something being breached, based on a conversation I’d had with an engineer earlier. We needed to do something. Evacuate the city? Find some way to relieve the flooding? I asked the general for help. He shrugged, replying, “I can’t do anything.” I told him, “Yes, you can, you’re a general, you were a commanding officer. You know how to direct people and coordinate people.”

He said, “But I don’t know what to do.”

I replied, “I’ll tell you what to do then.”

The dream ended.

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