Category: Dreams

Designing Cars Dream

Cars often show up in my dreams. I’m frequently driving sports cars such as Porsches (often), Ferraris, and Lamborghinis. Once in a while, I’m in a racing car. Today, as far as I remember, was a first, because I was designing cars.

They started as toys. I designed and built small toy cars, first from plastic, then from metal. They were impressive little futuristic designs, mostly in silver, black, or metallic red, with doors and hoods that opened, etc. They quite impressed people. After some conversations, a team was established building those. I then surprised everyone by designing and building several real cars based on my models. That impressed people even more.

Then we closed for lunch.

While we were closed for lunch, I decided to bake pastry and bread that looked like my toy cars. As those were discovered and people ate them, I made cars out of chocolate to sell and give away. While I was doing that, I discovered some of my workers asleep on their lunch breaks at their desks in my building. Most were female but all were young, and all were friends. After I asked them why they were sleeping there, several confessed that they had several jobs or were also mothers raising children, or they were going to school. My youngest sister was one of them. I thought, I have to change this, which was where they dream ended.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Sunrise came at 7:30 AM today. It’s 36 degrees F outside with hopes a high of 44 is realized. Not bad. Sunset will take place at 5:10 PM.

Today’s song choice came by way of Facebook and dreams. I saw something about the performers, the Bellamy Brothers, on FB several days ago. Living in southern WV for a time, where country music dominated, I was familiar with them. But then they had a crossover hit, “Let Your Love Flow”, in 1976. Wikipedia tells me that Larry E. Williams, a roadie, wrote the song.

It’s that song in my head this morning. I thought its presence was caused by my dreams. Partially was, as I wondered about my dreams and asked, “Is there a reason?”

There’s a reason for the sunshine sky
There’s a reason why I’m feeling so high
Must be the season when that love light shines all around us

h/t to Metrolyrics.com

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask and vaccinate. Here’s the music.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Our winter snow has passed, leaving us with one inch on my yard, walk, drive, etc. Mostly blue, a gray haze veils the blue. Sunshine washes the snow, drawing up a picturesque scene, and flurries still fall. The snowplow is scrapping the road, dropping red cinders in its path.

Sunrise was at 7:29 AM on this Wednesday morning and sunset will be at 5:19 PM. It’s 34 degrees F outside, and we’re not expecting to advance much higher on the thermometer. It’s January 27, 2021.

Our state and county continue heralding a trend of lower coronavirus positive case numbers. The first wave of county vaccinations are completed; more are being planned. Mine is somewhere in the future.

Although “Blinding Lights” by The Weeknd kept playing during one dream, after thinking about the dreams, “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit (1999) entered the scene during the morning’s reflections. After the plethora of bizarre dreams featuring deceased family members, cigars, pies, and jigsaw puzzles, I started remarking to myself and the world (strictly rhetorically, right?), please tell me why I’m having these strange dreams.

“Please tell me why,” is featured as a refrain in “My Own Worst Enemy”, so my mind, acting like some mis-programmed Alexa, began playing the Lit song.

So here we are. Enjoy the video; I’d never seen it before. The bowling alley setting intrigued me. Be safe, test positive, stay negative, wear a mask, and vaccinate. Cheers

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The Four Pies Dream

I dreamed I was to deliver four pies to people living in the woods. A young person was assisting me. I don’t know what flavors the pies were, but part of it was that I heat the pies and cut each into six equal slices, and then deliver them. The entire time that this is going on, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is playing. I don’t know the source of that.

Being a dream where things don’t always make sense, the pies were in a car, a light blue little machine of unknown name. Also in a car was a young white child. The child was a threat, others told me; don’t let him bite you, and don’t let him out of the car.

But I also heat the pies in the car, and could see them through two large side glass windows. I’d already cut them before heating them. Now they were ready.

My young assistant and I slide the windows down preparatory to opening the doors to get the pies. Here comes the kid! Oh, no! I was talking to him in a soothing voice, asking him if he’d like a piece of pie. He rushed forward. “He’s going to bite us,” my young assistant yelled. “Put the windows up,” I shouted. We slid them up.

Round two. “This is ridiculous,” I said, laughing. “Let’s try again.” We reheated the pies. How? I don’t know. It’s something I said in the dream, then waited for seconds, if that, and they were done. We slid down the windows. I talked to the child as I did. The child stayed back. We opened the doors and started taking out the pies. The child rushed us. We returned the pies, closed the doors, and shut the windows before he could reach us.

Others were concerned; that’d been close. He almost reached us. “Third times a charm,” I announced. “Let’s try again.” All progressed as before. We were able to get the pies out. I gave the child in the car a piece of pie. I think that was southern pecan. He sat down and started eating.

Success achieved.

Bonus dream: I was with my youngest sister, L. We were in her car, a blue Mustang convertible. The car was about ten years old. She was driving and I was a passenger. We’d stopped for her to talk with a friend. In the course of that, I got out to stretch my legs and was standing a few feet behind the car. The passenger door was open. My sister announced to the other that she was going to back the car up. I called out to her, warning her that her door was open, that she was going to remove the door.

She ignored me or didn’t hear…whatever, she backed the car up. The open door hit a brick wall and was torn away. Reacting with horrified dismay, she stopped the car. As I told her that I’d been telling her about the open door, we hurried to assess the damage. I expected the door to be gone but instead, the top layer of paint had been peeled off like it was molded part that fit over it, leaving the door intact — and still attached to the car — but a flat black color.

As I tried to understand how that had transpired while sympathizing with my sister, she mentioned that it bugged her because she was going to get a new car, and now her trade-in value would be lower. The whole thing left me subdued, wondering what’d happening, how it happening, and at her muted reaction.

The dream ended.

I could go on with the other dreams — oh, what a night — but those two were the prominent ones.

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Dream Confrontations

Last night feature dream was in two parts. Both were about confrontation and communication.

The first had me and my wife visiting some people who may’ve been the wife’s distant relatives. Children and cats were strongly featured. Other than me, my wife was the only adult.

According to the children’s excited chatter, I’d arrived in a Ferrari, which, yes, I acknowledged with a smile. That impressed them. The place, a home where the children lived, was sprawling and one story, aging but in respectable condition, a modern-form-follows function shape. The children, probably eight to nine years old, three to four in number (I never got a good count on them), sandy haired and white, showed us around and helped us settle in. Cats were playing and running around, busy supervising it all. On a command from one child, all the cats hurried to one room, found a space, and settled down. A child closed a glass French door on them. I looked in at the cats on perches, seats, and sofas. There were at least five but there might have been seven. All were long haired.

Being discreet, I opened the door to visit the cats. The door’s round brass handle broke off in my hand. I attempted to stick in back on, but it’d been sheared, so that was impossible. Still, deciding I’d be able to get back out, I closed the door. After circulating and visiting with the cats, who were all well behaved and friendly, I went to leave. The door handle mechanism fell completely out. I decided to bring this to the children’s attention. When they didn’t grasp what I was talking about — that the door was broke because the handle had come off and the rest had fallen out — I asked them where their parents were.

Now, though, it was time to go. I had a speaking engagement and my wife and I were lunching first. With a dream shift, we were in an Asian city. Sitting outside on a leafy plaza, we were enjoying ourselves when I noticed black smoke in the sky. The smoke distracted me as the column grew thicker. I told my wife, “I think that’s our hotel.”

An explosion rocked the area. As everyone reacted with gasps and shouts, I could see that an upper floor of our hotel had exploded and was on fire. I told me wife that we should go back to get our stuff if we could

We joined others watching the hotel entrance. People were queuing to enter, so we got in line. A stocky Asian man in a red vest and white shirt was manning the door, controlling who entered. The line snaked forward until it was our turn. He asked for papers, some evidence that we were staying at the hotel. I had papers in my rear pocket so I reached around to get them out. The movement caused my arm to tremble.

The doorman demanded in a brusque tone to know why my arm was shaking. His tone and question outraged me but I answered that I’d broken the arm and it was still rehabilitating, and certain movement still caused me problems. With my wife trying to calm me, we went back and forth in rising tones about it, with the doorman implying or me inferring there was something sinister about me having a shaky arm. After we were admitted and walking away, I heard him say in snarky terms, “Oh, look at the strong man going away.” I turned to go back to have words with him.

The dream ended.

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Another Lamborghini Dream

In this dream, I was taking my Lamborghini Huracán (I think it was a Huracán) in to be painted. It’d acquired some chipping in its travels; I wanted it to look better.

I drove it into the shop — a quick drive through highway traffic — and discussed colors with the staff. Each time a color was mentioned, the car changed colors in the dream: lemon yellow, neon green, bright red, hot orange, merlot, white. No, not a white car! I chose to stay with its original electric blue.

The Lambo shop where I’d taken the car tried selling me a mother-in-law seat. I’d never heard of it. They showed me a red one; it looked like a cross between a booster chair for toddlers and a saddle. The explanation was that it fit over the transmission tunnel to add a temporary seat for a third person. Amused, I declined. My MIL (who is deceased) showed up to declare that she would never sit in that.

I checked into a high rise luxury hotel to wait. When I arrived, Alec Baldwin offered me champagne. He wasn’t drinking any. Alec and I walked about, looking out the windows, chatting and joking around. A young server came by with champagne flutes of apple cider on a silver tray. I was interested but he said, “It’s organic.” I replied, “Oh, I always drink organic.” The server answered, “If you always drink organic, you can have some.”

I accepted the organic apple cider. Alec asked, “You always drink organic?” When I answered, “Yes,” he said, “Then give me the champagne, and I’ll drink that.” I agreed. Then, clowning around, he stuck the champagne bottle up his ass, neck first, so it looked like he was blowing a bottle out of his rear. He thought it was hilarious but I thought it was strange.

They announced that my car was ready. I prepared to leave. The dream ended. Yeah, there’s a lot to unpack in this one.

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Friday’s Fumblings

  1. The more that I’m writing, the worst that I sleep. I dream more when I’m writing more, too. Yesterday produced a great writing session, a miserable night of sleep, and a flotilla of dreams.
  2. I think that I sleep worst when I’m writing more because more of my brain is engaged in the writing process. The writing is consuming more bandwidth; shutting it down at day’s end is problematic. I keep writing while I’m doing other things, including trying to sleep.
  3. The good news with the novel in progress is that the characters escaped Arsehold at last! How surprised me, but was totally in tone with the rest of the book. This is, of course, when writing is most fun and rewarding.
  4. I always worry about saying too much about writing these days. I don’t want to jinx it when it’s going well, you know? Don’t want to scare off or anger the muses. I never elaborate to others about what I’m writing any more. It’s a novel; it’s meant to be read. I don’t want to explain it; I want people to read it. Sometimes it’s hard to stay true to this as excitement about the story, characters, and concept bubble up and make me happy. I guess I’m an eternal optimist that these stories and novels will come to be in people’s hands someday. Really, though, I write for me and have a good time doing it.
  5. I’m subscribed to HBOMax and enjoying several shows. Nevertheless, I have a complaint about the service. Every time I select it, the first thing that comes up is, “Who is watching?” My name is right there on top. It’s the only name. Below it are options to add other profiles or to add a kid. Seriously? Why must I answer this every friggin’ time? Just accept, I am the one watching, and get on with it. If I want to add someone else, I can go into options or the account, you know. It shouldn’t, I suppose, but it irks me to no end.
  6. COVID-19 vaccinations are increasing among friends and family. I know ten people who have been vaccinated. Three different states – Oregon, Texas, and Pennsylvania – are involved. All who were vaccinated except one were seventy plus years old. The one exception is in her forties and is in the healthcare industry, although she’s in research. Both vaccines have been employed among this small sampling. None have reported significant adverse reactions beyond a desire to nap and mild fevers. Let me know how your vaccination goes, please.
  7. My wife and I are a year apart in age, which adds another spin to our vaxsit. I’m sixty-four and a half. I turn sixty-five in July. I’ll be eligible. But do we want to do it if we can’t do it at the same time? Part of our formula about whether and when is that I have hypertension and she has RA. I suspect that we’ll be included as part of a group that’s fifty years and older later this year, making our one year difference moot.
  8. I mentioned oatmeal in another post, and the huntress commented on oatmeal. Her mother made it very thin. Soupy thin. I think of that as gruel. Yeah, I know it’s not the same. While that’s how my wife eats it, I’m not a fan of it. I make my oat meal so thick, it’s almost a soft cookie.
  9. I grew up putting brown sugar in my oatmeal. Well, it started as white sugar but once I had it with brown sugar, the game was done. I then learned to add raisins and nuts. Now I put all manner of things in my oatmeal. I currently add cranberries and walnuts in my oatmeal, and granola as a topping. I like the contrasting crunchiness and flavor.
  10. When I was first served oatmeal at my wife’s house while in my teens, they surprised me by adding butter and bacon on top. I’d never heard of such a thing! That surprised them, because that’s how they always ate it. Adding bacon and butter to my oatmeal wasn’t something that I adopted. My wife doesn’t add it to her oatmeal, either.
  11. The world seems weirdly calmer with Joe Biden in office as President. Is this my imagination? Am I just reading less news? That doesn’t seem to be the case. Have news outlets shifted how they’ve reported? Perhaps. Or is it that there’s less bad news, or it’s being less reported, or not catching my eye… Maybe we’re just in an intermission in the bad news cycle.
  12. Or maybe it’s some sense of numbing of normalization to bad news. Locally — specifically, in Jackson County, Oregon — COVID-19 positive cases have been declining. We haven’t had triple digits in several days. We’re trending down, but we trended down in November. Then we had a Christmas spike. Meanwhile, people aged 20-29 are the most positive cases here, but those aged fifty and older dominate the hospital beds, inline with what’s been seen elsewhere, and what’s generally expected.
  13. Okay, got my coffee, actually my second cup. No mid-morning treat to go with it. No cookies, pastries, or doughnuts. Nevertheless, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
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The Shirt Dream

I’d arrived at an airport wearing a blue Oxford shirt and carrying a briefcase. I was pleased with that shirt; I liked it. I thought the color suited me and I liked my image.

The airport was just a counter and a waiting room with a few chairs. Timing was good as the flight was due to depart shortly. I checked in and sat down to wait. Friends came by, looking for car parts. I tried helping them by telling them where they could find parts. Some part of the conversation prompted me to warn them not to steal my car parts while I was gone. I was only going for one night and would be returning the next day so that little worried me, just an up and back, but I was pleased to be going, looking forward to it.

Then I thought, wait, what am I going to wear tomorrow? I can wear the same jeans and shoes, but I want fresh underwear, a shirt, and socks. Yes, I decided with some further thought, I do. It was twenty minutes until the flight was departing. Fortunately, I lived next door. I hurried over to find the needed clothes. Underwear and socks were immediately found and stuck in the briefcase, but I couldn’t find a shirt. Where were my shirts? They weren’t in the closet, nor my drawers. No shirts were there.

I went to find my wife. “Where are all my shirts?”

She was disinterested. “Did you look in your closet?”

“Yes. Here.” I took her to my closet and showed her. There was clothing but not my shirts.

She looked. “What am I looking at?”

“None of my shirts are in there.” I showed her my drawers. Clothing was in there but not my shirts. “Where are my shirts? Do you put them somewhere else?”

“What shirts do you mean?”

“Any shirt. Do you see any shirts? Where are my dress shirts? Where are my polo shirts? I don’t even have any tee shirts.”

“Why do you want one? What’s wrong with the shirt you have on?”

“I’m flying out. I need a new shirt for tomorrow.” I checked my watch; it was departure time.

I rushed back to the airport next door. The clock on the wall said 9:15. I thought, that can’t be right. If that’s right, the flight hasn’t left. Would they have left without me?

That’s where the dream ended.

I came away from it thinking, don’t get lost worrying about little details. Keep the important issues in mind.

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A Snowy Military Dream

My first thought was, no, not another dream of being back in the military.

Didn’t start out like that. First, I was simply running along a dirt road. Ahead was my cousin. He’s taller than me but the same age. Seeing him, I pumped up my speed until I caught him. When I did, I realized that I was wearing shorts and a shirt but I was carrying my pants, and I was bare foot. That made me laugh. I told my cousin, “I think I need to put my pants on.” I stopped and put them on.

Then, there I was in my old camouflage battle dress uniform, heading to work. Another new assignment awaited me in the dream. I looked forward to it and was encountering people along the way, happy to see me there and wishing me luck. It was snowing, and the snow began piling up fast, encouraging me to tell others, “The snow is coming down fast. I better go now.”

I rushed through the snow but the going was increasingly difficult as the snow level climbed over my thighs, to my waist. Brilliant white, the snow was beautiful, though cold. Then I was in, at work, meeting my new team, eager to begin work. I was already seeing things that needed to be changed and started directing action, confident in what I was doing.

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A Freaky Dream

This was a freaky dream, and a dark place — no sky, little light, quite dim. No wind; no sound; just me and an unseen other, who seemed above and behind me.

People were returning. I could see the inside of their heads, but it wasn’t anything graphic. Their heads were empty. What I saw was a stylized version of their skull, minus blood, nerves, brains, muscles, etc.

What I did see in their skulls was an outline. The outline was variously labeled or called, the part of their soul that they wanted to contribute, and the part of them that was searching for forgiveness.

Waves of heads following heads, eyeless, faceless, without bodies but with identities, passed me. At first, briefly, it was all very WTF for me as I looked at people — well, their heads, without their bodies, and without faces — and identified them. They weren’t people I knew, but I immediately and effortlessly identified them. An unseen mentor present helped me put it together as I, smiling and whole (the only one like that in the entire dream) said, “Oh, I see. They’re coming with offerings.” Then I had the hang of it. Identifying those outlined sections, I would estimate and declare, “She’s sharing nine percent of her soul for the effort. He’s giving five percent. This one wants to give it all — is that acceptable?” She was sent elsewhere. Apparently part of a greater effort, I was identifying them so others could collect their soul offerings.

Throwing me off at one point was that some seemed slightly different. After some mental sorting, I discovered, “Oh, she’s not offering any of her soul. She’s asking for forgiveness. But she only wants to be forty-five percent forgiven for what she’s done.” They were rarer. As these were encountered, there was sometimes communications with those people. Some of them apparently had lost their souls. They were directed to somewhere else, by the unseen other; that was not my business.

Despite the dream’s darkness and what seems like a weird subject, I stayed upbeat throughout the dream. I shiver a bit, remembering it, though.

But this dream is why the song, “Psychobabble” by The Alan Parsons Project, ruled my mind this morning.

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