Category: Dreams

The Photograph Dream

It was such a short and simple dream. As I was in the kitchen, I froze with a question in my mind, did I dream that or imagine it?

Walking back through thoughts, I eventually went into my office. Sitting there, dream fragments surged forward.

I’d dream that I was with a group of people. I think we were at a flea market or something, as tents and canopies were set up. The place was very busy. It sort of reminded me of a flea market I visited in San Jose, California.

Walking around, I’d found a number of old photographs piled on tables. Most were in color. I didn’t see anyone I knew in the photographs. They were photos of people at holiday dinners — Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc. — vacations, and birthday parties. Some seem to be retirement parties or celebrations. Everyone looked happy and were raising glasses. Most were of different people but as I looked, I recognized some that were the same people in different photos.

I wondered how the photos had come to be there, what had happened to the people? Photographs of such happy-looking people, and here they were, collected on a table. As I held a photograph and thought about that, I looked out from under the tent and saw people outside taking selfies or photographs of one another as they held things.

The dream ended.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

A double-whammy brought this song into the stream this morning. First were dreams about photographs. Then, as I’m sitting at my desk thinking about the dreams, I see a photograph of my wife on the desk. Taken of her in Christmas, 1981, it was our first Christmas in Okinawa, Japan. A note on the back in her writing says, “I was sick as a dog.” She looks wonderful, though, in a bright purple short-sleeved top. Her hair is bobbed short, as she wore it for a number of years.

Between the dreams and memories, Ringo Starr’s old hit song, “Photograph” (1973) arose. About the only thing in common between the song’s lyrics and sentiment, the dream, and the photograph on the desk is that word, photograph. Everything else is quite different.

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The Celery Dream

The story begins in a house. I know it’s mine, but it’s enormous.

I’m in the living room, which is probably two thousand square feet. Huge plate-glass windows line three sides. Rain is falling outside. Under one side of the windows, I have a stone wall with a rock garden, small hill, and waterfall. Several broad-leafed green plants are growing in the rock garden. Yes, this is in my living room.

Three cats reside there with me, and they’re running around. My wife lives there, too; I know (in the dream) that she’s in another part of the house. We also have a few visitors.

I’m dealing mostly with the cats, feeding them, playing with them, while glancing outside at the rain and chatting with my visitors. One of them (Bob) calls attention to some water he sees on the floor in another room.

After going and confirming that a small puddle is in the kitchen, I call out the news to my wife and then begin inspecting the kitchen, looking for leaks, until I’ve discovered where it seems to be entering. Well, I’ll need to take care of that, I announce while wondering about its severity.

Then, quick change, I’m looking for the cats. One, a short-haired orange and white tabby, has gone outside. I go out after him. My yard is enormous. One side borders a sidewalk alongside a street. The cat is enjoying my efforts to capture him, capering across the green grass and evading me with mischievous ease. Then the cat stops in the game to look up the sidewalk. Following his look, I see a large orange and white cat (it looks like a Maine Coon Cat) coming down the sidewalk, tail up. The cat looks like a large, long-haired version of my cat. I comment on that to someone.

I’m back inside my house, but I’m gone down into the garage. Like other parts of the house, it’s huge, enough space for perhaps a dozen cars. None are there now. It’s spotless cement.

I’m preparing a fix. Although I knew what I was doing in the dream, I don’t know now what I was fixing, but I was planning to use celery. To fix whatever it was with the celery, I was using a chisel to break stalks of celery into small plugs. I had problems with some of the celery stalks, and then stopped because my visitors came down to find me, and I didn’t want them knowing what I was doing.

After I hid the celery and went to speak with them, the dream ended.

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A Series of Weird, Short Dreams

I dreamed that dandelions were growing out of my cat’s head. I decided to pull them, because I thought, the roots must be growing into his brain.

I pulled the weeds. As they came out, his head broke apart like the top of a chicken potpie. Brains spilled out. Panicking, I tried pushing them all back in.

Before that —

I was marrying a robot. The robot resembled a cross between an Oscar and Marvel’s Iron Man. He’d been sent to kill me. I’d captured and converted him, easy to do because he was a foot tall and never moved, standing like the Oscar all the time. I don’t know how he was expected to kill me, but I was marrying him.

Before that —

It was cake again. A large white sheet cake was on a table. It looked gorgeous, and delicious. Writing was on the top. Leaning forward to read it, I misjudged space and distance and began falling into the cake. Wildly flailing, I managed not to hit the cake, but tilted the table. The cake began sliding away. I tried grabbing it, seizing a handful of a corner and tearing it away.

In a slow-motion sequence, I raised the cake that I’d torn away up to my face. Yellow inside, it smelled like lemon. I put some into my mouth to taste it. It didn’t taste lemon. I couldn’t decide what the taste was.

The cake was still sliding off the table. Lunging forward, I caught the cake, stabilized the table, and ‘saved’ the cake, except it was a mess.

Others came in. I wanted to run but I had cake all over me. Obviously, I’d done whatever had happened to the cake. As the rest came up (all strangers, dressed casually, but with what looked like flutes of champagne in their hands), I said, “There was an accident.”

Ignoring that, smiling and talking, they looked at the cake as though nothing was wrong. One woman said something to me. I held up the handful of cake and asked, “Is this lemon?”

Before that —

I was in the military, dressed in a crisp light blue shirt with dark blue pants, supervising a group of young NCOs. I was assigning them positions, roles, and titles. “You’re NCOIC of Back Office Reporting, BOC.” I laughed. “And you are Console Operations, COPs.” That brought more wild laughter from me. To the third, I said, “And you’re NCOIC of Training, which is, well, that’s just training.” I found that hilarious.

Before that —

My cat was sick. I was looking for his medicine. After I went through the house, I finally found it (it’s the last place that you look, innit?). Then I couldn’t find the cat. Putting the medicine down, I went through the house looking for him. Finding him at last, I couldn’t find the medicine. I said, “I just had it.”

That’s all there was.

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A Double-Feature Dream

Two dreams stayed with me from last night. The first was short and simple. The second was like a movie.

My wife and I came outside in the first dream. I’d helped a neighbor with something. When we came out of the house, we saw that our landscaping was trimmed, cleaned up, and weeded. We guessed that the neighbor, who had their landscaping done professionally, had their landscaper come over and take are of our lawn as a gesture of thanks. After checking it out, we went back into the house, then came back out and saw that more landscaping had been done. It looked great, and we commented on that.

The dream ended.

The next one was like a movie. I didn’t appear to be in it. It was all about a race of  dark-skinned, golden-tone people. Slim and muscular, they were beautiful.

Living in the mountains, they struck me as amazingly civilized and cultured. While I was watching them, I was torn between whether this was on Earth or another planet, and whether the people I watched were humans or another species.

With a bright, hot sun burning down on us, I followed a man and woman. They seemed to be high-ranking officials, but not the ultimate rulers. Wearing a speedo and a bikini respectively, they were on some kind of cursory inspection, talking about what had been done and what needed to be done.

As they finished, they came to the top of a tall, narrow waterfall. People swam in a pool of water stories below this vantage. As they were watching, the woman stumbled. After saying, “Oh, shit,” she began plunging over the waterfall. While that was happening, the man said, “You’ll be okay, just turn it into a dive,” which the woman was already changing her body to do. As she arced down in a graceful dive, the man continued in a conversational tone, just remember to hit the water shallow, and then angle up to avoid the steps.”

I was following the woman’s dive and saw her slip into the water, then rise up over some stairs that were under the water (she stayed underwater ), and then continued gracefully swimming.

The man said, “Yes, there, you did it. I knew you could.”

The dream ended.

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The Cake Dream

Another anxiety dream, this one featuring cake.

Something had happened in the dream previous to this moment but its pieces are like sand in the wind. With the wind calming, I found myself in another place.

A younger version of me entered a hotel ballroom. Brightly lit chandeliers hung over the  gathering. Everyone, including were well-dressed, with most (including me) wearing a black tuxedo with black tie.

Everyone milled around, as if waiting for an event to start. Lost when I first entered, I slipped to one side to get out of the way and figure out what was going on. Multiple tables were set with tablecloths and centerpieces featuring burning candles. On either end were tables. Seeing something on those tables, I went to them.

The tables were full of elaborate cakes. Seeing them, I became ravenous. I wanted a piece of cake but there weren’t plates, knives, or forks. How was I supposed to get a piece of cake?

Feeling nervous, I decided that I was going to leave. As I began turning, a woman in a shimmering silver gown approached me and announced, “There you are.” I thought she might someone else and tried stepping out of her way, but it was clear that she meant me. Even as she changed course and addressed me, I backpedaled, almost banging into the table full of cakes. God, what if I knock them all over, I worried, almost seeing the mess that it would make.

With the woman coming to me, others were coming my way, too. The woman was talking but I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. As she reached me, she took my arm in hers and asked, “What cake would you like?”

I said, “I don’t know, they all look good, but I don’t see any plates.” I was looking for plates, knives, and forks, and then, with surprise, saw that they were on the table. As I mused, how did I miss that, thinking they weren’t they before, the woman said, “It’s all for you. Take whatever cake you want.”

Distrustful of her (and leery of more people) (mostly men in tuxes crowding around me), I told her, “I think I need to go.” As I disengaged myself from the woman, a tall man stepped up and held out a plate of cake to me. “Just take the cake,” he said in a gentle voice.

I laughed because I thought he said, “This takes the cake,” but I was also confused because I didn’t know what he meant. Still holding the cake toward me, he said, “The cake is yours. Take the cake.”

The dream ended.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

I was singing today’s song because it’s Tuesday, and I was ruminating over my dreams. Had to look up the date of when the song was released. It’s one of those songs that’ve been around for almost all of my life.

Turns out that “Ruby Tuesday” was released in 1967. I turned eleven years in ’67. Good years for cars. I enjoyed the ’67 Ford Mustang’s looks, along with the ’67 Chevy Camaro and the ’67 Mercury Cougar. I also like the ’67 E Jag, but it was little changed in its looks from previous years.

The lyrics (besides the main chorus) that came up with the sun today were toward the song’s end:

There’s no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Ain’t life unkind?

h/t to AZlyrics.com

Somehow, Mick and the Stones make this work. One of the things that go through my head while watching this video is the thinking, okay, what am I going to wear today, that must have progressed. Yet, being a boy from the sixties, I often dressed like this.

Fun times.

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The 192 Dream

A military dream, again, but with a twist.

I told my wife that the Air Force wants me to return to active duty again. She laughed. “Let’s do it. We can travel.”

I replied, “That’ll be enlistment number 191 for me.” We laughed at that.

(Real life note: I spent just over twenty years on active duty in the military, with one break in service. I’ve not gone back in since my retirement almost a quarter of a century ago.)

So I went in. I’m in a fresh uniform, sharp as hell, feelin’ good and lookin’ good, you know? We’re walking around a large multi-function building – personnel and finance offices, admin offices, mess hall and open mess, exchange and commissary, along with a food court, barbershop, eyeglass place, medical facilities, and fitness center. People are coming up and introducing themselves. We’re enjoying ourselves.

My spouse goes off with other spouses to do something. I keep wandering around on my own. I get a call. They’re offering me a promotion, if I’ll enlist one more time.

I run into my wife. She’s heard the news and encourages me to do it. I answer, “That’ll be number 192 for me.” That makes us both laugh.

That’s the dream.

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The Theater Dream

The theater dominated, but there were several features, some of which are clichés to the max (ha), like a military phone call (that wasn’t a call), and being pantless.

To begin –

With others, including a boss I used to have, we were going to the theater. This was some special deal, a grand event.

Checking in was an odd process. We entered a pristine, glistening marble foyer, black on the floor, pink on the walls, white on the ceiling. Stunning. Machines were embedded in the pink walls. After moments of floundering uncertainty about what to do, we realized the machines would provide us with our tickets. More floundering (instructions were absent) before figuring out, look into the small bas relief image on the machine and speak your name. Tickets were issued with fast, impressive swish. We guessed that it was a security system which identified us via a retina scan and voice.

The ticket lit up with gold arrows telling us where to go. Following its arrows, we learned from an employee that the ticket was geared to our bodies, that the machine back there had also verified our weight and scanned our bodies to verify who we were. Wow, some system, we said to one another, while wondering, why would a ticket need to be so specific to an individual? Nervous jokes were made.eate

I ended up in a bedroom. This couldn’t be right, I thought, but was reassured by my previous boss that it was. She was friends with the theater owner, so had gotten this box for us. It was the owner’s personal box. But I, confused, because it was a bedroom, was ready to challenge that when one wall opened, showing the stage right in front of us. Besides that, my ex-boss showed how we could watch the play via multiple monitors.

Great deal, I thought, impressed, but still freaked. The box was obviously a bedroom, and was full of jewelry. Be jeweled bracelets and watches abounded, along with key chains with keys. I didn’t want to touch anything lest people thought I was trying to steal it.

Then, horror, I knocked a bracelet off a dresser. It landed in my pocket. With alacrity, I fished it out, hurrying because I didn’t want to be seen.

A phone rang. I realized it was the Wing Commander calling on his hotline. Punching on the connection via one of the old 306 consoles (where did that come from), I answered with my name and rank.

“Sorry,” the commander replied. “I was sleeping and accidentally pressed the button.

Time to go! Leaving the theater, we went to a party in a luxurious mansion. Bottles of expensive red wine were being opened. People were asking me, what wine do you want? What bottle should I open? I was answering, there are bottles already open, let’s not waste them. I like red wine.

Bottles were opened anyway. I had a little red wine, straight from a bottle. Wow, it was fantastic. Then —

Time to go! Seeing the wine being wasted, I tried to put corks back into the bottles. They fell out, refusing to stay. I as being urge on.

Back at my place with my wife (which I understood was a temporary place), she offered me food, which were breakfast leftovers, she explained. I selected a few pieces, even though they were cold, and ate a bit, which tasted good. Then —

Time to iron! I needed to iron some pants because I wasn’t wearing any. I found pants and two ironing boards with irons in another room. One iron was small, like a toy. They other was a standard-sized iron on a standard folding board. The two options confused me. Before I could decide —

Time to go! My wife informed me that we needed to leave to go clean up another place. I protested that I’m not wearing any pants. “Don’t worry,” she replied. “Nobody will see you.”

We arrived via dreamport (that is, we turned around and were there) in a small house that doubled as a business. It looked tidy but my wife said that we needed to clean it. I agreed but told her that I needed to iron my pants and put them on first.

Right after that was announced, several of my wife’s friends arrived. I hastened to cover my lower nakedness as they laughed, hooted, and pointed, brushing it off, they’d seen it before, before they went off into another room, where my wife served them coffee and tea.

The dream ended.

I think my subconscious (working with my conscious mind) this morning, decided this dream was about broken dreams and lost promises. But after thinking about it while walking and then writing it out, I think it’s about the imposter syndrome.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

“This Diamond Ring” (cover by Gary Lewis and the Playboys, 1965) began playing in my head as I reconstructed and evaluated my dream, which was about theater, wine, food, and clothes. Why that song, I wondered, going over the lyrics. It’s all about broken promises and lost dreams, and gathered, that must be what the dreams were about, a depressing thought at its face.

Anyway, now the song is lodged in the stream. Sharing it will release it, so here you are. Watch the video, as their performance is interesting. (So is the setting.) (Such a simpler time.) Several of those musicians look like, “Where am I, where am I,” is caught in their thinking streams.

Cheers

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