Category: food

The Dream Collection

First, I dreamed that my ankle was completely healed. Such a real dream that when I awoke, I asked myself, did I dream that? Checking the ankle, I confirmed, nope, not healed. Yet.

Next dream had me dealing with space. A father was in space, apparently as an astronaut. It wasn’t clear if he was a private citizen, military, government effort, etc., but the news was full of his attempt. Then, boom, we were all looking up at a starry explosion on the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. Then the newspaper, electronic, and digital media is full of his disaster and death.

I wasn’t involved in any of this, just a spectator. Talking about the matter in a fractured dream process under a blue sky, my friends and I went off to get lunch. But while this progressed, I put forward the man’s daughter, a four-year-old, had been with him, and he was launching her separately back to Earth. I kept insisting that she was out there, coming back. All others were doubtful. We hunted down a tracking monitor. As we watched it, another object was being traced across the sky. There was a target arc and vector it was supposed to be following. As it veered off that, reports of a crash came in. Everyone agreed it was her and that her vehicle crashed and she was deceased. But I remained optimistic that she’d come down, and that what we’d seen was just a ruse to throw everyone off. Certainty remained in me that she’d made it back. Then I stated my belief that her father had also made it back, using the distraction of his spectacular destruction as a diversion.

That’s where the dream ended. Who this man and his daughter were supposed to be and why we cared is a complete unknown.

The night’s final dream found me with a power to make toys come to life. I could also make them grow larger. Once I learned of my ability, I tested it on a yellow toy dump truck and a green army tank. Finding my wife sitting on top of a tiny green hill, I demonstrated my new skills to her as my black and white cat, Tucker, watched.

In true dream strangeness, I then went to a cafeteria to find something to eat. Although the dining room was full, they were preparing to close. I got in line. Only a young couple were ahead of me. Cloying and loving, they were annoying and silly as they flirted and teased one another over their food selections. Seeing me waiting behind me, they apologized and offered to let me go ahead. I declined and they finished a few minutes later. Stepping up, I found that only pasta with a brown meat sauce and hot dogs were available. I piled some pasta on the plate and then loaded up two hotdogs. Eating one of the dogs, I thought, wow, that really tastes good. I was pleased with having it to eat and scarf the rest down.

My wife rushed in, interrupting my meal to warn me that something was happening to one of my toys. Her explanation was inchoherent so I just ran to where she indicated. As she said, my largest toy, a stuffed bull which was now a dozen yards tall, had fallen into a deep water. I ran over, trying to think instructions for getting out to the bull. But I was still assimilating the situation and didn’t have a clear idea yet.

The bull was running in a circle under the water. I thought he would drown. Then I saw that my black and white cat, Tucker, was riding the bull. As I gaped, I realized that Tucker was guiding the bull. Encouraged by that, I thought instructions to Tucker to help him, telling him to turn toward the shallows. Apparently receiving the guidance and applying it, Tucker guided the racing bull left and left again, and up and out of the water.

Dream end

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Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

Sitting here reading a food review. It’s a food gift basket for Mom. Reviewer says that the food in their gift basket was “delicious and tasty”.

My Neurons sat up straight. Aren’t those the same?

No. I always thought of them as being closely related but displaying a difference of degrees. Tasty is a less enthusiastic embrace of something.

“How was the chicken?”

“It was tasty.”

That’s a thin endorsement to me. I’m hedging. Something was wrong with it but I’m trying to put a positive tag on it.

Delicious, however, is an unreserved endorsement.

“How was the chicken?”

“It was delicious.”

To me, if it’s delicious, I’m unabashedly pleased.

So they’re not literally the same to me but in this world, they probably could be said to be literally the same. But in no way I would ever describe something as tasty and delicious. It’s one or the other.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Mood: Chillified

Gray clouds have returned to win the sky. Really, it seems like one big light-gray cloud. Low relative to the upper elevations, it cuts off the view after two hundred yards, giving an impression that the world ends there.

The wind is sedated to an infrequent breeze. Chillier air has shifted back in. We navigate 39 F with a high of 50 proferred, and more rain sometime.

This is Saturday, November 23, 2024.

My song today is “Good Life” by OneRepublic. I’d been reading news and opinions online late last night. One thing after another led me to new insights and angles. I ended up reflecting on the MAGA GOP’s narrow minded views. Their hypocrisy and lack of principles always flavor my opinion, as well. I’m sure they rationalize everything as the ends justify the means. Such cliches allow them to declare they’re for freedom, equality, and ‘protecting women’ even as they curtail equality and people’s freedom. They’re all about conforming. Two sexes and genders, traditional missionary position, trad wife, that’s them, at least in public. We suspect many dark things happening in private, based on what periodically crawls into the light. See, for example, Donald Trump’s “grab ’em by the pussy” philosophy and his affairs, Matt Gaetz, Jeffrey Epstein, et al.

And, it’s their religion and their God to which we must all bow. That’s how they interpret religious freedom in their ‘Merica. Their pasteurized, homogenized history that must be taught. Anything bad that happened is pushed aside so they can pretend it didn’t happen. Mass shootings are all because of people with mental health problems who are troubled by the liberals’ DEI and woke agenda. All is good in the MAGA world, as long as the wealthy can avoid being taxed, the stock market is going up, and everyone is working, even if it’s at menial jobs for slave wages, even if it’s children working, even if the skies and waters are polluted. That’s their version of a ‘good life’.

As for Democrats, liberals, and progressives, they must be ignored, expunged, or re-educated to accept the MAGA way.

It’s so far from my idea of a good life that I’m nauseated when I contemplate the gulf.

Anyway, after I shifted through these strands of thoughts, The Neurons inserted “Good Life” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark rising) where it shared some time with “It’s My Life” by the Animals and “It’s My Life” by No Doubt. “Good Life”, released in 2010, feels like another of those songs people know mostly through movies and television shows. It’s been used in a few of them.

When songs are in my head, my mind often focuses on specific sections. In this case, the specific section is a set of lines:

Listen, to my friends in New York, I say hello
My friends in L.A., they don’t know
Where I’ve been for the past few years or so
Paris to China to Colorado
Sometimes there’s airplanes you can’t jump out
Sometimes bullshit that don’t work now
We all got our stories, but please tell me
What’s there to complain about?

h/t to Genius.com

Well, excuse me, but I have a lot to complain about. Some of it is about aging. Much of my gripping is first world blues, but there’s also a substantial political section to my complaints.

Coffee and I have been re-introduced. We plan to make green chili stew in a little while. The rain has begun dripping down again, clouds have dramatically darkened the day, and the temperature has leveled off at 42 F. Feels like something lower. That stew will go well with this day.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

The word of the year for my wife is crazo.

Recent examples of use:

“The 2024 election results are crazo.”

“They wanted almost $12 for a dozen eggs. That’s crazo.”

“I’m going shopping early tomorrow morning. I need to go before it gets crazo.”

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Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

I was thinking of a cozy mystery series based on pizza. I decided to challenge myself with ten titles for the series.

Family Size Murder To Go

A Slice of Death

Murder with Extra Cheese

Pineapple, Pepperoni, and Death

Deep Dish Murder

Personal Pan Killer

Pizza, Salad, & Murder on the Side

Three Slices of Death

Killer Delivery

Chicago Style Murder

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Wednesday’s Political Thoughts

If I were religious or ascribed to a diety, I’d say that they might be pissed after Trump’s Micky D Sunday stunt. First there was an E. Coli Outbreak, forcing them to pull quarter pounders. Next came some crashing stock.

All started with Trump’s appearance there. Just sayin’. Also, as others noted, while Trump wore an apron, he didn’t have the rest of the required gear, like hairnets. Just sayin’.

Of course, under the Trump administration and Project 2025’s goal to reduce regulations, this sort of things might happen more often. Just sayin’.

Vote blue.

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Winday’s Theme Music

Mood: windulated

It’s a windy beast out there this morning. Definitely a creature of autumn. Trees are shimmying and waving branches like they’re cheering on the University of Oregon Ducks football team.

It’s technically a Sattyday, or Saturday as they call it in some parts of the U.S., samedi in some other places. October 12, 2024. 64 with a lovely balminess riffing. Most of the sun action is obscured behind a cloudy gray monolith. Our air will tiptoe into the low to mid sevenities this day.

The cats are out there, trying to make out like they’re happy with the weather’s shape. But their dismayed whiskers reveal their truths, that this wind is disturbing their sleep, mussing their fur, and annoying them with its sounds. Whenever I go by a door or window and look out, they eye the house like they want back in. I will go back and see if that’s true. Both will probably come in. Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) will stay but Papi will go back out. He has a short memory when weather is introduced as the topic.

You know who else doesn’t like the wind? DJ Trump dislikes the wind. The former President said some stuff about the wind at one of his rallies last week as part of his magic weave. This is lifted from a Huffpost article shared on Yahoo:

“The wind, the wind, it sounds so wonderful. The wind, the wind, the wind is, the wind is bullshit, I’ll tell you,” he said.

The crowed roared.

“It’s horrible, so expensive. Just too expensive. It doesn’t work. All of that to do y’know one tenth of one percent, I mean the whole thing is crazy,” he said.

Trump complained that wind power means people can’t watch television on days with no breeze.

He is right; the whole thing is crazy.

Speaking of wind, it’s a mess down in Florida after Hurricane Milton finished with them. Millions without power. Massive flooding. Sixteen dead, but people left homeless. Gas stations lack gas and alligators are swimming freely as a threat. President Biden has asked Congress to return to pass more funding for FEMA. Let’s see how the GOP reacts.

Moving on.

I have a friend with a fruitful fig tree, and she’s generous with its produce. After receiving pint after pint after pint of fresh, ripe figs, my wife baked a fig cake with a mix of almond and white flour. Excellent with coffee. I theorize it’d go well warm with a scope of vanilla bean ice cream as a dessert. But I’m having it this morning, cold with my coffee. Still fine riding on the taste buds.

All this wind thinking lends itself to songs about wind. I ended up with Kansas singing in the morning mental music stream (Trademark blown away). The Neurons agreed with the choice (although they did campaign for “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger and The Scorpions’ windy offering, “Wind of Change”. So here is “Dust in the Wind”, the 1977 progressive rock offering.

Stay strong, be positive, and vote blue in 2024. Rock on with your day. I’ve been rocking mine with coffee. Here’s the music. Cheers

Update: both cats came in and stayed.

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The Can’t-Wake-Up Dream

I’d been working. In the military, it seemed like from clues, but it was never clearly presented. Staying in some manner of mixed work, play, sleep compound. Very modern. Enormously wide hallways. Well lit.

I’d been going to and fro, doing work and receiving instructions, sometimes passing guidance along, when suddenly, I was asleep. Yep, asleep in my dream. And I couldn’t wake up. And I knew this. I new that I wanted and needed to wake up. But my head was heavy with exhaustion and my eyes felt glued shut.

Someone came by and spoke with me. Don’t know what they said. I replied, “I need to wake up but I can’t. I must get up.”

Somehow, I did manage to get up. “Water,” I told myself. “Drink some water. That will help.”

Feeling my way about, I came to a sink and turned on the water. Using my hand to catch water, I guzzled a bit.

It wasn’t working. “Put water on your face,” I told myself. “Splash your eyes.”

Right; yes. That worked enough that at last I could open my eyes. “Food and coffee will help,” I said to myself. “Go find some.”

Dream end. Early sunlight was petering in around the closed blinds. The dream felt so real that I went into the kitchen and drank a glass of water and then went to a mirror to see if my eyes were open. Very strange.

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A Dream in Three Parts

A long and greatly involved dream in three parts entertained me last night. It seemed like it was about hopes, expectations, and relationships.

Part 1: the Catholic family.

In this, Mom had to go away. Although I was an adult, she worried about where I was going to stay and what I was going to do, standard concerned Mom reactions to change. I ended up with an offer to stay with a childhood friend’s family. Neighbors. Haven’t seen the guy in almost fifty years, but here he was, in my dream, along with his parents. His parents have passed away some time ago, BTW.

In this dream, they had a huge home. I wouldn’t deem it luxurious but enormous with a byzantine layout. Some rooms were like huge cement auditoriums or gymnasiums; others were small but with multiple levels.

My friend’s mother told me, “Do whatever you want here. Just act like it’s your house. We’re happy to have you here.”

While I appreciated the sentiments, I was leery of making myself an unwanted guest, so I tried being circumspect. Weirdly I wore off-white pajamas with narrow blue pinstripes the entire time. I thanked her, of course. After casual exploring, I found a large room with a small student desk, the kind seen in elementary school, where I set up my computer and sat down to write.

After I set up, she came by with her family. Only she spoke, though, telling me, “We’re going out. We’re going to be gone a while, so the house is all yours.” It felt like a huge responsibility, almost a burden, but I thanked her for her trust and hospitality. They left; I kept writing.

At some point, I grew aware that it was pouring rain and the onset of dusk outside. I decided to leave.

Part 2: the Porsche rally and restaurant.

I went into my hosts’ garage and found a car. A small and older sports car of some kind, I knew it as mine.

I drove out into the rain and down a driveway to a busy, winding multi-laned urban street. Small sports cars were passing, dropping revs and downshifting, and sometimes sliding, drivers catching spins as the car’s back end swung out on the slick asphalt.

I recalled then, that’s right, the town was hosting a Porsche Rally, with special emphasis on older Porsches and the Porsche Spyder.

Well, that explained it! I also saw a circa 1970 Lotus Elan go by. I wondered if they’d allowed it to participate in the Porsche event, or if serendipity had brought it to this time and place.

Pulling out into the driving rain, I drove carefully, wishing I had a Porsche like the stylish little cars I saw. As I came up one hill, I needed to slow substantially because a Bugatti Veyron had spun across the middle of the road. I wondered, what is an expensive exotic like that doing here? I then saw three more going by in the rain.

Bugatti Veyron from the net — not my car.

It was almost dark and I reached my destination, a crowded old restaurant where I was meeting friends. The menu was American-Immigrant fusion. I began with pasta with tomato sauce and meatballs, and then switched to chicken fried rice. We stood as we ate, and my food tasted sensational.

As I ate, a tall, thin man walked by. “Guess what,” he loudly said, “I saw jars of Ragu in the kitchen. You’ve been tricked! This sauce is not made here.”

My friends and I shrugged it off. Wherever the food was from, it was awesome.

Part 3: the Revolution

I piled into a car with four other men. One of them was driving. One was armed with a gun which was part of his head. I could see that it was loaded with one round bullet, like something you’d fire from a musket. I was pondering the intricacies of how you’d aim a gun like that, especially if the target is moving.

We parked and entered a small, dim theater. A small stage was set up on the far end in front of rows of padded metal folding chairs. About twenty people, mostly men, were present. All were early middle-aged or older, and all were white. I milled with a few people, chatting for several seconds, and then one man began talking. They were there to overthrow the government.

Well, hold on, I thought, uneasy. I’d been invited to this gathering, and it’s not what I thought it was going to be. Something about the way they were addressed struck me as a religious group. I eased myself to one side, thinking, how am I going to get out of here?

At that point, the man with the gun head fired. He pointed it somewhere else and not at me. I watched the round ball leave its barrel with a plume of white smoke.

How weird, I thought, and that’s where it ended.

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