Category: Information

A Prize Dream

I was in some amorphous school. I never got a good handle about what it was. People aged up into their fifties were there. We lived, worked, and played there, but also had other homes.

Some kind of reward program was initiated to honor the best and brightest. Admin wasn’t forthcoming about what was going on. Meanwhile, with my wife and others visiting, I was working on an art project, using trash and garbage to make things, really just goofing around and exploring. I’d made dozens of objects, nothing impressing to my eye, just killing time, when I was summoned to another room. There, I was told I’d won and could select any prize from anyone. Well, I still didn’t understand. Like, won what? I learned that twelve had been chosen and I was one of them. I’d been selected to receive the first prize but that didn’t mean that I was first. It just meant that I was one of the twelve.

I walked through the school’s maze, looking for a prize to select. Others congratulated me as I did. Another student told me that a male teacher was overheard saying that he hoped that I wouldn’t be one of them, because he couldn’t stand me, and then I was the first one chosen, which upset the teacher.

I hadn’t found a prize I wanted so I started changing to leave. As I got down to my shirt and boxer shorts, other students found me and told me to go with them because they found a prize which they thought I’d like. So I went and yes, the gave me a prize, which I don’t remember. I started some four-year-old boys with their father watching. He was a friend and another of the selected winners, and the prize I’d taken was something he’d made. I felt a little embarrassed about it and apologized to him, but he waved it off, telling me, those are the rules. One of the boys announced that he didn’t want to play with me because I’d soiled myself.

Flabbergasted, shocked, and embarrassed, I covered my rear and left, but I hadn’t soiled myself. At that point, I saw another of the prize winners going by. Preparing to leave, they’d selected all of my art as their prize and was taken it with them.

End dream.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Last night’s sunset was like gold dust was thrown across the sun’s final rays for the day. Pretty and fascinating, shared as photos by a few, it caused me wonder: what’s in the air reflecting the light like that and giving that color?

Today is Wednesday, mid-week of October’s first week. I’ve been here in Pittsburgh a few, visiting, helping Mom and the fam. Also learning the dynamics of who is cool to who, or angry with another family member, and what words and questions to avoid like it’s a UXB.

It’s October 5, 2022. In my mind, we’re racing toward completion of the first quarter of this century. So much potential floats in the air like the stuff turning our sunset gold last night. Sunrise today is silvery clean, coming on at 7:21, about twenty minutes after I opened the back door, stepped into the 42 F air, and breathed deep. The weather the announced it’ll be 70 F and sunny today. I’ll pop the shorts back on. Sunset will sneak in at six minutes before seven in the evening.

Mom is doing a lot better by day. All her appointments and visits went well. Strength, balance, and co-ordination is returning. Her old personality and ways are emerging out of the sickness morass. But as noted, some things require walking on eggshells, broken glass, smoking coals. Gently, gently, lest you alienate another or get hurt yourself. Caution will see you through. Taking it in, The Neurons said, “This sounds like an opening for Annie Lennox.” They commenced playing “Walking on Broken Glass” from 1992. The album was part of my wife’s music rotation when we cleaned house every Saturday in the mid 1990s, so I heard it a chunk o’ times.

Stay positive and test negative. Coffee has already answered my call. Needed it to assist Mom with some matters and present her breakfast. Ready to jump into the day, starting with a shower. Here’s the tune. Y’all have a good ‘un.

Cheers

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Floofhub

Floofhub (floofinition) – A place where animals congregate or socialize.

In use: “In many houses, the floofhub gravitates toward the home’s sunniest spots, depending on the weather, although wherever food is found often quickly becomes a floofhub.”

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And Another Thing…

It’s a little rant…

The Evidation website’s FAQs, contact information, and other details are on the page’s bottom. But each time I scroll down, more history of what I’ve done is brought up. The net is, I can never reach the page’s bottom. Exasperation reaches sufficient levels after less than half a minute of trying that I I throw my hands up.

Screw that. Things like that are so frustration. I have better things to do than cultivate more frustration coping with their poor design.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Seeing the date, he remembers forty-eight years ago. A Friday, he reported early to the enlistment place, signed papers and took an oath. His girlfriend came down to say good-bye at lunch time. An hour later, he got on his first airplane ride and flew across the country to San Antonio, Texas, to go to Lackland AFB and begin basic training. He was eighteen years old.

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Head In A Jar Dream

We had a head in a jar. Dream knowledge told me it was a clay jar yet it was sufficiently clear to see the head inside. Not completely clear, but filmy and gauzy, as though petroleum jelly was smeared over it.

The head was in a cloudy pale-green liquid, and was male, white, and venerated. Now, on a pedestal, in the middle of scrubland, one other man and I had it. The other man was tall, spare, and mostly silent. Older, but I couldn’t give an age. He seemed to lack interest in the head jar.

I, though, tried singing to it. I thought that if we sang to it, it would sing back. Though the head’s eyes would look at me, and it would blink, it wouldn’t sing back. The other man wouldn’t sing either. That didn’t affect my mood. I remained optimistic and energetic. I then started prattling other ideas to him about the head in the jar. Maybe we should take it to a market and sell it. We could get good money for it. Or we can set it up in a square and I’ll ask others to sing with me to see if we could get the head to sing. I spoke to the head, asking it, what do you want us to do?

A hunter, armed with a compound bow and arrows, dressed in woodland camouflage vest, hat, and pants, came along. I quietly watched him. He saw the head in a jar on a pedestal, but went on, looking for animals to shoot.

The army came along, as expected. This was an army of the people. They walked, but didn’t march, in orderly rank and file. Most wore ragged clothing. All ages, races, and sexes were in it. My older, silent friend and I joined them, and the head in the jar was given to someone to carry. I was leading one large group, but in an unofficial capacity. On a road, we were supposed to keep up with the other groups but were going too slowly. Impatiently, I urged them, “Come on, we must keep up.” We’d been warned not to get separated because that would leave us exposed and vulnerable to attack. I saw the group ahead pulling away. I walked faster, thinking that my example might prod the group to walk faster. No; they instead dawdled and began chatting about trivial ideas. Exasperation building, I walked faster, becoming separated from both groups. But being in the middle, I could see them both and thought, if something were to happen to one group, I could turn to the other group to help.

We came to broad creek running low in a sandy, rocky basin. As I went to the water to drink, my group caught up to me. One said, “We know that women like you.” As I laughed at them, he continued, “We’ve all seen the way they react to you.”

End of dream.

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Homofloofeous

Homofloofeous (floofinition) – Household, location, or organization with only one species of animal.

In use: “While many infloofgrated households of cats, birds, dogs, reptiles, fish, and so on exist in the U.S., a number of households remain homofloofeous, often dedicated to one species, particularly cats or dogs.”

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

She would have been called a troubled teenager. Drinking too much, dropping out of school, becoming pregnant, marrying before she was seventeen, her life had taken turns that we didn’t expect from such an intelligent and charming person.

Two divorces, two children, and forty-five years later, she acquired her GED, graduated college with a B.S., runs a family business, is a grandmother of three, and is also a professional. She’s the one we turn to for help. She’s strong, stable, and reliable, the person we thought she would be before she became a troubled teen.

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