Category: miscellaneous

Somewhere in the Future

Somewhere in the future

I sit and read

various books written by me

I lounge on beaches

soak in the sun

drink wine and read

till night’s begun

I visit friends and families

hug them all hello

ask them how their day went

tell them how it goes

I visit restaurants and shop in stores

I run around the great outdoors

and if I want, I have a sit

whenever I want, until I quit

those days are possible

I know they’re coming

somewhere in the future

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C-19 Vaccinations Update

I haven’t received a COVID-19 vaccination. I’m still pretty far down the order, so, shrug. I continue hiding at home. Although I dream of going out and getting coffee and sitting down somewhere. Oh, to have a beer with friends, or go dancing to live music, or just shopping without eyeing others as possible assassins…

Sorry, got diverted from my destination. I’ve heard good things about how the vaccinations are being conducted in Jackson County, Oregon. Jackson County set up the Expo Fairgrounds as the vaccination center. It’s all drive through. Signs inform people about expectations and wait times. Other signs tell people, “Honk if you need help”. All who’ve gone through it have come back with glowing reports about the efficiency witnessed. The numbers still aren’t large, but we’re following the tried course of employing baby steps before we break out into a run.

Cool, right? After reading about so many long lines elsewhere, vaccine shortages, and other stumbling blocks and struggles, a positive story was welcome.

On top of that, our county’s positive numbers and deaths continue dropping. Fingers crossed, right? Knock on wood. Spit three times. No, don’t spit there! Gross.

How ’bout you? How are vaccinations proceeding in your area?

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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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So the Thoughts

So the thoughts go, ah, another cousin has died. He was seventy-three. Positive for COVID-19, kidney failure was his cause of death.

The thoughts continue, when did I see him last? What happened to him in the interim?

The thoughts drift…did he marry and have children? Who are they and where do they live?

The thoughts roll on to other uncles and aunts and their children, and their children’s children.

Two other cousins passed away in 2020. Hadn’t seen one in two decades. Almost six had passed since I’d seen the other. They and I were small children. Also passing was an aunt, not seen since I was two or three.

In a modern age of connection and travel, it’s startling to recognize how many of my family members I know about, and how little I know about them.

Two related stories are there to be told. One is of a cousin fourteen years younger. He was friends with my sister via FB. (My sister has a different father than me and last name and she’s since married a few times.) He reached out to her: “Hey, how come my mom’s maiden name and your brother’s last name are the same?” He was too young to remember me, and didn’t know about our connection.

Another friend request came in last year. Mom’s older brother had a son who know lives north of me by a few hours. Can we be friends? A few years older, he and I have a lot in common. On one FB exchange today, we discovered that we attended the same Joe Cocker concern a few years ago. From our description of where we were sitting, we were within yards of one another.

It’s a large world and a small world, a world tangled with connections and distance. I began trying to untangle some of it today.

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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.

0

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.

0

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.

3

Monday’s Meatballs

  1. My wife is feeling guilty. I’m a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. Because I live in Oregon now, I’ve also adopted the Seattle Seahawks to watch. That’s mostly because their games are frequently broadcast in the area (wonder why…). Anyway, back when Russ was cooking and the Steelers were 11-0, my wife started cheering for the two teams. Everything went downhill from there… She blames herself. Doesn’t help that she’s also a Patrick Mahomes fan. She was cheering for him. Then yesterday, during the playoffs, he hits the ground and is concussed and out. Yes, she blames herself. Says its bad luck for her to cheer for any team or person. Hmmm…maybe she should stop rooting for me to get published…
  2. Got a message from a FB friend. I didn’t know the name. Message just said, “Hi.” I thought, bull; you’re not my friend. I checked their FB page. Nothing there, you know, except a photo who I think is Paul Hollywood from a few years ago.
  3. We’ve been receiving spates of calls from our area code. They’re numbers that we don’t recognize. From years of conditioning, we don’t answer the phone unless we know the number. Going further, I’ve assigned family members specific ringtones so I know it’s them when the phone rings. When we check out these numbers doing reverse look up, they often turn out to be foreign numbers. They seem to be linked to a new scam going around.
  4. It seems like there’s a new scam on the phone, net, or in politics every week.
  5. Speaking of politics, I’m not going to write about it. I’m weary of this mess that’s arisen in the U.S. with normal people believing outlandish things. Then there’s the things that outlandish people believe. They really stretch sanity’s perimeters. I think such people are searching for a force to give their lives meaning. I do the same with my writing (and posting). It’s a structure for my existence; I wouldn’t be surprised if their deep hold on crazy ideas and its supporting community (or tribe) isn’t the same for them.
  6. This week’s soup is again the root soup — roasted broccoli, carrots, potatoes, and garlic put into a mushroom broth and simmered with seasoning. Awesome for winter. Just add good bread.
  7. We picked up some VitaCup infused coffee on sale during a ninja shopping venture last week. We’re both surprised how good this turmeric and cinnamon coffee concoction is. It’s become our go-to choice. That’s especially startling for me; I’ve always been a French or Italian roast sort of person, dark with no sugar, cream, milk, etc. I will acknowledge that I was/am a mocha drinker. When I did them, it was four shots of espresso, then add a little chocolate, and steamed milk. Quit doing those; bad for my prostate.
  8. Still averaging twelve miles per day walking, according to Fitbit. I’m dubious.
  9. Over in streamland, we’re enjoying “Snowpiercer” (the series) and “Doom Patrol”. Both are on HBO Max. I especially like “Snowpiercer” as it fleshes out things in better ways than the movie did. I’m a train fan, and this idea appeals to my sci-fi infused imagination.
  10. On WordPress, it always bugs me that when Post comes up on the right, there is a red button that says, “Move to trash”. It’s like they’re making a suggestion about what I’m writing to post, you know?
  11. I’m also watching “The Wire” again. Been years since I’ve seen it but the characters (and actors), storylines, and plots (and twists) all remain clear in memory. I still enjoy it because it has great values and terrific acting. The characters all have sharp human edges and avoid being stereotypes (although McNulty is pretty close to one as a functioning alcoholic who cares), and we care about them all, good people and bad.
  12. Got my coffee (yes, it’s the infused stuff). Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Almost ready for the characters to put Arsehold into the rearview mirror. Fingers crossed, you know?
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