Sunday’s Wandering Thought

I was walking down street when a silver Hyundai Santa Fe pulled out of their drive and turned my way. As they came on, I realized that a can was resting on top of the car on the passenger side.

“Hey,” I called. Gesturing, I tried playing charades with the driver: something. Car. Roof. Meanwhile, I hollered at him, “There’s a can on your car’s roof.”

Beaming, he gave me a big, friendly wave.

“No, no,” I cried out. “There’s something on your car’s roof.”

He drove on around the corner and was gone.

C’est le vie.

Winday’s Wandering Thoughts

The Starbucks lobby was locked. A sign said, “Sorry, lobby closed for maintenance.”

I considered Remix across the street. It was already busy and its seating had never suited me.

Back in the car, I headed to Noble’s on 4th, my other go-to place. I mostly mix it up between those two these months. My spouse has been campaigning for RoCo lately, so I veered over to East Main to hit it up.

I used to regularly visit RoCo. Named the Roasting Company back then I haven’t visited since BC; Before COVID. A small converted home, it was frequently packed. Outlets were limited and that’s needed for my power hungry laptop.

But my wife claimed it had changed. I trust my wife so I found parking and headed in.

She was right. Much lighter than it used to be inside, they’d added power strips screwed to the benches so outlets were plentiful. Not very crowded this day, either.

Classic rock played. Who can argue with Bowie, Pat Benatar, the Animals, the Mysterios, Stray Cats, and Pink Floyd providing background music?

A productive writing session was won. Of course, this is Saturday. Things change on weekdays. But it worked out today and I liked it, so I’ll try Monday. See if I have another good coffee writing session.

That’s what’s important.

The Car & Suit Dream

Dreamed I came into a windfall of cash. The amount was never specified but I bought a new Porsche 718 spyder and paid cash.

Next, I purchased a Dior pewter gray suit. Though off the rack, it fit me perfectly. Oh, and this was a young thirtyish me. Along with the shirt, I bought new shirt, tie, and shoes. Wearing these things, I drove the car around. In one odd sign, however, I seemed larger than the car.

I stopped and exited the car to chat with some people I loosely knew. They admired my suit, guessing, “New?” Yes, I proudly answered. I realized I had the price tags attached. I fretted about my wife finding out how much I paid for the suit. I believed it was thousands but I couldn’t read the price tags. Each time I tried, something imposed to prevent that from happening.

I decided that I wanted to remove the price tags. I needed a knife or small snips. Looked for both, roaming around, but found neither. Did receive many more compliments about how the suit looked on me.

Getting back into the car to leave, I found that while the cockpit was as expected, the rest of the car was expanded to be an open-air bus filled with people. Didn’t surprise me. We were leaving a museum. I saw a woman who I wanted to intercept walking toward another vehicle exit. I decided I would circle around and chat with her.

“I just have one stop to make,” I told the rest. “Then we’ll be on our way and I’ll drop you off at your destination.”

I was driving down the road while making that announcement. Lovely day of blue sky, sunshine, and clouds. The roads were spacious and well-maintained, concrete with curbs, abutting parks, plazas, and museums. I circled right and went under an overpass and came back around to where I was.

That surprised me. I’d expected there to be a turn off that would take me over to the other road. I tried again — three more times in all — and met the same result. With the fourth time, my passengers said, “Oh, no, not again.

Asking for their indulgence, I gave it one more effort, but this time shifting over by one road which I’d noticed. That worked, taking me to where I wanted to be.

Dream end.

Two Dreams of Helping

The first dream found me and my wife living in an apartment. A nice place, well lit, spacious, and quiet, it had some problems with ventilation and water, but I’d fixed them. However, one window gave me some trouble, so I went to adjust it.

I was surprised when I pulled back the window’s sheer curtains; another window, to another’s apartment was directly opposite, about a foot away. A man was over there. I easily looked into their pleasingly furnished place of overstuffed furniture (it was their living room) and then, as I thought was right, apologized to the man and made haste to shut the curtains and pretend they weren’t there.

But the woman, short, with thick, dark hair, was hurrying forward, calling, “Wait, wait.” So I did. She rushed up and asked, “How did you fix your ventilation?”

I had no real answer, explaining that I’d just kept tinkering with it. Impatiently, she interrupted, “Well, can you fix ours?”

Weirdly, there were then two other windows I could see in other people’s apartments. A woman was at each, a man behind them asking, “Can you also fix ours?”

I was taken back. I hadn’t done anything special that I could explain. I’d just kept addressing it. But I couldn’t tell them no; they wouldn’t let me. So I agreed to fix their places.

Dream end.

The next dream found me in a small square waiting room, darkish with heavy wood paneling. I’m not sure where people were waiting to go. I wasn’t waiting but just passing through. A woman escorted me through the room. I came across one individual, a man on the floor. Bearded with curly brown hair, he seemed almost lifeless.

“Oh, that’s Reardon,” the woman said when I asked about him. “He’s a lost cause. He doesn’t have a reason to go on.”

That upset me. Though the woman and I continued on through the room, Reardon stayed on my mind. I finally said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave him like that,” and went back.

Getting to him, I just gave him a long hug and talked to him, telling him that he was special, and that he shouldn’t give up. Then I went on.

I next came back into the room. Much lighter than it was before, a door was open on the other end. People were filing out. Most were already gone. Looking around, I asked about Reardon. I was told that he had recovered and that he was about to go through the door. She said he was very happy with what I’d done and kept talking about me.

I hurried over, calling him as I did. I didn’t want him to have the wrong idea, which to me, was that I was in love with him. I don’t know why I was suddenly worried that this is what he’d believe.

I called his name when I saw him. He turned and greeted me. At least a foot taller than me, I was forced to look up at him. In his right hand was a thick fan of money, mostly $100 bills.

Seeing me, he grinned. “I know what you’re going to say. I know what you’re thinking. You think that I think I’m in love with you, but I’m not. I understand what you did. Honestly, it saved me.”

He offered me money as a gift. I declined, saying something else that I don’t remember. We hugged, my face to his chest. A woman at the open door said it was time for him to go. They were waiting on him. Reardon released me and went through the doorway.

Dream end.

Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I enjoy being in the coffee shop and witnessing people encountering one another. They’re often so pleased, excited, or happy to meet. Short hugs are exchanged, and there’s often smiles and laughter.

Just a tonic for my spirits when I’m exposed to such joy.

The Cougar Dream

I awoke in the dream in a bed. As I sat up, I realized a young cougar had walked in from outside. Before I could do anything, it jumped up on the bed and came to me. I was freaking but urged myself to relax and stay calm.

My wife entered the room and gasped. “That a cougar?”

“Yes,” I quietly answered. “Don’t move fast. It’s pretty chill. Don’t do anything to upset it.”

The cougar was sniffing me and sometimes licking me. Wasn’t real big, about the size of a small large dog, if you follow. It wasn’t threatening me.

My wife said, “I’m going to back up back into the bathroom and close the door.”

“Do it slow,” I replied.

She did. The cougar spent several more minutes with me and then left through the door. I gathered from what I saw in the dream that I was in a living room sofa sleeper and the front door was open on the other side of the room. When the cougar left, I hurried out after it with an intention of warning others. The cougar meandered along the sidewalk, literally sniffing the flowers, along with other things, and then went down a hill away from the place through thick foliage.

I went back and dressed, and my wife and I walked down the sidewalk to the dining room. My sisters and brothers-in-law were there, so we told them about what had happened. As I finished telling the story, my older sister came in and listened. Giving a hand wave, she said, “Oh, that’s just Leslie.” She explained that Leslie was a young cougar who lived here. He never bothered anyone.

I was mildly indignant that she was so blase about my cougar encounter and that she’d known about this cougar and didn’t say anything.

Dream end.

Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

Play the taps. It’s that time. Another tee shirt is being retired.

The apparel in focus is a black tee shirt with Michael Schumacher in an F1 Ferrari in the rain at Spa. Bought in 1996. Not so much that I’m a Ferrari or Schumacher fan — I was rooting for Damon Hill in the Williams — but I liked the shirt’s colors and action. Its style.

I wore it for playing racquetball. Used to play three or four times a week back in the you know. Then it became part of casual Friday work clothes while toiling for start-ups. Spent the last ten years as yard work uniform and then sleepwear.

I’ve gotten my use out of it.

One underarm yawns with a huge hole. Otherwise fine. The hole appalls my wife, who is sensitive about worn clothing.

I won’t throw the tee away. Sentimental attachment. It’ll join a few other aged worn tees in my bottom drawer. Let ’em toss ’em after the flames feast on my body.

A Dream of Two Me’s

Weird one, where I had myself and another me. We were identical in every aspect, from age and size to clothes being worn. But, we were in two different locations.

We were much younger, like in our late twenties. Wearing off-white cargo shorts with a light blue button-down shirt. Brown hair military short.

‘I’ was supposed to be doing something to pave the way for the other me to arrive. But, panic in dream land! I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Wasn’t there something about pressing buttons and changing settings and selections? Yes, I was half-sure that was right, but what was I supposed to be setting? Was it the printer, television, home computer network?

None of that sounded correct and time was running out. Looking out across time and space, I saw my other self entering the room where he was supposed to be. Oh, no, but I’d not done anything yet. What was going to happen?

I awoke looking for the answers in the room. But this wasn’t the right room? What was this room?

Why, it was my bedroom. But was that where I was supposed to be? I didn’t think that was right. I was supposed to be doing something, setting things up for my other self…

As anxiety unspooled and seeped out, I calmed and remembered, oh, that was just a dream. A very real feeling friggin’ dream.

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Frigruff

Some artists got together and painted us the bluest sky. Brill sunshine was dabbed in o’er the goldenish green trees towering across the backyard. Cats and I were well-thrilled with this autumn display, frolicking in a mature way in the 50 something F air. We’ll plumb the mid 80s F today but autumn is bigfooting its presence on Ashlandia.

This is Friday, September 27, 2024.

I’ve circled at the usual AM stops and found some part of me meditating on What Constitutes A Healthy Breakfast? Trader Joe’s sheet cake was inviting me for a taste but that’s not healthy, is it? Well, it could be. Pumpkin and spices. Probably all artificial. But tasty.

Laboring through the morning news. Hurricane Helene did the wreckage as expected. Still rampaging. NY’s mayor indicted. The noble and dignified Trump hawking watches. They say they found the world’s oldest cheese, too. I thought that was in my fridge. I checked; still there. So that’s another example of fake news, innit?

Maggie Smith passed. 89, which is now considered a youngerish sort of age. Suppose because I’m closer to that yardstick. Beloved is an often overused word, up there with superstar. Beloved seems apt for Maggie Smith.

Alice in Chains is dominating the morning mental music stream (Trademark trademarked) with “Would” from 1992. I check and learn, yes, I used “Would” before as theme music, in September in another year. I have detected a trend of having the same songs come to me in the same months of different years. Serendipity? Random psychosis? Bullshit observation? I don’t know. It’d take more study and I haven’t had enough coffee to pursue it past my fingers bashing a keyboards.

I sneeze several times. My wife isn’t here so I need to tell myself, “Godzilla”.

Which inspires Blue Oyster Cult and their ode to the creature terrorizing Tokyo. It’s been pinned as theme music here too and doesn’t feel synchronized to my day, although nothing else does, either.

Then, clicking and muttering, I’m lead to Stevie Nicks’s new offering, “The Lighthouse”. Nicks said that she’d been on the road, listening to a newscaster talking about Roe v. Wade being overturned. Thinking of what it would mean, she had to write a song.

Nicks sings,

Because everything I fought for
Long ago in a dream, is gone
Someone said
The dream is not over
The dream has just begun
Or
Is it a nightmare
Is it a lasting scar
It is unless you save it
And that’s that
Unless you stand up
And take it back
And take it back

h/t to Genius.com

Yes, this feels like a song for today. Hope you give it an ear.

Be strong and so on as we wade through the days, 39 of them, until November 5, 2024. Coffee still tickles my throat in measured swallows. Here’s the music. Cheers

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