Category: miscellaneous

Broken-down Cars Dream

Let’s begin in the middle. As the dream seemed to do.

My wife and I were out somewhere. Broken down. Limited view of the setting, like, not important, but seemed like thin scrub brush, black asphalt road, and dry. Vehicle was a black sports car. Could have been a Jaguar XK-E or a Mazda RX-7. Its identity fluttered and shifted, always black, a sleek sports car, but different makes each time I looked at it.

Another man, in a faded yellow short sleeve short and torn blue jeans, was there, trying to go somewhere else. Seemed homeless, with little going for him.

Also present was a young woman, also with a broken-down vehicle, a sixties era white Volkswagen Beetle.

We needed parts and tools to fix the cars. I could get mine running. Plans were formed and tried. We couldn’t get all four people into my car. Should someone be left behind? Maybe her Beetle could fit into my car.

The VW’s body was removed. They tried fitting it in. Sort of got it in there but the consensus rose, that’s not going to work. We had to get it back out but it was wedged in tight. I told them, “Stand back. I got this.” I reached into the car, picked it up, and pulled it out using leverage. “Impressive,” everyone said. The woman said, “You’re really strong.” My wife said, “He’s always been weirdly strong.”

I decided, “This is what we’ll do. Leave the VW here. Get in my car. Go to the nearest town. Get the tools and parts needed, fix my car, then I’ll return and fix the other.” I finished, telling the woman, “You’ll go back with me to your car.” Everyone accepted the plan. I got into my car’s driver seat. Wife got into the passenger side. The car had a hatch. The other two got in there. We left the hatch open and drive the twenty something miles to town.

First, we met a group of other people. They needed help, rides, money, etc., to get elsewhere. For some reason, they thought my wife and I were there to help them. That surprised us, but we agreed we would.

Next, we decided we needed clothes, shirts and pants, and entered a crowded discount store. I found an orange pullover with green trim. After putting it on, my wife came up in a new shirt. “I went with a sports team on my shirt,” she said. “Looks like you went with something else.”

The others needing help were white haired, elderly, thin or thick, men and women. They followed me around. After raising the hood and fiddling, I announced that I’d fixed my car. Now the woman and I would go get her Volkswagen. The woman said that she would sell it after it was fixed and buy a larger vehicle. She and I got into my car and zipped away. Seconds later in dream time, I was back in town when she drove her VW in.

Dream end.

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Rideday’s Theme Music

April 14, 2023 emerged, handsome in a classic spring style, blue skies, soft air, an icy flair in his demeanor. “I shall call myself Rideday,” he said. “Cuz I will go on a ride. I will ride until the day’s end. I will let it ride.” So Rideday it is.

The mark was marked 6:29 this morning when the sun bathed Ashlandia with its first rushes. Earth plans to move us from the sun at 7:52 this evening. Though it’s 38 F now, the weather counters say we’ll see 68 F before Earth does its thing. No precipitation is planned although clouds plan a surprise appearance.

The latest intel leak disturbs me. Worked with classified materials in almost of all my twenty-plus year military career. War plans, comm crypto, launch codes, and intel from all manner of source. Never talked to people outside those with a need to know and clearance. Never photographed any or it or took it home. Didn’t even freaking consider it. But some idiot decides I’m going to take some home and photograph it and share it with my online friends. WTF, over?

The thing about our system, while we have checks and balances, it mostly depends on people knowing, understanding, and enforcing the rules. Then it depends upon their integrity and ethics. We’ve seen this approach several times this year. First, by a former POTUS who doesn’t want to give it up, who twists all the guidance to make it seem like he’s done nothing wrong. Then, by a POTUS who, in previous capacities, left the classified elsewhere and forget it. Now we have someone who wanted to impress friends.

I can understand some of the first — it’s his personality — and the second, though both piss me off. But the third? I’ve heard of people leaking classified for ideological and financial reasons but this is new one is an ugly low. Been a bad few years for classified. I will tell you this: much of the classified I saw during my years was overclassified. Much of it was pretty damn boring. Like, what the Apollo astronauts were eating for breakfast, which was almost verbatim given on the news before I saw the docs that day. Don’t worry, it’s been declassified.

The weather view outside the window stirred The Neurons. They said, “I got a song for this.” No shit, I answered. “Surprise me.”

They did.

After rummaging through the brain, they came up with one from 1969. By a group called Vanity Fare, the song is “Early in the Morning”. I laughed when they plugged it into the morning mental music stream. Don’t think I heard it in decades. Not the sort of sound which generally attracted me, it was one of those ubiquitous AM staples back in that era. I think more people are familiar with Vanity Fare’s other song, “Hitchin’ A Ride”.

Well, be a pos peep today and every day. Know it’s tough sometimes. I feel it, too. I don’t just coffee up and power on, but indulge in some self-pity and self-examination, dribble a few sighs, and then coffee up and move on. Or try. Sometimes, moving on is an event.

Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

The ceiling fans are still. Baristas behind the counter are quiet. Low-key. Not like them.

The coffee house is a third full. Music plays. People chat and work phones and laptops, sipping beverages, nibbling treats. But a feeling rolls through. Something is off. Different. Like the building is waiting to inhale.

Maybe it’s not them or the building. Perhaps it’s only him.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Thursday’s raised itself out of the Earth and declared, “I am April 13, 2023.” A sun sprinting over the horizon concurred and cast a wide net of shine and warmth over the land.

That was at 6:34 AM. It was 30 degrees F at the time. Faint, indifferent white clouds said, “Yo.” Rain and snow didn’t fail. The spring and winter yo-yo continues.

Sunset in Ashlandia, where the beer is excellent and the children are above average, will be at 7:50 PM. The weather messengers spread word, high will be at 55 F, nice, but a little disappointing. Sunday’s high of 73, with spring buoyancy, spoiled us. There is sunshine, though, so the cats are out there sopping it up.

We toasted friends with beer last night and chatted about the weather. Snow fell outside. It cleared. Then it rained but the sun shined still, converting each raindrop into a falling diamond. What is with the weather this year echoed from person to person.

Politic watching again this morning. Eyeing the Trump trials and tribulations, wondering, what will come? Reading of the GOP’s legislative efforts to protect Trump and the Manhatten DA’s lawsuit against Rep. Jim Jordan. Following the spillage over Justice Thomas and his relationship with a wealthy sponsor, and the emails between his wife and others. Thinking about Connor Sturgeon’s murders and his mother’s frantic 911 call that morning.

Wonder and thought, speculations and reflections.

Then there is the Pythia’s Oasis, fifty miles off the coast of Newport, Oregon.

Oddly quiet on the dream front last night. The Neurons ply me with Cheap Trick and “Dream Police”. That’s been used, I scoff. And it’s so obvious. What else you got?

The Neurons responded with “One of these Days” by Pink Floyd from 1971. Basically an instrumental. Just one line of words: “One of these days I’m going to cut you into little pieces.” Nick Mason delivers it.

Stay positive, endure, and overcome. Here’s the music. I’m going to go overcome a cuppa joe. Cheers

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A Dream of Money & Fighting

Many of my recent dreams have been about self-doubt, communication problems, and confusion. Last night’s dream added a different twist. A sort of duality emerged right at the beginning.

I was a civilian but arrived at a military complex. Walking in, I assumed my military persona as an experienced senior NCO. I had a huge cache of cash with me, US currency, twenties, fifties, hundreds. I was trying to put them into a leather bag. There was so much, it would fit. I shoved some into pockets but was left with more.

While this transpired, I grew aware of three men watching me. One black, two whites. All taller than me. Bigger. But middle-aged, as I was in dream world.

I suspected they were planning to jump and rob me. I wasn’t going to permit that to happen and placed my keys in my hand with the tips outward between my fingers. One of the men came close. I turned on him as he reached for me, and swung hard at him.

I completely missed.

But he was surprised, taken aback. Dropping back, he stumbled, fell, hit his head, and lost consciousness. One down. Similar things happened with the other two, where I was completely clumsy and ridiculous in my fighting efforts — I am not a fighter in real life or dreams — but still won. With them dispatched, I went to find my room, number 2407.

The complex was like a maze. Signage was almost non-existence. Doors were closed but no locked. I ended up going through quarters for different people, along with operations areas and work rooms for different squadrons. People sometimes challenged me as I walked in on dental and surgical operations, counseling sessions, and newcomer orientations. I kept walking through, trying to find my way, often telling them when they accosted me, “I wouldn’t be here if you guys had signs. This is totally ridiculous.” I vowed as I went that I would write this up to give them feedback about the lack of signs, and the disorganization which I encountered.

When I found my room, it was locked. I had a key, though. It was a calm oasis within. Paused there, I reflected on the dream’s elements while still dreaming, and realized how much it reflected my personal issues, real and imagined. Then I drew out my cash and realized that I was wealthy.

That’s how it ended.

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

Microsoft updated his computer. He supposed it was a good thing. Needed to repair security holes, misfiring features, and add new stuff.

Took so long, though. Bricked his computer for almost half an hour. He watched as it went through the process, shut down, and then started again.

Nothing worked after he logged in but the task manager said the machine was busy. He rebooted.

Everything came up. Now the experience would really go live. What would be broken, moved, added, relocated?

Updates were usually a trying experience. It was really just more first world blues, though.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Blazing question in my head to research. Why, after being complimented about something well done, do people pretend to buff their nails? Know what I’m talking about? Figure it has to do with work and not having dirty nails or maybe having the time to do your nails, or maybe implying that your nails are in good shape and not broken because the work was easy. All things I’m inferring from context. Really curious about the gesture and its history.

Meanwhile, we watched the snow failing this Wednesday, April 12, 2023 morning. 6:30 AM it was. Falling, sticking, accumulating. All gone an hour later. Right now, it’s all blue sky and disheveled gray and white clouds. And it’s snowing again.

It’s now 37 F. Word around the weather stand is the high will be 44, 47, or 51 F. Depends on which service you ask. Sunrise came at 6:35 and the sun turn will end at 7:49 AM.

Read yesterday that California endured a stunning 32 atmospheric rivers this year. Ashlandia, in southern Oregon, shared in some of that largess.

Note of interest: I just learned this morning that the full name for Papi, my ginger floofmate, is Papi von Painintheass. Who knew?

Watched the last of “Sprung” last night on Freevee. A Greg Garcia production, I knew it would have quirky characters and surprising twists. Helped with a strong cast led by Martha Plimpton and Garret Dillahunt, I wasn’t disappointed. The ending to this short pandemic-inspired series was sweet and funny. The music to the closing credits was “Better Things” by the Kinks, 1981. I hadn’t heard the song in a long time, so The Neurons regaled me with it in the morning mental music stream, and I share it with you as today’s theme music. It’s a jaunty song with an ‘old-fashioned’ rock and roll sensibility. Hope you enjoy it.

Stay pos. Like the bumper sticker said, dream big. Or, have coffee. Relax. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

Stripping down to shower, he tossed his dirty undies on the floor to be taken to the hamper. The cat immediately marched over, sniffed the garment, and sat down on it. A purr boomed out.

Liked he claimed a major prized.

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Sunday’s Wandering Thought

He needed to iron a shirt. Short sleeve. Cotton. Button up.

Been so long since he’d ironed a shirt. Used to do it almost every day in the military and quite often when he was in marketing. New materials and different work activities and standards had lessened requirements to iron.

He was still using their thirty-year-old iron. Why not? It works. He figured smart irons have finally arrived, though what a smart iron would do, he doesn’t know. Probably robot irons have arrived, too, just give it the shirt and it’ll know what to do. But he had to manually do it, setting up the little board and then plying seams, collar, yoke, sleeves, and most treacherous of all for him, the placket with steam and heat to make it all look unwrinkled.

After all that, he didn’t wear the shirt. Oh, well. It’d be ready for next time.

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Friday’s Wandering Thought

He ended up eavesdropping again. One young woman was speaking with another. God and religion were her primary topics. Then she spoke about her boyfriend for a long time.

What drew his attention was the realization that she was crying. She said, “I love him. I know people think I’m stupid. I’m trying really hard. I think we can work it out.”

It’s a trope as old as humanity.

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