I’ve been under a barrage of dreams the last two nights. All of them have been as fleeting as me meteors on a summer night. One impression remains bold from one dream: I learned that Frank Sinatra was my father.
Bet that’ll be a surprise to Mom.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thought
His wife, as she sometimes does, came in and said, “Just making sure you’re alive,” and then left for the gym.
It’s something she’s been doing for a few years. But he’d recently stayed with his mother, who twice told him that she was going to send someone down to his room to see if he was alive when he visited her.
Just what kind of vibe was he giving off to others that they wondered if he was still alive?
Tuesday’s Wandering Thought
Everyone was worried about putting their trash cans out by the curb the night before pickup because of bears.
But most people’s trash cans are stored by the side of their house. Some are behind wooden fences, no doubt a robust protection against a bear (yeah, that’s snark). A bear can get these cans just as easily there as on the street, waiting for the trash collector. If they’re really concerned about bears getting into trash cans, they need to do a lot more than delay putting them out until the morning.
A Short Mom Dream
Snow had fallen but now a sun blazed in the sky, transforming roads into slushy paths. All very picturesque, though. I was inside the house, waiting for Mom to return with my sisters. As usual, I hid from them when they first came in, springing out and surprising them, making them laugh.
We were busy with a multitude of things simultaneously. I went out and walked on the slushy asphalt, testing my footing. It all seemed safe.
A sister called my name from the house door, telling me that Mom wanted my help. When I went in, Mom was struggling with papers and stuff on a table. “Help me figure out my transportation, Michael,” she said. “I need to know who to call and where I need to go when I need to go somewhere.”
Sisters were in the mess, reading things. I picked up a few items and realized after reading that she only needed to go two places to catch transportation. So I marked the phone with bold black letters and began explaining things to her.
She immediately began firing protests back. “But what if I want to — “
I kept explaining that it could all be done with what I’d figured out. Press the 1 one the phone where I’d marked it to go to these places. Press the two for these places. The telephone numbers were programmed into the phone. Then she just needed to go to the place corresponding to the one or the two to be picked up. 1’s pickup spot was her house, so she didn’t even need to leave.
We went on in that vein for a few minutes before the dream ended.
It reminded me so much of being home last month and helping Mom figure out her medications.
Monday’s Wandering Thought
He finished reading an article on a Tampa Bay news site. At the end of the article was something he’d never before seen: a button to report typos.
Impressed, he nodded. Many sites would benefit from such a button. They could also use a button to report grammar and punctuation errors.
Hell, his own modest site would do with those buttons.
Sunday’s Theme Music
If you guessed the temperature in my area would be around 60 degrees F, plus or minus one or two, you’ve been paying attention to the recent posts from me. That’s the temperature now. It’s supposed to again reach 89 F. It actually struck 92 F yesterday. I was so surprised seeing that on my home system. With doubt riding high, I checked several net weather stations. All agreed within a degree either direction.
Riding starlight, Sunday sailed in last night after sunset and took up position, greeting everyone as sunrise joined her at 7:24 this morning. Sunrise was polite, a little sedate but gracious, flowing evenly out from across the eastern horizon in a pale gold-white frock with apricot fluting before shapeshifting into daylight. Sunday is expected to stay until midnight. Daylight will only stay until 6:28 PM. I would say that a better union is responsible for the sun’s shorter hours but must hasten to point out that the sun must do this every day, whereas Sunday is on a seven-day rotation.
I suppose the day and month, 16 and October, and year, have the best gigs. 2022 will pull a one-year tour before declining into memory, but then will never need to work again. The sixteenth shows up every month, every year, while October is working twenty-four/seven for thirty-one days straight, but then takes eleven months off. Don’t know which schedule I’d prefer. I mean, imagine the coffee it would take to go back to work after being off for eleven months. I guess that’s exactly what many felt as the pandemic loosened its hold so they could return to work.
Acting upon something they think they heard, the Neurons have ferreted a song out of my dusty memory. “Kickstart My Heart” by Mötley Crüe (1989) was introduced to the morning mental music stream after I thought, I need some coffee to kickstart my brain. Yeah, the heart could use it as well. See if the pulse could find a little more speed. The Neurons thought that the perfect theme music. I told them that they need to quit being so literal.
Anyway, here’s that music. Keep up a positive charge, and do the things needed to have a negative test result, and then, if that fails you, do the tasks needed to get better quickly and fully. Like bedrest and fluids, and whatever else. You know what I’m talking about. (Funny but The Neurons immediately pulled in that line from ZZ Top and “La Grange”. Those cheeky brain boogerheads.)
Seriously, I’m stepping out for coffee now. Cheers
Time For Another Celebration
The winds brought in some news. A friend, Carol, was to meet another for lunch and whatever. Carol, known by habit and character to be punctual, didn’t show. The jilted date went to Carol’s house to learn why. The front door was unlocked, the television was on, and there was Carol, dressed and seated in front of the telly, all ready to go, already gone.
She was always fun at the annual Oscars Party, held at Judy’s house each year. The pandemic put a stop to that nonsense. Carol was also known as an enthusiastic reader and one ready for a small glass of white, and a refill. She was tidy and neat, never a hair out of place, always in stylish shoes, fast with a quip, ready to talk politics and the latest on the war, economy, or technology. She is, of course, irreplaceable, as they all are. News of her passing is going through the community like a high-speed boat.
All agree, we’ll certainly miss Carol. At least, the consensus says, she went out the best way, dressed and ready to go, with little apparent bother, and no long good-byes. She never was one for long good-byes.
Saturday’s Wandering Thought
He has the bug. It overtook him without warning and is as insistent and annoying as a mosquito visiting his ear canal. Acknowledging what must be done, he goes into his closet and begins pulling out clothes and trying them on. Yes, they’re his clothes, and not his wife’s – not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just a point of order.
First to be tried on is the flight suit that he last wore over thirty years ago. Does not fit, he finds. Hell, it can’t ever be tugged over his shoulders without his spouse’s help. It’s surprising how much it’s shrunk since he last put it on. He keeps his Air Force service dress uniform out of nostalgia, even though it also shrank.
Business suits are next. He formerly wore a lot of them during his time in marketing but hasn’t put one on for almost twenty years. They have also shrunk. He makes a mental note to google why some closets make clothes shrink. Maybe it’s the way he’s storing them or something. Jeans, pants, and shirts are pulled out, tested, and put into neat piles. In an hour, he’s collected three towers of clothes which have shrunk. He’ll donate them to charities.
The shrinking worries him, though. Maybe he should move his other clothes somewhere else before they shrink.
Yes, maybe, he decides.
Maybe.
Friday’s Wandering Thought
He’s used to people looking at him and saying with some surprise, “Your eyes are so blue today.” Sometimes green or brown is substituted for blue.
He nods and replies, “That’s the Tyndall effect, which is when particles in a colloid scatter the beams of light and reflect different wavelengths. All eyes are really just brown.”
That always causes people to give him another look. He’s kinda getting used to that. Maybe someday…
Michael Seidel, writer 