It was a simple pleasure. He stood outside on the covered back porch, sipping from a hot cup of coffee, listening to the rain, smelling the fragrances as cool air bathed him. The knots in his soul unraveled as he stood there.
Tics
He comes in.
Looking up, she sees him and asks, “You’re already here?”
Clearly, it’s a verbal tic. As an expression, it puzzles him. They’re looking at him and asking if he’s already there, when he clearly is. But that’s the nature of those things, something employed to buy some thinking time.
It’s one of two tics which dominate the family. He’s been away so much, he doesn’t have them, so he notices. The other comes up as he says, “I’ve already put the garbage out,” or, “I already ate lunch.”
The reply comes back, “Really?”
He mostly bites back the response, “No, I’m making these things up.”
Mostly.
A Late Wandering Thought
He watched a cricket cross the room. Twenty minutes later, the cricket crossed back over to the original side. It left him wondering, why did the cricket cross the room?
Maybe it was bad GPS. It happens.
Friday’s Theme Music
The train pulled into Friday but did not stop, forcing us to jump on and off. Each day we think it’s a new beginning but we also think that it’s a continuation of what’s been going on, and Fridays in particular are a start and a finish. Meanwhile, we’re edging towards September’s final minutes, as this is the last day, the 30th. Tomorrow will be October 1, 2022. And we will start and end, begin and continue.
Sunrise whispered past some gray clouds hugging the green trees surmounting the hill line at 7:15 AM. I’d been up awhile before that. My lodgings are below the kitchen in Mom’s old house. I’d awakened a little before six. Listening, I heard water running and then the fast thumping of someone rushing. Springing up to go help, I continued listening and came to understand the flow of things. The heat was being turned on, and man’s partner was getting Mom her daily breakfast of half a bagel and a cup of decaf coffee with almond milk and hazelnut creamer. I usually do that and it was over an hour early. Not surprised because Mom, worn out by physical therapy, her nurse visit, and other visitors had passed on proper dinner, so she was hungry.
I went up at 7:30 and confirmed my conclusion. Mom was up and bright-eyed, sitting on her bed, busy with her phone and iPad. She continues improving. I do have a disagreement going on with her over meds. She’s convinced herself that a pill which the label describes as a white oblong has morphed into a pink pill. We looked the pink pill up the other day and identified it. Today, Mom says, no, that’s not what it is. Did I mention that she’s intelligent but as obstinate as a rock? She exasperates me.
8:45 now, it’s warmed up to 44 degrees F. The anticipated high is 18 degrees C. We will be rain-free but clouds and sunshine will skirmish for dominance. The 7:04 PM sunset will deliver night, and September will shift into October.
I have Gorillaz with “Feel Good Inc” in the morning mental music stream. This came up from watching Youtube videos from Cartier Family. The title, “First Time Hearing “Van Halen” Eruption Guitar Solo”, pulled me, so I watched it. After enjoying it, watched several more, including the Gorillaz webisode. The Neurons liked “Feel Good Inc” so here we are.
Stay positive, test negative. Keep good thoughts in mind for Florida, just as we have for every place being struck with disasters. Tiring of the parade of disasters, myself. Don’t mean to be callous but there it is.
Okay, here’s music. I got coffee, thanks. Hope your Friday goes well. Cheers
The Lost Shoes Dream
I dreamed I was with a bunch of people. All were nice, and seemed like friends, although nobody was recognized from real life. Some kind of outdoor function, we were socializing after eating when a man arrived. He was identified as Colonel Campbell, stealth-aircraft fighter pilot.
All of us were impressed. Pilots are one category, fighters are another, and stealth is the bleeding edge techno. He sat at a table and we gathered around to eye him. Evening was on us so I decided it was time to leave.
A dream shift found me in a Starbucks coffee shop. Busy, the place was a labyrinth of rooms, all with white walls or stone walls. Some rooms were large, where dream catchers, turquoise and silver jewelry, and black feathers were on sale. Others were rooms with tables where people could sit, drink coffee, and chat. A few halls and bathrooms finished the setup.
I got a coffee and went through the rooms until I found a table. Dissatisfied with it because I thought it too noisy and busy, I moved to another table. I eyed people as I sipped coffee. The employees interested me the most. They were familiars in the dream although again no one known in RL.
Finishing my coffee, I decided to leave, but struggled to find the exit. Each room seemed to take me into another one. In one room, I found the Starbucks employees preparing to start a celebration. They fell silent and waited for me to leave before resuming their festivities. I heard several of them say something about me but I wasn’t sure what they said. It sounded like they liked me and wished more customers were like me.
But I’d gone on. Just as I thought I’d found the exit, I realized that I’d lost my shoes. I’d been wearing sandals, I remembered, and thought that I must have kicked them off to be more comfortable. Rushing about, I tried retracing my steps to find the table where I’d been. Dodging people was required, and I almost stepped in someone’s chocolate cake, jumping over it just in time. I also had to swivel to avoid knocking over children.
Eventually I came into a room where a man was sitting at a booth. People were whispering, he’s a pilot. I approached him and asked, what does he fly? What’s his name? I wasn’t certain it was Colonel Campbell.
He wouldn’t really answer me or look at me. Announcing, “I have to go,” he leaped out of the booth and then crouched down and duckwalked out, stopping to look at toys on the floor. Catching up with him, I asked if he was okay, as another man approached to check on him. I told the other man that who I though the man was. This explanation put a silly grin on Campbell’s face (I was pretty sure it was him by then). His eyes were glassy and he started acting flighty (sorry for the pun).
Still trying to find my shoes, I went into a bathroom. Seeing my reflection, I was stopped short by how my face had changed. I knew it was me but I didn’t recognize myself. My face was large and squared off, with a towering forehead. I speculated that the mirror was distorted but saw that everything else was properly reflected.
My final thought was that I’d done something to myself.
Dream end.
The Exchange
The boy is four years old, a grandnephew. He’d brought over four of his monster truck toys to play with as he visited his great grandmother. The trucks weren’t large, fitting into his palm space.
But he was sniffing one. “What’s that smell like?” his great-uncle asked.
“My green dinosaur.”
That was a surprise. “What’s your green dinosaur smell like?”
“Apples.”
Huh. “Do you know what you call a dinosaur who smells like apples?”
Head shake. “No.”
“An applesaurus.”
The boy threw his head back and laughed.
Stalemate
It’s a classic conundrum: who will eat the last piece of blueberry pie? Everyone is being polite, telling others to take it. It’s been over twelve hours.
How much longer will the stalemate last?
A Militant Dream
I was at the bottom of a sloping paved lot. A young friend was walking further above me. Machete in hand and weird grin on his face, I shouted at him to stop. When he didn’t, I felt that I didn’t have a choice but to shoot him. I did, killing him. Oddly, there was no blood and no one saw what I did. I walked away, hugely sad by what had happened. I walked around for a while. It was some sort of quasi-military complex. Others were working but I was in charge, and they left me alone, keeping a respectful distance from me as I walked and brooded.
Watching the skies and listening, I perceived that an attack was eminent. I don’t know who was attacking. They didn’t expect us to be prepared but I had other ideas. Jumping into a sports car, I drove down a hill and slid to a stop. Another person was there. I told him, “Go tell everybody with a car who is a good driver to bring their car own here.”
The first arrived, a young, skinny black guy in a silver Starion. He did a power slide and a little drifting on his arrival. Telling him, “Stay in the car,” I directed him to drive his car into a shed. There, I directed him up a ramp. Machines attached a platform to his car’s underside. It took maybe five seconds. The platform featured engines, weapons, and wings. The kid was agog at the transformation. He drove it out of the shed as others arrived.
I announced, “An attack is coming. They think they’re coming to destroy us, but I’m going to change all your cars into aircraft, and you’re going to meet and stop them.” I then went into an explanation, flying was just like driving. Within minutes, several cars were done and the drivers were learning to control their cars in the air.
End dream
Tuesday’s Wandering Thought
He’d often reminded himself not to trust his memory. He had too much confidence in it, and it frequently let him down. As other family members express frustration and disappointment with the others, telling their side of the story, he’s often reminded of how fallible memory can be. Their versions often don’t align at all.
The Mom Dream
First, I was with other men. I was younger than now but can’t say what my age was. We’d been inside doing some unspecified activity. Finishing, we headed to elevators and exits. I was with one guy. White and young, I estimate him at six foot five and two hundred fifty muscular pounds. His hair was short, brown salted with gray.
We spoke briefly about the thing we just finished, alluding to its recurring nature. I said, “You know, we meet all the time to do this. We should get together outside and do something.”
He replied, “I’d like that.”
Now I’m at my place. Some rednecks are trying to rob me. I’ve become aware of this. They’re armed. We’re outside. I’ve hidden weapons outside. I drift around under their eye until I’m by a hidden pistol. Grabbing it, I start firing. It’s a plastic pellet gun and sprays yellow balls all over the place. They pull up similar weapons and fire back. We run around like that.
Others arrive. I realize that with the others there, the rednecks aren’t going to do anything. I’m not sure how many rednecks are present. At least two, including one with a thick and glossy black beard who seems to be their leader. Other people mill and chat, wine and champagne glasses in their hands. A redneck or two constantly follows me about, keeping me under watch, but I slowly grasp that they’re not going to rob me. Still, they make me uncomfortable and I want to leave.
I go into the house. A few people are in there but I notice that no rednecks are present. Going to a window, I climb out and run down the street.
I pass through a large activity room. People are sitting at tables. I think at first that they’re playing bingo, but they’re not. I hear Mom’s voice on speaker. Mom is on stage, moderating something. She’s in her mid-forties, about forty years younger than now. I’m surprised that Mom is moderating this. I listen to her asking and answering questions. Sometimes she laughs, but she always has a smile, red lips around white teeth.
Going on, I reach a crowded bus complex and join the queue to get on a bus. It’s a bottleneck. People are trying to go several different directions. Noticing this, I step back and let people go by since my line isn’t moving. Others see what I did and do the same. The bottleneck is cleared up, freeing me to enter the bus. It’s a huge one, like something companies use for tours or cross-country travel.
The bus starts up and begins moving. We’re driving down a steep hill. I’m in the back of the bus and Mom is driving the bus! I think, Mom is amazing, when did she learn to drive a bus? Someone back by me calls her name and then asked, “Did you ever figure out the GPS problem?”
Mom, laughing and steering, braking the bus at the hill’s bottom to turn, replies, “Yes. There’s a funy story there. Let me tell you.”
Just as Mom always used to do, except she never drove a bus. This is where the dream stopped.
Michael Seidel, writer 