Langston Also Said
The Road-Show Dream
My wife and I were traveling in a car. I had a sense that we were changing locations, moving to somewhere new, an exciting prospect.
Along the way, we stopped in a town. It was pre-arranged for us to meet with a local musical band. My wife and I were to sing with them that evening. We sat with the musicians and coordinated the set list and discussed when we would arrive and what else was required for our performance. Part of the latter entailed doing more work, including find the song lyrics to several songs.
After that, we had time to kill, so we first went around the town a bit, just being tourists, and then got something to eat. Our big black and white cat, Tucker, was traveling with us, except that he was a furry, fist-sized black and white spider in the dream. He was in a cage but got out. The car door was open. I saw him leaving the car, but I wasn’t positive. Either way, I searched for him, but didn’t find him, and ran out of time.
Our appointment for meeting the group to prepare to perform had arrived. We met with the group at the convention center where we were to perform. Meeting with the band, I stepped back and let others lead. After a few minutes, it seemed to me that they were off track. Everything that’d been discussed was changed. I reminded them of our earlier conversation but they were confused, and seemed unable to remember anything that I said.
That’s where the dream ended.
Saturday’s Theme Music
I was on the road today. Naturally, that opened my music stream to road songs. One of them that popped up early is by Canned Heat. AM Radio and the growing pop revolution introduced them to me in my early teens. I didn’t appreciate how much the blues inspired them until about six years later, when I was listening to ZZ Top and the Allman Brothers Band.
Besides Canned Heat, I was singing “Hit the Road, Jack,” “Truckin'”, “Little Red Corvette”, “American Pie”, “Little GTO”, “Beep Beep”, “Uneasy Rider”, “The Way”, “Sweet Hitchhiker”, “Life Is A Highway”, “One Headlight”, “Drive My Car”, “Mustang Sally”, “Little Deuce Coupe”, “Pink Cadillac”, “The Leader of the Pack”, “Dead Man’s Curve”, “On the Road Again”, “Where the Streets Have No Name”, “Route 66”, “Born to Be Wild”, “Ninety-nine Miles From LA”, “Midnight Rider”, “Fast Car”, “Runnin’ Down A Dream”, and “Radar Love”. You can place the performers to the songs.
You have any favorite road songs that I should have been streaming? I’d like to know them. Sharing is caring, friends.
Here’s Canned Heat with “On the Road Again” from 1968.
Tuesday’s Theme Music
Memories come like tides, in private cycles. In today, I cycled back to Feb, 1991. I’d just come back from an assignment with the USAF in Germany. Enroute to California, I passed through WV and Pennsylvania on leave, visiting family, and then arrived at SF, CA.
Rain was pouring in the Bay Area that day. Ted, my sponsor, picked me up at the airport. California had been in a drought, he said, hard to believe since the great deluge was making Highway 101’s traffic a slow-moving shit show.
A little later, I was in the military hotel at Moffett just outside of Mountain View. Up the road was my new assignment, a place called Sunnyvale Air Station, a.k.a., the Blue Cube. The name was changed to Onizuka Air Base to honor Ellison Onizuka, an astronaut killed in the Challenger disaster.
Onizuka turned out to be a good assignment and my last. I retired there four and a half years later. The base closed down in 2010 and the Blue Cube was demolished in 2014. I blamed myself because the base probably wasn’t the same after my tenure (ha, ha).
It was a complete unknown to me when I arrived, though. Bored and tired, I flipped through channels in my hotel room, rediscovering American pop culture after four years in Germany, and saw a video by R.E.M. called “Losing My Religion”.
Somehow, it fit the moment.
The View Dream
For this dream’s beginning, I was with a large gathering for a dinner in a big banquet room. The dinner wasn’t formal although the round tables were all covered with white table cloths, china, crystal glasses, and silverware. Everyone was dressed informally in jeans or slacks. I knew many people there as friends. I wasn’t staying, though.
Just before leaving, I happened to look out a window. We were in either a high-building or a place on a high hill. I don’t know which. I chanced to go by a window. The window provided a gorgeous panoramic view of a bay with bridges. Calm indigo waters filled the bay under a perfect azure sky.
I raised the blinds to more fully see the scene, and then called to some of my friends, telling them to come see the view. Several came. We looked out on the sun-blessed world and remarked on the tranquil, peaceful curative that the scene provided.
I left.
I headed out across some fills and found myself traveling in parallel to a column of brawny men. Their garb suggested something out of an age one thousand years before. From what I gathered, they were planning some picnic or festival. Sometimes they chanted.
Encountering a man walking the other way, he asked me about where we were going, and why I wasn’t dressed like the rest. I told him with a smile that I was part of that group and that I didn’t know who they were or where they were going. I smiled as I said this, and then waved at the men, who seemed to have been following my conversation with the stranger. As I finished speaking, I said, “This is my turn,” and turned onto a path that ran perpendicular to their travels.
I followed the run through a field of short, tarnished gold grasses and came to an asphalt street. It was far from the intersection where you’re supposed to cross. A few others were talking about crossing the road but were unsure how to go about it. They began resigning themselves to going to the intersection so they could safely and legally cross.
I, though, decided that I’d chance it there. No vehicles were coming and the visibility was good, so why not? After crossing and reaching the other shoulder, I noticed that others had crossed with me. Then I saw a pair of police officers walking down the shoulder toward me. I suspected that they were going to ticket me or make a big deal about what I’d done but I decided that I didn’t care. I knew where I was going and didn’t want to be delayed.
Finding another sketchy path, I continued on my through another field of tarnished golden grasses.
The dream ended.
The New York Dream
A brief snippet from last night’s dream stream.
My sister-in-law, a Florida resident and business women, President of a manufacturing company that she started, was visiting with my wife and me. My wife said, “You should go to New York with Kat (her sister).” Kat was enthusiastic, telling me, “Yes, I can show you around the town and introduce you to people,” while I was resistant, responding, “New York with Kat?” It didn’t make sense.
After a lot of cajoling, Kat left without me, but my wife was insistent that I should go to New York. I was starting to come around. A male friend – someone I don’t recognize from my life but that I knew as a friend in my dream – a dream friend, if you will – came by and told me, “I’ll take you to New York.” Kat called me on the phone then and said, “I’ve made the arrangements. You’re going to New York.”
The dream ended with me beginning to pack to go to New York.
The Reassurance Dream
One of last night’s dreams had me traveling.
It was all going wrong. It began with me leaving an aircraft and discovering that I’d been on the wrong flight and had subsequently landed in the wrong place. Knowing that I was on a tight schedule, the realization sent anxiety tremors through me.
As I began to sort the situation, I discovered that besides being on the wrong flight, I didn’t have my tickets. I also didn’t know where my luggage was, or where it was headed.
Chaos ruled the airport. Noisy and crammed with travelers, flights seemed to be screwed up for many. My heart was sinking with the magnitude of the mess. Weariness spread through me.
A tall man in a airline uniform called my name and approached. “We know you’re having some problems. Don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you and make sure you get to where you’re going.”
Two women in airline uniforms were with him. One woman said, “I’ll make sure that you get on your flight and get to where you’re going. Don’t worry about it.”
The man said, “I’m going to get the flight ready. I’ll come back and check on you.” He walked off.
The other woman said, “I’ll be here to help you. Just come and see me if you have any problems or issues.”
I felt a lot better, and flattered. “Okay, thanks. But I’ll be okay.”
“We know,” the second woman said. “We’ll make sure of it.”
I found myself in a packed waiting area. Finding space on the floor, I set down the one bag that I carried. I planned to call people to tell them what was happening. When I looked for my phone, I discovered it where my wallet was supposed to be. In a flash, I realized that I’d packed my wallet with my identification and credit cards in my checked baggage.
I felt sick. Someone could open my bag, find my wallet and steal my credit cards, and my identification. As I grappled with that, a small calico cat came up to me through the terminal. Butting her head against me, she purred, meowed at me, and sniffed and rubbed against me.
Others noticed the cat and were envious, telling me, “How sweet,” and, “Can I pet her?”
The cat allowed herself to be pet and cuddled, but she always came back to me. I told everyone that I’d never seen her before. Someone said, “That’s your protector animal.”
My phone, the old Blackberry that I used to have, began ringing. It was an old friend who died a few years ago. “I got a joke for you,” he said.
“Why’re you calling me now? I don’t have time for jokes, Randy,” I answered.
“Sure, you do. This won’t take long.” Then he told me a joke (which I don’t remember).
Another old friend, also dead, then called. He also wanted to tell me a joked exasperating me. “I don’t have time,” I said. “Yes, you do,” he replied.
The second woman approached. “We have your luggage,” she said, and then, there was my luggage. In a rush, I opened it. My wallet was in there with my ID. My credit cards were in there, but they’d been cut in half.
The woman said, “They saw your credit cards were in your luggage, so they cut them in half, to protect you.”
While I appreciated them looking out for me, I was upset because my credit cards had been cut in half.
Then the woman put her hand up and said, “They ordered new credit cards to replace those, so you won’t have any problems.” In her hand were replacement credit cards.
The first woman then announced to the waiting area that an aircraft was ready for us. A small cheer came from the passengers in response. As I stood and began gathering my items, the woman came over and called my name. “You need to come first,” she said. Then she told the others, “We want him to get to where he wants to go.”
Everyone nodded in understanding as she led me forward to the waiting aircraft.
A Weird Dream
My wife didn’t act like herself in this dream last night. Two things were most odd.
We were traveling and in a huge building. I wasn’t certain what the building was. Sometimes in the dream, I thought it was an airport terminal, but other times, I believed it was a mall, or an indoor military base. There were signs that it could have been any of those.
Whatever it was, the place was well-lit, clean, and modern. Wide halls with thick, white pillars dominated, with alcoves and shorter, narrower hallways off to either side. Wanting something to eat, my wife and I found some fake chicken (my wife is a vegetarian). It was in a green box. Acquiring it was only half of the problem, because we needed somewhere to cook it. We needed a microwave. I thought we could find one in a break room or snack bar, so we began searching.
But, for some reason, I opened the green box, laid out the fake chicken nuggets, and then attempted to eat one of the frozen, uncooked pieces. Repulsed, I spat it out in my hand and put it back on the back plate (where there were two rows of six pieces).
While that was going on, my wife took off. I didn’t know where she was, requiring me to look for her. I was carrying around the tray of fake chicken parts while I looked for her. There weren’t many other people in this dream, so I found it quickly and hastened to catch up. I reminded her that we needed to cook the fake chicken parts. She seemed distracted, and after some back-and-forth, she told me she was looking for a car so we could drive somewhere.
We found a car and a microwave at the same time, but she went for the car. While she drives, when we’re together, I’m the primary driver. In this dream, though, she jumped in the driver’s seat. I think the car was a newer silver American sedan, like a Ford Fusion. We drove a short distance through the building, and then she stopped the car and left it.
Confused, I was asking her, “What are you doing? We can’t just leave the car here.”
She ignored me, proceeding to ramble around the aisles and alcoves. I followed, trying to make sense of what she was doing.
Dream ended.
I’m just not in control, am I?
The Direction Dream
Hartford, CT.
It seems like a strange place for a destination for a writer living in Oregon, but that’s where I was going in my dream.
It began as a confused melange of chaotic colors. A story emerged. I was with my wife, and a friend, Mark (not his real name), and his wife. We’d survived something and had come together. Now we were going to Hartford, CT. Then we’d fly out of there. I don’t know where we were flying to.
I said, “Okay, I know the way. Follow me.”
My wife and I got in our car and started driving. Mark and his wife were in an eighteen-wheeler truck. Mark drove. His truck was glossy black with neon green trim. At first, I was leading, but coming up on two other eighteen-wheelers, I became stuck behind them. Mark passed us. The three trucks were aligned across the highway, blocking all three lanes. All three trucks were painted the same color and style, glossy black with neon green trim.
I managed to pass them with some aggressive driving. The highway entered a woods and then became an unpaved rough path that grew fainter and narrower. We finally stopped because it seemed like the wrong way, and we couldn’t go on.
Meeting up with Mark, he said, “I have GPS. I’ve mapped out the way. Follow me.”
I said, “Where are we going?” I knew we’d said Hartford, Connecticut, before, but it seemed odd.
“Hartford, Connecticut,” Mark said.
“Why Hartford, Connecticut?” I said.
Mark laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re going to fly out of there. Trust me.”
We drove in our vehicles, me following him. In a surprisingly short time, we stopped. We weren’t in Hartford, Connecticut, but in someplace we’d stay until we could go on. My wife went ahead with Mark and his wife while I stayed behind to help a homeless person, chatting with them while giving them food and money.
Then I went to the hotel. I told the desk agent who I was and who I was looking for, but they knew me, and said we were already checked in. I prepared to pay, but they told me it was all already paid for, and showed me into a luxury suite. It was gorgeous, with a private dining area for the suites on that floor that was on a balcony overlooking an amazing vista. That’s where my companions were sitting and chatting.
Mark had it all arranged. All I needed to do was to trust and follow him. I agreed to do that.
After buying some food for our trip, we departed. Two cats traveled with me. Sometimes they were in a kennel, but sometimes they wandered about freely. It seemed like we were traveling in our suite at that point, confusing me. I’d get in my car to drive, but the entire place would go, not requiring me to do anything but trust Mark. My wife and I socialized with him and his wife.
His wife had a birth defect that left her without feet. Instead of feet, her legs ended in two knuckles that she walked around on. She had several animals, too.
An issue emerged with her. She was eating soldiers. As this hubbub arose, I rushed to learn what was going on, and to basically get involved. What she actually ate were small plastic soldiers. While it appalled me because they were plastic, probably didn’t taste good, and lacked nutritional value, I defended her against the rest, and they agreed. They didn’t like it but she wasn’t doing anything wrong.
After that, I fed my cats and found several extra sandwiches that I’d bought for the trip. They were in my car, in a compartment made to hold them. The sandwiches were of the kind called submarine sandwiches, or subs, like I bought at G.C. Murphy’s when I was a child. I didn’t eat the sandwiches, because I had food, but hung onto the sandwiches to eat them later.
That’s where it all ended, giving me a lot to think about on my walks today. We were still enroute to Hartford, Connecticut. It was the place to go, according to Mark, and we’d get there, if I just trusted him.
I’ve already taken some ideas from it. Chiefly, Mark is my muse, and I need to quit second-guessing him. If I do, I’ll get where I want to go.
Hartford, Connecticut? It’s not a matter of the name of the place, but rather a destination that I don’t know. It’s named, but it’s a surprise.
There was another dream, but I feel too exhausted from thinking and writing about that one to go into now. I’ll write about it another time.
Trust me.
Michael Seidel, writer 