Category: Uncategorized

The Father and Me Dreams

My Dad was a special guest star in my dreams last night. I was a teenager in all of them, not really surprising, because that’s the era of my life that I saw the most of him, as I lived with him for three years after things became dark and unpleasant with Mom’s husband. Then I graduate from high school and left home.

In one memorable part of the dream, Dad and I were following a young tabby cat. The cat had gone down a sidewalk. I hurried after him, and discovered him rolling around on the cement walk in some freshly cut grass.

After that, the dream scenes fluttered and crackled. There was Dad and I driving in a car, and I’m looking out the window, checking out passing scenery. We throw a baseball back and forth in sunshine. I hear his laugh. Dad enjoys laughing.

The dreams grew darker and faster in nature. Then, suddenly, it became “This Is Your Life” from when I was in my mid-teens.

Life wasn’t going well. Most of my time was spent reading books, riding my bike, playing sports, drawing and painting, and listening to music. Although I enjoyed math, history, science, and literature, school was a bore. I was becoming a loner and acted out out a lot, and the dream managed to feature sharp memories of that era. In one sequence, a boy two years younger than me was riding a bike. A bunch of us children were in front of his house on a late summer afternoon. We weren’t doing much but hanging. I think I was fourteen. This kid, though, was riding around and bantering with others. Then I heard my sister say, “He spit on me.”

I don’t believe I’d ever reacted as fast to anything in my life, and I have always, from childhood on to even now, been known for amazingly fast reflexes.

He was riding his bike by me. My hand shot out, caught the rear of his bike and jerked it back, pulling it out from under him. As he fell free, I tossed the bike to one side, stepped forward, grabbed the kid, and hauled him to his feet. I told him he needed to apologize to my sister. I remember that other kids there were freaked out and afraid I was going to do something terrible to the kid. But he apologized to my sister. I released him. He took his bike and ran to his house.

His mother came out and confronted me. I was unapologetic. I told her nobody was going to spit on my sister while I was there. She didn’t know her son had spit on my sister. That changed things.

The scene was just a brief flash in my dream, the part where my sister said, “He spit on me,” and I grabbed his bike. I remembered the rest, along with other memories from that period, after awakening.

The whole dream and memory sequence left me emotionally shaken as I went about my morning routine. As I wondered why I’d dreamed so much about my father and childhood, I reached out to him to ensure he was okay.

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Wishes

He stepped aside to let a woman pushing a shopping cart go by. A young girl in the cart’s child seat said, “Mom, while I ever be big enough that I don’t have to ride in the cart.”

Mom replied, “Yes, you’ll be big enough sooner than you think.”

The man said, “I wish I could get in a cart and ride around.”

The woman laughed. “Yes, I would love to be in a cart and have someone push me around.”

As the adults laughed, the child stared at them. Then the man rounded the corner. Encountering a woman in a wheelchair, he began re-thinking his wish.

6

Floofthora

Floofthora (floofinition) – an abundance of housepets.

In use: “It’d begun with a rescue Pittie and a rescue cat. Then a stray tom was taken in, puppies and kittens were born, a parrot came along. Suddenly a floofthora was ruling their home.”

3

Retro

It seems like the Internet was more fun when I was younger, and it was too. I’ve become jaded and cynical, and the net has become commercialized and polarized. Back in those days, I worked in a place where my team were all in cubicles. This parody, based on James Blunt’s hit song, “You’re Beautiful”, put it all in perspective.

 

3

December First

Walking through sun and shadow latticed cold air, stepping through my plumes of condensation, splashing through puddles, and looking for rainbows as drizzles and sprinkles come and go.

Snow blankets the ridges and peaks across the valley, our first of the season. The snow level seems to be about thirty-five hundred feet. As always, its stark contrast against the sky is a rugged beauty, like a natural metaphor for change.

My mood is high. I hesitate to say it aloud, so I write it instead, but I feel a shift in my energy. I didn’t think the date would make a difference, and maybe it doesn’t. Perhaps I’m feeling a temporary shift and it’s at a personal level, but I hope it’s a broader and longer lasting shift in the world’s energy one that brings the world more peace, justice, and happiness.

I would blame it on my peppermint mocha, but I already felt it before I reached the coffee shop or tasted my drink. Time to write and edit like crazy, at least, you know, one more time.

3

Clothing and Cats

Getting ready for Friendsgiving, I selected my attire. I would wear a green vee-neck Tommy Bahama sweater.

I’d bought that sweater the year I moved from Half Moon Bay, California, to Ashland, Oregon, which was 2005. Funny, though, I bought it while on a visit Half Moon Bay to spend Thanksgiving with friends. I bought that sweater a few days before the holiday, and wore it that Thanksgiving. Here I was, thirteen years later, putting it on for another Thanksgiving.

I’d been thinking about my clothes for several previous days before that. The shirt I’d worn earlier that day had been bought in 1998. The one worn the day before was also bought in the late nineties. My shirts, sweaters, and underwear seem to last a while. My jeans and shoes don’t.

I was thinking all of this because I was thinking about cats. I’d moved up with two in 2005, Pogo and Scheckter. Pogo died the following year, killed by a car. His ashes are in our bedroom.

We moved to this new house in 2006, now with just Scheckter. Within three months, we also had Lady and Quinn.

Lady was a rescue. A man I knew through the coffee shop had rescued her. I used to buy him coffee and bagels, and donate cat food to him. Lady had been living behind the movie theater. He started feeding her but it took a year to earn her trust. Now his health was falling and he had to move. Moving meant giving up five of his six cats. He could take one. He had homes for four more. Only Lady, skittish and shy, didn’t have a home.

Then, on a cold, windy midnight, I’d gone out to call Scheckter in. Quinn instead turned up. Since it was a nasty night, we gave him food and shelter. We hunted down his owners and returned him to them, but he kept coming back to us. They moved, leaving him behind.

So, for seven years, it was Scheckter, Lady, and Quinn, three wonderful cats who got along well. 2013 found us losing Scheckter, and then Lady, leaving just Quinn.

Not to worry, though. Three more cats, Tucker, Boo Radley, and Papi (a.k.a. Meep), found us. We were a four-cat family for a while, even though Tucker, Boo, and Papi often fought. As Scheckter and Lady were dying, Tucker showed up and begged for food and help. We tried to find his people but no one claimed him. He had medical issues which took a few years and some money to resolve. Then came Boo, also begging for food, and also unclaimed. Next was Papi.

Quinn remained the sweet lord of the house. He was diagnosed with lymphoma in this past September and died two days before Thanksgiving. He had a strong will until his last four days. I tried keeping him comfortable and helping him, but he finally told me, I’m done. I didn’t want to accept it, but you can’t argue with some things. I cried and let him go.

We’re back down to three cats. They get along better, although there are daily hissing encounters. I couldn’t help but thinking as I dressed on Thanksgiving, I wish my cats would last as long as my clothes.

7

The Other Shoe

I’ve been suspicious lately. It’s just the things that’ve been happening. I feel like I’m being set up.

  1. I have a weekly beer get-together with some friends. I wasn’t planning to go and passed that word along. Then, I changed my mind at the last minute and sent out an email telling the gang that I’d be there after all. Three others showed up who’d originally said they weren’t coming, telling me that they had come because I said I was coming. Well, thank you.
  2. My wife’s friend told her that she had a wonderful time talking with me at a party. She said that I was charming.  I almost spit out my wine when I heard that. My wife said that she noted to her friend, “Well, he was well-lubricated that night.”
  3. The baristas keep serving me free coffee. I’m suspicious. What do they want? Are they giving everyone free coffee? Are they giving anyone else free coffee? What’s their motive?
  4. Our Friendsgiving host gave me a huge hug and a grin when I arrived, and told me, “I’m so happy to see you. I’m so glad you came.” I figured that he must’ve been high.
  5. An actor showed up at Friendsgiving, causing a stir. People later looked him up on IMDB and were all abuzz at his credits. I didn’t know the guy and barely said ten words to him (it was a big crowd in a small place) but when he left, he sought me out and gave me his card, telling me, “I’m trying to write fiction, and several people told me that I need to talk with you. Please give me a call when you have a chance.” “Okay, I will,” I said, eyeing him, taking his card, and wondering, what are you up to? He looked harmless, but he is an actor.
  6. Got fan email telling me how much they loved one of my novels, how well written and smooth it was. I thought, what kind of con are you trying to pull? I wondered if they had the right author.

All this in less than two weeks. It’s more than I can take. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, if you know what I mean.

7

Getting Weird

Rounding the corner, pushing himself to walk hard and fast, he almost ran into another person. The other guy seemed to be doing the same thing as him. As both jerked back in reaction, they looked at one another in the face.

Blue eyes rested a in tanned and lean, craggy face under short, sandy-blonde hair.

He almost gasped aloud. He almost said, “Steve McQueen.”

Quickly, the other man turned and strode away. As he gaped at the man’s receding back, he thought, that can’t be Steve McQueen. Steve McQueen died a long time ago, like decades ago, or something, from a heart attack. He remembered it because McQueen and his father had been born in the same age. McQueen’s death, when he was just fifty, scared his father.

He wished he could call his father and talk about it, but his father had died the year before. As he mused on that, wondering if it was McQueen’s doppelganger or maybe a son, he almost ran into another man.

“Excuse me,” the other man said with a smile.

He jerked back in shock. “Johnny Carson?”

The man put a finger to his lips with a furtive grin. “Shh. Mum’s the word.” Then he turned and hurried away into the brightening day.

0

Unasked

He’d known Taylor for a while and knew he had a son. Now he was meeting him for the first time.

Son was taller than father, but much more slender and quieter. Son was also about half of Dad’s sixty-five years. The years count for a lot.

Observing the son, he wondered and asked him, “Are you like your mother?”

Son replied, “God, I hope not.”

Conversations erupted, and the questions that erupted from that answer couldn’t raised.

0

Phlooommm

I don’t know what was up with the gingerbun this morning, a.k.a., the orange feline floof known as Papi, but also called Meep (in appreciation of the meeping sound he uses for a meow).

I’d fed him and let him out of the house. An hour later, I checked on him to see if he wanted in. He wasn’t around the back door. As I headed for the front door, I thought I heard a thump – perhaps the sound of a cat whacking the door with his paw – at the back door, so I reversed course. Yes, there he sat, waiting for the door to open.

So, you know, I did.

Phlooommm, a bright orange streak galloped past me. In wonder, I turned and watched him make a circuit of the living room, dining room, and kitchen, come back to me, and stop, looking up at me with his tail standing tall. I swear he was grinning. As I closed the door, I said, “Aren’t you in high spirits?”

Phlooommm, Papi bolted away, leaping up onto dining room chairs and off, sprinting past Tucker, the house lord, spinning on the hardwood floor, and then racing back to me to slam to a grinning halt in front of me again.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

Yes, he replied, tail up, rubbing against my leg. Then, phlooommm, he flashed away.

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