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Dipping

I love dipping. Not snuff. No. Tried it once, didn’t like it. I like dipping cookies, doughnuts, and toast into tea, hot chocolate, or chocolate milk, and coffee. I also dip buffalo wings into sauces, and chips and crackers into dips. I’ve dipped things in beer, like pretzels, but I’ve not been impressed with the results. That’s life. And of course, I’ve skinny-dipped. I really liked doing that, especially the time I did it in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Sicily.

Some materials are better for dipping into coffee or tea than others. Doughnuts make for damn fine dipping, IMO. Today’s cookie, a gluten-free, vegan, GMO-free, locally baked chocolate ship affair, is a little dry. Not ideal, because that dryness contributes to the dipping drawback. Dipping a cookie into my coffee, I’m aware that some is crumbling into the coffee. This produces a bottom situation called dipping dredge. That’s the soaked stuff that remains when the beverage is almost gone.

I’m not a fan of the dipping dredge. However, I’m not one to leave coffee behind. Thus, all I can do is suck it up.

Literally.

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The Games and Winning Dreams

What sensational dreams last night. I dreamed I was playing games, just a flow of games – video, pinball, baseball, volleyball, football. None of this was organized. Although an adult male, I ran from game to game with childish enthusiasm, played and won. And as I played and won, I realized a big board, like an arena scoreboard, showed my growing point totals. My points were rising so quickly and to such levels, everyone else was getting excited. Then, others started coming by and telling me, “Your big payout is coming. You’re going to win a big price.” My wife joined me, and was so happy and expectant. As for me? I was all grin as I played and won again, again and again, never losing.

Such a buoyant dream, full of positive energy. It was awesome.

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Brace Yourself

Brace yourself. It’s time for another first world rant. This time it’s about my car.

It’s a lovely SUV, a Mazda CX-5 that I’ve had three plus years. One of its many features is that it reminds me when maintenance is required. This vehicle requires more maintenance than any car I’ve ever owned, which includes Porsches, BMWs, Audis, Mercedes, Chevys, Nissan, other Mazdas, and Fords. Although the car is comfortable and reliable, this constant maintenance thing pisses me off.

So that’s number one. But here comes the reminder. Once it decides that maintenance is required, the message in orange is displayed whenever the car is started.

Here is what pisses me off. That thing is so inaccurate. The good Mazda people put a little sticker on the windshield, too, so I know exactly when it’s supposed to be returned for maintenance. According to it, my car should go back for maintenance by January 10, 2019, or by 33,000 miles, whichever is comes first.

My car has 30,000 miles. According to MY calendar, it’s not yet December, let alone January of 2019.

Yeah, it’s a nice feature. Too bad it doesn’t work. Makes you wonder about the rest, doesn’t it?

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Multi-tasking

I was having drinks with a friend the other night. Frank is fully twenty-three years older than me, putting him in his mid-eighties. A retired professor and writer, he’s good company.

So it wasn’t surprising that we were ribbing each other and laughing when he suddenly sneezed and loudly farted. My reaction was to ask, “Frank, are you all right?”

“You notice that?” he said. “I did four things simultaneously.”

Before I could think more or speak, he said, “I laughed, sneezed, farted, and peed all at the same time. Now that’s multi-tasking.” Standing, he added, “Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom.”

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Mind over matter.

I came by Viktor Frankl’s book via quality management in the Air Force. I’d been trained as a facilitator, and then an instructor, teaching other facilitators and instructors. “Man’s Search for Meaning” brought powerful insights into the part of quality Air Force known as creating a vision. People are fearful of failing. Even after accepting that failure is necessary to succeed on an intellectual level, people often find themselves paralyzed by fear of failure on an emotional level. The baggage we accrue is heavy, and letting go is difficult. I struggle with it all the time. Fortunately, I entertain myself as I struggle, but then, I’m easily entertained.

Dr. Andrea Dinardo's avatarThriving Under Pressure

dream

When the going gets tough do you focus on the dream or the sacrifice?

“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” Viktor Frankl

Boost your motivation and raise your energy by laser focusing on what is within your control during challenge and adversity — Your Mindset

Related Post: The stories we tell ourselves.

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Killing Time

It was an excellent day of editing, with little re-writing or revising required. Five chapters were edited. Although I kept part of myself separate as an objective measure to ensure continuity and clarity, reading my work was a reader’s delight. This was the sort of book I enjoy, and I was pleased with myself for what had come of my efforts of drinking coffee, staring out windows, talking to myself, dreaming, thinking, and typing. So, congrats to me.

Meanwhile, this evening, I had spare time to kill. It happens often when the daylight hours grow shorter. It suddenly seems like, hello, it feels like eight at night but it’s four P.M. I have energy but the darkness discourages activities.

So I’m reading. I’m usually reading several books. To pass time this evening, I resumed reading Carlo Rovelli’s book, The Order of Time. 

His book is a slow read for me. I typically read a few pages a week. Sometimes I don’t read it for a week or two. His book gives me a lot to think about. As I read, ideas stir in me like mice creeping out in search of food. I begin pacing, hunting for the handle about what I’m thinking.

And suddenly, I realize, there is a potential sixth book in the Incomplete States series. There is something else that can happen, that can be done. It seems like it should be done.

Drawing out a notebook that I kept for scribbling about ideas, I confirmed that I’d formed the basis for this final book back in March, 2017. There it was, in the musings about Chi-particle states as they decay and transition from being imaginary and traveling faster than light to gaining mass and energy as they slow to less than FTL, to interacting with a wave-function collapse to establish arrows of time. In those fourteen pages of thoughts, written over three days, was the answer that could be the basis for the final book.

I’m astonished that I overlooked something that I think is sort of obvious, now that I see it.

Naturally, a muse leaps out to take charge. Words flow like lava from an erupting super-volcano. Opening a new doc, I type. As I do, ideas accelerate. Scenes expand. Dialogue rushes in. Plot points follow. Pages are typed.

Of course, I was writing at home. That’s fraught with interruptions as my wife laughs aloud at things she sees and reads on the Internet, plays videos, and talks to me about the news. The cats come in to see why I’m making that noise with my fingers and whether it’s something that they can eat, and if it’s not, can I give them something to eat?

All this puts me on edge. I’m frustrated with the interruptions, excited about the ideas, and pensive about writing another book in the series. Knowing me, one book can easily become two, or three. I’m almost finished with editing book four, A Sense of Time. Do I really want to pursue a sixth?

It’s anguishing. It feels like, I’ve envisioned the framework for the book so I’m now compelled to write it.

I didn’t know how to finish this post. I write to help me understand what I think. I write to channel my thoughts and enthusiasm. I write to wonder…

I returned to the new document to read what I wrote. More ideas and arcs are squeezed out of me. I’m reluctant to agree to the muse and write a sixth book but the writing fever has me, again begging the question, who is in charge here? Is there a master?

I’ll see what I think tomorrow, when it’s time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Just Sayin’

Feeling mad as a hatter, Skip bought a brand spanking new car. To his friends, it was a bolt out of the blue.

Checking it out, Clyde said, “What’s the four-one-one, Skip?”

“Yes,” Penelope said. “What, d’yer win the booby prize? Give us the straight skinny.”

“It’s my new jalopy,” Skip said, at one fell swoop gaining jaundiced looks. “I bought it, cash on the nail. I could only afford it by the skin of my teeth.”

Milly said, “You’re such a crack pot. Did you have to cook the books?”

“To coin a phrase, I think it’s a blot on the landscape,” Parnell said. “It’s the mutts’ nuts.”

Nodding, Tucker said, “Right on. Did you forget to use your loaf, Skip?”

“What’s with the third degree?” Skip wondered as Hester said, “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but gag me with a spoon.”

“Fer sure, you’re barking mad, Skip,” Ethel said as Horatio said, “You’re such an airhead, Skipper. You bought a pig in the poke.”

Beaming, Skip replied, “Well, I think it’s the cat’s pajamas. It’s really groovy.”

Tucker rose. “That’s all well and good, but I need to catch some zzzs. I’m gonna skate.” Looking at Skip, he said, “Drop a dime when you’ve come back to earth, space cadet.”

“Word,” Ethel agreed as Clyde said, “Peace out,” and Milly said, “Mic drop.”

Watching his friends troop away, Skip said, “Well, I didn’t mean to upset the apple cart.” Leaning back in front of his ride, he took a selfie. “I’ll share it on the Cloud, and Facebook it, the whole shebang. Then, when people Google me, they’ll see my wheels.”

But first, he texted it to himself, and then went to veg out, pleased as punch. It was a new day, and the sky was the limit.

 

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Last Night’s Competitive Dream

Briefly, in last night’s dream, I was barefoot, but also in a blue uniform. I wouldn’t describe it as a military not a sports uniform. I thought it was a uniform because I wasn’t alone in the dream, and we were all wearing the same outfit. They didn’t numbers, ranks, or anything that distinguished one of us from another.

We were outside on lush fields of cut, dark green grass. To one side was a white building. I thought of school when I saw the whole thing, but I don’t know what it was.

I couldn’t say how many were in the fields in blue uniforms, but it seemed like a large number. Among us were people in the same uniform monitoring activities. The main activity was for us to run. We would run for about eight yards as fast as we could. As far as I could tell, no one was testing us. Someone would shout, “Run,” and we would all complete an eight yard dash. Most of us would laugh after we did it. It seemed like a lark.

This went on for a bit. I felt confused but not winded. Others were starting to complain. One observer, a black man in a blue uniform strolled past me and said, “Run.” I did. “Again,” he said. I did. “Again,” he said, circling me, saying, “Again,” after I did it.

A peer came out, a black youth in a blue uniform, but he was holding shoes. “What are you doing?” he said to me.

“Running.”

“Why? Are you practicing?”

I shook my head but didn’t say anything because I was being told, “Run,” again. I was bothered, though. Why was I alone being told to run?

The youth walked on. Alone with the observer, I asked, “Why are you having me do this?”

He said, “You’re doing more than the others but you’re not using the potential that I think you have, so I’m going to push you to do more.”

The dream ended. 

A few things struck me as I thought of the dream while doing my morning activities. While I was alone running as directed, I felt conspicuous, because I was the only one the observer was telling to run, so I was the only one now running. That made me stand out, and brought attention to me. I don’t like getting attention. The whole idea of being the center of attention makes me nervous and anxious. But if I’m going to achieve my potential, I’ll need to run alone, and accept getting attention.

I wondered, though. We were only running eight yards. I thought, does that mean it’s a shorter distance than I realized? I also thought, eight is so often featured in my dreams. Then, more whimsically, I thought, I’m only going eight yards, but do I need to go the whole nine yards?

Dreams, always giving me more to think about.

 

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