The Brown Cougar Dream

My wife and I arrived at a resort hotel, meeting our friend, Bob and his wife. Real-life note: this is not the same Bob from my previous dreams, but a friend and co-worker from my military days. The wife in this dream wasn’t his real-life wife.

Bob, who was prematurely bald, had thick black in the dream. My wife and I had just arrived. Bob and his wife came by to greet us and make plans.

I noticed some filth on the ceiling. It disgusted me so I looked for something to clean it up. I found some spray and sprayed it all over but then needed a ladder and rag. A young hotel worker asked me what I was doing. I explained myself. He shook his head and reassured me, “Don’t worry about it, we have it covered. It’s not your problem.”

I went back into the room and noticed the spray had already made the ceiling mess almost invisible.

Bob and I ended up outside, where it was like a desert after a rainstorm. He was carrying a young animal he’d rescued. Noticing a young brown cougar down the hill, I followed behind Bob to protect him from the cougar and found a large stick to use as a weapon.

Waiting on a porch for Bob’s return, I saw the cougar watching me. As that registered, the cougar approached. Raising the stick, I yelled and made myself big.

Sitting down, the cougar asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m making myself big and making noises to scare you away.”

The cougar chuckled. “Did you really think that was going to work?”

“That’s what they tell us to do.”

“Anyway, you’re safe for now,” the cougar said, “but you scheduled to die tomorrow, and I’ll eat you.”

I was appalled and vowed not to let that happen.

The cougar shrugged. “It’s going to happen. It’s on the schedule.” He indicated a bright pink and blue poster. I read the poster but saw nothing about my death on it.

Back in the hotel room, I showered and cleaned up. Bob came by to see if I was ready. I told him that I needed to shower. I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower and then realized, what am I doing? I already showered.

I was now naked downstairs and needed to up to my room. Entering the stairwell, I caught a reflection of myself and found I was astonishingly good-looking — much younger, lean and muscular, with a thick head of dark brown hair swept to one side. As I started up the steps, a young woman entered.

“Eek,” she said, pretending to turn away. Covering her face with a hand, she looked at me between her fingers. “A naked man.”

I laughed and apologized, continuing up the steps, and encountered another woman. “Locked out without your clothes?” she mused.

“Yes, that’s what happened.”

She chuckled. “We’ve all been there.”

Now dressed, I joined Bob and our wives in another area of the resort. I saw the brown cougar in the crowd, watching me. I realized that I’d forgotten something in the room and needed to go back. Bob drew up a complex map, showing me where we were and how to get back to my room, 1004, at the top of the building. Although his map was detailed, I felt bewildered and said, “I’ll never find my way back through that maze.”

Bob said, “Alright, let me go with you, at least part of the way, until you know where you’re at.”

Dream end.

Bob and the House: Just Dreaming

My dream patterns have been disrupted. I dreamed but remembered little for several days. In fact, the only thing remembered for three days in a row was a friend’s appearance. Each night featured a snippet of Bob showing up.

In the first dream, I was busy with something, looked up, and saw Bob walking toward me. I said, “Hey, there’s Bob.” Bob walked past me without saying anything. I mused, “I wonder where Bob’s going.”

In the second and third dreams, each on separate nights, I saw Bob approaching. “Hey, there’s Bob.” Both these times ended up with Bob walking up to me but not speaking as the dream memory ended.

I told Bob about that last night. He responded, “Boy, I’d really like to explore that more.”

Meanwhile, I have a full and sharp memory of a dream from last night. I was at a house with my wife and familiars who may have been cousins. I think it was a wealthy aunt’s house. The resident was gorgeous, a place that celebrated wealth and luxury.

Yet, as I walked around, I noticed horrible details: toilets were full of urine and toilet paper. Showers were filthy with mold. They had a huge, beautiful driveway made of brick and cut stones, but a grimy black layer covered much of it.

Appalled, I began looking for cleaning supplies to address these things. Doing so, I opened cupboards, drawers, and closets. Supplies were found in chaotic piles. Separating pieces, I found rags, sponges, and cleaners.

My wife came by and asked, “What are you doing?” I explained, showing her the filthy toilets and showers, then took her out to the driveway.

As I talked about the driveway to my wife, I noticed a young woman cleaning part of the driveway with a pressure washer. Interrupting her work, I clarified what she was doing and then asked her to wash some of the black off another part. She responded, “I’m not supposed to work on that part.”

I said, “Can you do me a favor and wash it off a little so I can confirm what’s under it?”

She did, confirming what I thought. I showed my wife and remembered, “This part is really bad because they used to have an RV parked here. I’m going to get a power washer and clean it off.”

That’s where the dream ended.

Thursday’s Theme Music

Sunshine lit up the room today. It’s Thursday, February 5, 2026, in Ashland but the weather defies that date. Papi and I went out to the back patio and enjoyed sunshine.

“It feels balmy out,” Papi noticed.

“I agree,” I answered.

Oh, wait; reverse that. Papi agreed to me, or so I thought from how he threw himself down and rolled around, inviting a belly rub and purring.

62 F online, my home says it’s 69. White pulled-taffy clouds have a small footprint in the dominant blue sky. Highs might crest 70.

Talking with friends last night, we agreed, nice weather but worrisome for the coming summer’s water needs. Meanwhile, sis sent me photos of her glistening snowclad yard, pretty but 22 degrees.

I showed sis’s snow photo to my wife. “Yes, it’s pretty until it melts,” my wife offered. I agreed.

My wife mentioned that TrumpRx was launching tonight but didn’t think it would do well.

Trump certainly has a chaotic and checkered history that sets his efforts up for doubt. As for TrumpRx, we’ll see. Only time and facts will reveal the truth.

The Neurons pulled a strange song into the morning mental music stream. “Kings and Queens” by Aerosmith came out almost fifty years ago. I knew it from their album but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it on the radio. Yet, there I was, singing it to myself in the kitchen as I fulfilled Papi’s feeding needs.

I suspect the song came up because I’m serving Papi and thinking about recent political developments.

Onward into the day’s mettle with hopes that peace and grace find and carry us. See you on the other side of the coffee cup.

Cheers

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Cold ruled Ashland last night. Temperatures fell into the high 20s in my zone but, guided by sunshine and clear skies, we’re pressing into the upper 60s today. It’s 57 F now.

It’s still a dry winter for us, and a concern because of the impact of the missing snow on the rest of the year. The NYTimes published an article quantifying the situation this week.

I’m late with my posting because early running around was required. My wife’s big do was on Sunday. Maybe things were rented and borrowed. We had to wash and clean it all and returned it today.

The do was a success, celebrating Mary Bergstrom’s fifty years as a exercise instructor with our Family Y. Mary is still going strong after all those years and remains beloved by her students. My wife was asked to organize it and did a great job, although it was intense at times and not without conflict, irritation, and frustration. It’s all done now, another memory to pull out.

Meanwhile, as I watch Trump’s grip on the United States flailing, as shown in approval polls, he joked about canceling the 2026 elections, and then mused about taking over elections in ‘some’ states. Those would be the states run by Democrats, blue states which challenge his assault on our norms, traditions, and laws.

Many, including me, immediately jumped up with notice that Trump is always insisting that he’s for state rights, the foundation for his moves to reduce the Federal government’s size and regulations. As always, Trump’s logic is conditional. He’s for something until it’s in his interests to be against it. In short, whatever most benefits Trump will be his political position.

Personally, I consider this another distraction tactic. He distracted from the Epstein files with ICE surges and military actions amid more threats to sue others. Meanwhile, he also tore down the White House East Wing, obsessed over Greenland, and whined against not being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. He also declared affordability was a hoax, but that inflation was ‘fixed’, like he’d darned a hole in a sock.

So now, here we go again, with Trump defiling something that works under the guise, “It’s broken and only he can fix it”. We hear this from him, yet he keeps breaking more things, making things worse for many of us. All I’ll say about it now.

For music today, The Neurons have me humming, “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues”, as it plays in my morning mental music stream. The 1983 Elton John offering is a mellow reflection of love, living, remembering, and being, easily slotting into my state at the moment.

I hope that life brings you grace, peace, and good health today and every day. Cheers

The Writing Moment

I’m revising and editing the novel in progress, “Unfocused”. This pass is for understanding, coherency, continuity. More planned passes will address line edits and polishing. I do address egregious issues whenever I encounter them but improving mechanics and refinement isn’t my current focus.

It goes well but it’s not an even tide. Most chapters are broken into six to ten numbered sections. It fascinates me is how well I remember writing passages and yet they seem like foreign lands. Distinct memories of decisions and progressions are encountered. When I wrote the novel, I sometimes wasn’t satisfied with a chapter and decided to get out of my way, just get it all down, go on, and return to it during revisions. Chapters also exist where I worked them and worked them until they satisfied the writer of that day and I was content to move on.

How I addressed the chapters and sections show. Revision for one rushed chapter consumed an entire week, developing into a sequence of revising and editing. Sometimes several passes of a section were done in one day. More than once, I walked away to think and digest what was and wasn’t working and where changes were needed. Those breaks always helped.

Other days — yesterday, for instance — I swept through one entire chapter in one two-hour session and walked away pleased. It all varies.

Now, back to editing and revising “Unfocused”, 536 pages long, resuming at page 246.

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