Tag: appearances

The Hair Dream

I was the new guy in a small group of males. Basically smartasses and lower class with leanings toward crime and goofing off, I don’t know how I met them but was hanging around with them. They kept discounting me and making fun of me. I decided changes were needed and thought the way to do that was with my hair. So off I went to get dreadlocks.

A stylist eagerly did as I asked. I emerged with long black dreadlocks when I’d had brown hair before, with the crown being literally a crown of short dreads.

I went back and joined the group at a short track where a car race was scheduled to take place. All were surprised and taken back. One or two made fun of me for it. Then we split up. Most headed in to watch the race but one other and I stayed back, sort of watching the group’s belongings in a small corner by a counter. Catching my image in a mirror, I was horrified. “I look terrible,” I said. “Ridiculous. What was I thinking?”

The other guy, a short, white almost bald fellow said, “Well, I admire what you did. Took balls. I respect that.”

“Really? But it looks like crap.”

“Yes, but you did something.”

I met a woman who wanted to go into the track but wasn’t certain how to go about it. I asked where she wanted to go in there. “By turn two,” she answered. “Come on,” I said, “I’ll take you there.”

I took her in through the crowd. As I did, a young black woman paused to tell me with a wide smile, “I really like your hair.”

“Thanks,” I answered, pleased, amused. Showing the woman to turn two, I moved back through the crowd to the outside. Another young black woman accosted me, saying, “Nice hair.”

I encountered a white female friend as I left the race track. “What did you do to your hair?” she asked.

“I know,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m going to see if it can be fixed.” But I was thinking, it’ll probably need to be cut. Then it’ll take a long time to grow back. While this went through my head, a young black woman said, “I’m sorry but I overheard what you said. I hope you don’t change your hair. I think it looks really good on you.”

Dream end.

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Mundaz Theme Music

We’re now into the nineth leaf of 2025’s stay. Yes, today is Munda, September 1, 2025. Some label this, the Labor Day weekend, as summer’s end and fall’s start in the U.S. I don’t agree with that premise; summer’s weather remains. The trees aren’t dolling up in their fall colors, and so on. Summer continues despite the rise of artificially flavored pumpkin spice drinks and treats. It’s still summer here. 52 F last night, it’s now 71 F, on the way to another 92 F day under a blue sky hazy with something white. Could be smoke, might be some thin cloud layer.

So, just three more leaves remain in 2025, a leaf being a month. They will be tremendously important leaves in the United States, a confluence of rivers and trends. Lawsuits have piled up against Trump and his regime. Some of these will be resolved or head to the Roberts Court for judgement. Economists tell us that Trump’s chaotic tariff rollout will strike and it won’t be pretty. Time will tell. Trump is sending more troops into ‘blue’ cities over causes he’s created out of MAGA and QAnon myths and conspiracies. Now he’s arming them. His regime through Cosplay Barbie makes ridiculous declarations about Los Angeles ceasing to stand if Trump hadn’t sent in the guard.

Now, too, we have Trump’s health. He’s been a fleshy-looking, doughy, overweight individual with an odd gait for years. Has speaking style began slithering over words and ideas like a broken toy years ago, as well. As he, the GOP, and MAGALand lambasted President Biden for being old and frail, the portrayed Trump as super healthy and super smart. His physician declared that he thought Trump was the healthiest individual he’s ever seen, opining that it wouldn’t surprise him if Trump lives for 200 years.

Yeah, sure.

All fantasies come to an end. The wicked witch dies. So did Hitler. Stalin. Mussolini.

Today’s music is Der Neuron’s selection. They have Bruce Springsteen accompanied by the E Street Band. The song of choice is “Born in the U.S.A”. The song was released in 1984 to commercial success. For a while, it was a regular staple of rock and classic rock stations. I’ve not heard it on a radio in many leaves. I think it’s in the morning mental music stream because it focuses on spiritual bankruptcy and disillusionment. That seems like a theme sweeping the U.S.A. Disillusionment with the system, politics, name it, and you’ll probably encounter someone expressing some disillusionment.

The countdown continues to my sis-in-law’s visit. Sort of craters my heart, watching my wife. Working with low energy, dealing with pain and inflammation, she’s methodically cleaned and cleaned. I’ve helped but she’s done the lion’s share. It’s frustrating. She’s trying to live up to some standard conditioned in her to have an immaculate but charming home. But she’s paying for it with her own health and comfort. I see my mother do much the same. It’s all about appearances and impressions. Yet, my wife is coupled to me, who is sort of loosey-goosey about appearances and impressions. Yes, I’m jaded against putting up appearances to impress and amaze others. I make an effort on my wife’s behalf, however. I do it without saying anything about it, holding back my sighs, trying to support her in whatever she does. Of course, I have my own demons who ride me, and she supports me.

Oh, as an aside, the community came through with a shower chair for our hospice friend yesterday.

Alright, coffee has dug into my body once again, boosting me to new but temporary levels. May peace and grace find and shelter you as much as it can in this unfair world. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Political Thoughts

There’s a gruff guy whose house I regularly pass. About my age, he sometimes nods but never speaks as he works on his yard, house, or car. If he was a novel stereotype, he’d be a bitter former Marine who saw combat and carries wounds. Just from the way he eyed me as I passed by on my walks, I guessed he was a Trump supporter or leaned that way.

I always remind myself that I can’t judge people by how they look. Appearances deceive. Someone glancing at me, with my American flag pin on my ever-present hat, might think of me as a Trump supporter. Sad that in our polarized age, waving the flag has become associated with our political system’s right wing.

Yesterday, a Harris-Walz sign appeared in his yard. He was doing something over by his outdoor spigot and glanced up. Walking by, I nodded hello, and then added, “I like your sign. I hope Harris wins.”

He replied, “So do I. I’ve donated money to her, and I’ll keep donating to keep that orange asshole out of the White House.”

Go Harris. Vote blue.

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Another Dead Person Dream

Last night’s dream had a special guest, a stepfather who died years after Mom divorced him. He’s father to two of my sisters. An addicted gambler, he lived in a room in a church, given to him with a small stipend for being the church caretaker, in the years before his death, forced to go there after the factory where he worked on a baking assembly line was shut down.

I always felt sorry for him and said so to my half-sisters, his daughters. One snapped, “I love him but he was very stupid and made bad decisions. He never learned from anything that he did.”

Hearing her say that shocked me, although it had been my opinion of him. All that is background to the dream, along with the note that I’ve had about six dreams featuring dead people in 2023. This is George’s first appearance.

To the dream.

I was visiting Mom at her house. She and I and everyone present were decades younger than RL. George, the deceased stepfather, was there, planning to go on a trip. His presence surprised me; I knew he was dead and I knew that he and Mom were divorced, but there he was.

‘There’ was a half-finished house. I couldn’t fully grasp what was done, as it wasn’t consistent in the dream. George mostly emerged from the bathroom and was in the kitchen when I encountered him. One oddity about the unfinished house was that the yard outside of it was covered in white carpeting. Sometimes a part of the yard was set up as a room, carpet on the floor, trees around it.

My two little sisters, George’s daughters, were there, young teenagers. George didn’t like me and was showing it. I was making comments to Mom. When I did, George would correct me. He’s right, I would realize, astonished. I was wrong and he was right.

I poured myself a glass of red wine and drank it, repeating that two more times. When I checked the bottle, it was still full. I chortled to myself, I’m going to keep this bottle, and took it with me.

George emerged from the bathroom. I tried being polite with him, asking, where are you going? How long will you be away? He gave me mean looks, refusing to answer, walking up the stairs to the kitchen. which didn’t have any walls.

Going outside with my bottle of wine, I met my youngest sister by a table. A single glass was on top of the table. As I spoke with her about George’s surprising intelligence, I poured wine into the glass. I completely missed the glass! Red wine made a huge stain on the white carpet.

Horror struck me. Oh, my god, what was I going to do? My sister was anxious about it, too. We threw glances back at the house and warned one another, Mom better not find out.

I went back to the house. George was about to leave. I told him to have a good journey and to stay safe. He departed without replying.

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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.

2

Another Military Dream

This dream was different from the beginning. In my previous military dreams, I’m usually arriving and lost, or establishing order and structure. In this dream, I found myself finishing and leaving. The dream was mostly about me showing my replacement all the equipment and introducing him to our processes and procedures. In a parallel action, the colonel who was the commanding officer, was handing over command and moving on. This individual was a real-life person who later retired as a lieutenant general. We’d worked closely together during my final assignment. Now, in the dream, I ran into him. Both of us were in good moods. He was hungry. I told him that I could get him pizza, which he accepted.

It was very hectic, with much going on. I was constantly fielding questions, introducing people, and hurrying from point to point. During this, I saw a young airman watching. I grinned and waved to her, and then asked her what she was doing. She told me that she was watching me and that I just amazed her with my energy and authority. I laughed and joked that that was all surface appearance, that underneath it all, I was a quivering mess. She rejected that, telling me, “I know you, and you’re always like this, in control of everything and getting it all done.” The flattery pleased me.

Dream end.

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The Naked Women Dream

As I explored it in dawn’s rising light, I realized that the dream was about dealing with others’ opinion.

I was a young writer in a cafe, very busy with computer, notebook, and coffee at my round wooden table. Small and crowded, the cafe was noisy. I left briefly and zip, in dream fashion, was at another business. It appeared to be another cafe or restaurant but featured naked women. I learned the business was closing, which was why I’d gone to the establishment. I’d been talking and visiting several of the women who worked there, doing research and interviewing them. Their information was essential to what I was writing. I worried about losing their input, so I was staying in touch with them, trying to help them get jobs, etc.

I felt good about helping them and hopeful. I noticed as an aside that the place where they worked and the place where I wrote were decorated the same way and were the same size, an aspect of the two places which amused me.

Returning to the cafe where I was writing, another woman confronted me. Hostile and noisy, she made snide remarks about where I’d been, because “She’d seen me.” I acknowledged that was where I’d been and attempted to explain why without going into much of what I was writing, but she kept dismissing me. Each time I began speaking, she rudely spoke over me, denying the chance to tell the truth, insisting that I only went and helped those women because they were naked. I grew angry and frustrated, and then dismissive of her.

Dream end.

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Unfinished Business Dream

My wife and I were young folks, in our twenties, in this dream, and very realistic to who we were in RL, including our clothes. She was busy with cleaning. I was tinkering with the kitchen faucet, which wasn’t going well. I’d change one thing and it would start spraying sideways. Something else would be adjusted, causing the water to shoot straight up. But I was determined: I will fix this. Yet, I was laughing, telling my wife as the water shot off in a new strange arc, “Check this out.” Unbelievable.

Surrendering to that temporarily because I thought I needed to think about what to do, I went off for more DIY. I’d noticed a younger person holding up a wall in the corner of another room. That might be something that I needed to address. I went in there and asked them about the situation. They were holding up the wall because it would fall over if they didn’t. “Let me see,” I said. “Step back.”

They did. The wall started toppling over.

The two of us jumped in and held it up. “But is it the wall coming down or just, like, wallpaper?” I asked. I thought that’s what I’d actually seen. We tentatively released the wall, confirming that it wasn’t the wall coming down, but just the cover.

Then I was arriving at work. Dressed in a suit with tie, I joined others in a small but well-lit office with lots of windows. “Hello, Michael, about time you got here,” I heard. Stepping into a small office where the voice seemed to emanate, I found the one accosting me was Jeffrey Donovan, of “Burn Notice” and other television shows and movies. “I’m your new boss,” he cheerfully informed me. “You’re working for me now.”

Then, I was arriving at work again, sighing because it seemed like I was just hear. “Hi Michael, good morning,” I heard from Donovan. WTH, why was he singling me out like that?

I arrived on a third morning and sighed. “Hello, Michael,” Donovan called out.

“It wasn’t me,” I shouted back, lying. Then I leaned in around his office door. “How did you know it’s me when you’re in here?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” he answered.

I was done with work. Instead, I was cutting grass and doing general landscaping chores. I was part of a crew of four others. One was a friend and the other two were strangers, but we all got on well. While we worked, we saw an area where another crew had worked; we scoffed at the job they’d done. We could do better.

The home’s owner, an elderly and tall, white woman with silver hair who looked and sounded like Bea Arthur, came out and complimented us on our work. We pointed out where the other crew had been and told her that we could improve it. After some back and forth, she agreed that we could the other area, too. Happy that we’d won more work, we set to work improving it.

A large pool was alongside our work area. Others were swimming. Four young men staged a race. We mocked them because we thought ourselves better swimmers. Then we wondered which of the four of us was the fastest swimmer.

The owner appeared. We asked if she minded if we had a race in her pool. “Go for it,” she answered.

We lined up in our trunks. After counting to three together, we dove in and raced to the far end. I came in second to my friend.

Dream end.

0

A Blue Dream

To begin, I was in bed with another man. We’d been sleeping. Both of us were in our undershorts and nothing else. We were young and muscular. He was a little bigger than me. I went to get out of bed but he grabbed me and pulled me back. We began wrestling, with him trying to pin me down. I pushed him up and away while saying, “I’m stronger than I look. It’s time you learn that.”

I leaped out of bed and dashed into the dining room. A large square table was full of people already enjoying breakfast and chatting. My wife was seated at one corner so I went there. Something was on the floor. I bent and picked it up: her Fitbit with its silver mesh band. Beside it was something black: the Fitbit charger. I was annoyed to have to be picking up after her. Getting her attention, I said, “Were you doing something?”

“Yes.” She took the two items. “I was charging my Fitbit. I forgot. Thank you.”

Realizing that I was only in my undershorts — blue bikini briefs — I sprinted back to the bedroom to dress. This wasn’t the same room where I’d been sleeping, but the master bedroom, where my baggage and clothing were. Three young men were in there making the bed. The duvet was a deep blue and the bedroom suite was a beautiful dark wood set. China blue carpeting was on the floor.

One young man came to me and said, “We have bad news for you. We’re going to move this furniture out of here. It’s too beautiful to be in here. It needs to be put somewhere where it can be protected.”

I laughed. “It’s fine where it is, it’s safe.”

The man said, “No, it needs to be moved. It’s barely used and it’s going to get damaged.”

I answered, “It’s used more than you think. If you want something to do, there’s a place where you can go.” I leaned down and pointed out a window. “Oh, you can’t see it, but there’s a little amusement park down there. Oh, wait.” I remembered then that it had closed.

My wife came in. I told her that the young men wanted to move the bedroom furniture to protect it. They didn’t think it was being used. “It’s been used at least ten times this year,” I finished.

“Oh, more than that,” my wife answered.

I said, “Do you remember when your mother brought this bright blue duvet? That was so out of character for her. I was just telling these guys about the little amusement park over there but I remembered that it’s closed now.”

She said, “It’s not closed.”

“Yes, it is. Remember, it changed hands.”

“It went to the Fishers but it’s open.”

“It went to them but they closed it.”

She stuck her hand out. “Bet.”

I ignored her hand. We went outside, toward the mail box. Others came up. My wife got into a conversation. While they were talking, I looked down at my left leg and noticed there was a large pale C on my calf. I thought there had been something wrong with it. Bending down, I rubbed it and the C went away. I discovered that it’d just been something traced in dust on my laugh. I chuckled about that, pleased with the discovery.

Dream end.

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