Tag: cars

Driving With Dad Dream

Another slice of the nocturnal mind’s workings to share.

To begin, I’m with my father. Each of us are similar to our real life appearances but I think we both were a little younger.

I’m getting an award. I don’t know what it’s for. Dad wants to attend. He tells me, “We’ll go together. We’ll drive there.”

He gestures toward a car. A silver behemoth, it may have been manufactured in the 1930s and features a long wheelbase — think of a large SUV here — running boards, an upright radiator, and spindly, narrow wheels and tires. Its condition is show-car perfect.

“What is that?” I ask. I see from looking around that he has other, more modern cars but still several decades old. All are well cared for. A graceful, polished gray model’s dazzling shine catches my eye from one.

In answer, he says, “You drive. We better get going. It doesn’t have a high top speed.”

I am floored. At that moment, two sisters arrive. They want to go with us.

Dad is against that. Telling them so, he finishes, “But I want you there. Take one of my other cars.”

A large steel garage door which was previously unnoticed grinds open. Behind it are modern sports and luxury cars. “Take one of those cars,” Dad says.

My sisters are already clamboring into a new red Mazda Miata. I say, “Why can’t we take one of those?”

Dad responds with non-sequitors. I interrupt him. “If you want to ride with me, why don’t we take one of those cars?” I see a BMW in the garage. “Like that blue BMW. Why don’t we take it?”

Evasive as before, Dad basically declares, “I want to take this car.”

We climb into his old car. I ask, “Is this a Bugatti?”

Dad doesn’t respond. Firing up the old machine, I keep looking for clues about what it is.

That’s where the dream ends.

I tote this dream down as another manifestation of unspoken worries and doubts about my life and where it’s at. Pretty standard stuff. Retired from corporate and military careers, I’ve staked a lot of time and hope on writing fiction. I’m driven to write, but will it go anywhere beyond my computer? Or, as the dream suggests to me, am I interested in trying another vehicle?

As I pass over the post again, though, the driving theme raises new questions. Writing = driving. Whether I want to or not, I need to go on. Some of my choices seem taken away from me by some deeper driving force within me.

Looking at it another way, though, I can point out, it’s a silver car I’m being forced into, a classic which is in good condition, and I’m driving off to collect an award. Looking at it that way, my subconscious is encouraging me to go with what I’m doing.

It’s amusing how these dream elements can be addressed. Even if I find success beyond writing for myself, I think that I’ll always be wrestling with the drive and need to write, and my doubts. Just part of my imposter syndrome surfacing again.

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Automotive Issues

I had car problems this week. They look like they’re now resolved, but a comment by a friend reminded me of a surprising recent trend, at least locally.

Three friends all had cars with a cracked windshield this year: Ford, Subaru, Toyota. None knew how the windshields broke, they just noticed cracks which were getting bigger. For each, it meant getting the windshield replaced, which was a high price and lengthy time, especially for the Toyota. Windshields are infrequently just a glass piece these days. They often have electronics and sensors embedded in them, or they’re linked to systems. Replacement requires a special machine and a specially trained individual to take out the old and put in the new and connect and calibrate everything. The machine required to replace the Toyota windshield was broken and required specialized repairs, which took months. In the case of the Ford, the specialist was out for a few weeks for reasons unknown.

I remember the old days, when a guy came to our house and replaced the windshield in an hour in the garage. My, how times have changed.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: focused

It’s Tuesday morning in Ashlandia, where the sky is blue and the trees are green. September 5, 2023, we’re teetering between summer and autumn here. 49 F upon rising, it’s now 58 F and heading for the low eighties. Trees haven’t begun turning yet but the air’s smell and feel seem shifted. Peaches are harvested from friends and neighbors’ places, and damn were they awesome. No cherries this year; didn’t work out weather-wise.

Had to drop off my car at the mech’s this morn. I’d had new pads, etc., installed in the rear, and the car developed this strange groaning. Took it back to the mech; they found a rock stuck in the caliper. That should fix it, no charge.

It didn’t.

So, I took it back and requested the mechanic drive around with me so he could hear it. He concluded it might be the bearings in the hub assembly. So they’re putting ears on the chassis, which sounds neat. They’re listening devices which can be isolated so you can define where the sound is originating. They’ll hopefully find and fix the cause today.

Anyway, that process forced me out of my rhythm. Had to have early AM coffee. Now I’m catching up. The Neurons are firing but have brought up “Beth” by KISS (1976) where it whirls around the morning mental music stream (Trademark outstanding). I’ve searched for reasons for the song and interrogated Les Neurons, but none of them will confess why they chose that song. Only thing that came to mind was that the singer is focused and struggling with a creative endeavor, suffering isolation and separation to achieve their end. I identify with that when I’m writing and my world focus draws in to go work on the book.

I’ll make it through. Hope you do, too. Stay pos, be strong, work it out. More coffee is due. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: caustic

Today is Friday, August 25, 2023, in Ashlandia, where the smoke is thick and the air is cool.

Had to take my car in and drop it off. 1. Great to have a break in routines and tedium. 2. Hated to have a break in my routines. 3. It felt early out there.

In the car shop were posters showing different aspects of cars and repairs — electrical, starter system, suspension, brakes, etc. I stood in front of them remembering fixing those things are different cars during my life. Not a love of doing it for me; I’m not mechanically minded. Too poor to pay someone to do it. But that honed that whole idea in me, fix me it myself. Modern cars are much different. And I have more money. Plus, the lack of facilities — the military provided us workshops and facilities to fix our cars — means I take my cars and drop them off for others to tend them. There aren’t any points and plugs to changed, no rotor. I only check fluids and air pressures in this generation of my life. It’s one of many things which have changed, and are still changing.

Had some chuckles over Donald Trump’s height and weight claims when he was booked in: 6’3 and 215 pounds. One person noted, that’s almost the same height and weight as Cincinnati Bengals quarterback Joe Burrow, and very close to other quarterbacks, such Tom Brady. Patrick Mahones, KC Chiefs QB, is an inch shorter but ten pounds heavier than DJT. Somehow, the weight looks very different on Trump. Must be the football padding and uniform…right? Right. What a vain, vain man and liar DJT shows himself to be. Make me hurt for his supporters who unflinchingly support and believe him — many claim. I wonder.

From that, it was an easy route for The Neurons to dial up a Three Dog Night song called “Liar” from 1971 and slot it into the morning mental music stream (Trademark surprising). No more to say about it. Most of the chorus is the group loudly singing, “Liar!”

For the record, it’s smoky out there, around here. 70 F now, we’ll clip the hear in the low nineties today. Stay pos and be cool. Hand me my coffee. Here we go. Cheers

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A Second

My wife tells me again and again that she is thankful that I’m a ‘good’ driver, that I pay close attention and have fast reflexes. Had to use those again today.

I came down the hilly street and entered the intersection, a straight path. A third into the intersection, and the traffic light went yellow. Shrug; I was already in the intersection. But the young man in the blue Focus turning left going the opposite way decided that he absolutely needed to make that light and rushed into a left hand turn in front of me.

“Holy Jesus,” The Neurons shouted inside my mind. I didn’t answer because I was already telling my right foot to leave the gas pedal to stomp the brake pedal. Full lockup, traction control and anti-braking activating. Wasn’t going fast, so it was a hard, abrupt stop in the middle of the intersection. Fortunately, nobody was near in either direction, saw what was happening, and were slowing.

Two things. As events transpired, I saw the other driver, a young white man with short dark hair — early twenties? — flinch, raise his arm to protect himself against the crash he thought was about to happen, and lean away. Left turn completed, but in the other direction’s vacant left-hand turn lane, he stopped, hands on his wheel. I imagine that he was shaking, realizing how close he’d come to fucking up his day.

Mildly ruffled, I rhetorically addressed him in my car, “What were you thinking,” and drove on. But I recognize, if anything had distracted me in the second before I slammed the brakes, we could have had a much different outcome.

What a difference a second can make.

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A Car Dream

Despite a nightly barrage of dreams, it’s been a while since I shared one here.

Today’s offering began as my wife and I were driving on a highway. I was at the wheel. Looking ahead, I saw a car coming and knew an accident was about to happen. So, as it began, I turned to avoid it and announced, “Accident.” Cars collided and spun. I went around them and had managed to get us through. My wife told me, “Way to go. It’s a good thing you saw that.” Her tone told me how impressed she was.

Just then, a car came up, slewed around the other wreckage, and hit us in the rear. It wasn’t heavy, and the car didn’t seem greatly damaged, but we were on our way somewhere so I said, “Come on. We’re going to go get a new car.”

I went to a car lot. They sat me down in a room, purportedly to complete a survey. An attractive young woman was seated close to me. Almost immediately, she began flirting with me. I felt she was there to entice me into spending more money than I’d planned to buy more car than I wanted. So while I joked with her, I wasn’t letting her comments steer me. In the end, I told them my selection from what was offered. They glumly completed the transaction, and off I went.

After I left, I discovered I’d purchased a BMW. It was a small, sporty model. I picked up my wife, and she was pleased. Only after driving for a while did we realize that it was white, a color neither of us liked on a car. I chastised myself for not looking at the color before I bought it.

We went to a house, which turned out to be a modular home. I drove the car inside and down the halls. My wife came to the car window and told me we had to go but a RL friend arrived and asked for a ride. She was checking out the car, and complimented us on the purchase. In order for the other two to go, I needed to back the car down the halls and out the front door. I did that. Clouds were darkening the day. The friend commented, “I think rain is coming.”

I agreed with her. They entered the car. As I began driving, the sky turned black and a downpour struck. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. I drove down the highway into the rain.

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The Roger Moore Dream

I was given a DVD. “Review this. It’s your life.”

I don’t know who spoke to me. I took the disc and put it in a player and sat in a chair, feet on ottoman, remote in my hand. Surprise number one: I looked like a young Roger Moore.

Watching the video of a young child doing things outside in bright sunshine, I felt doubt. This isn’t my life, is it? Doubts increased when a blonde white woman in a red dress showed up. That’s not me. She was driving a red Lamborghini Urraco. Dream me drove a gray Urraco. She couldn’t be me, could she? My doubts began diminishing as a watched her driving around, walking around, attending classes, talking to people, all snippets, all while she wore various red dresses.

Another woman, Campbell, came on screen. Also white, brunette, she drove a white Urraco. White cars are not my preference, so it couldn’t be me, but she weirdly resembled me — she could be Roger Moore’s sister. Like the other, I witnessed her doing various activies always dressed in white but not always a dress. All of it was weirdly familiar, as if another person had been plugged into my life. These were dream memories, not RL memories.

Then I appeared in a dark gray Lamborghini Urraco, the car dream me drove. Okay, that is me, I was confident. But how could all of these be me when two are female? It has to be more about us than the cars. But the memories being shown were familiar. While I watched, I thought, the car represents my body. Why different colors, then? To present different aspects of myself? Sounded feasible but needed more research.

Stopping the video, I moved over to my desk and laptop, and searched for colors in dreams. A man came to the office door and said, “You need to finish the review. We have good things planned for you but you need to know yourself before we can go forward.”

I replied, “That sounds very new age-y.”

The man was short, white, black hat, black suit. “Finish your review. Get on it.”

I felt impelled to do as he said and rose, moving around the desk to continue.

Dream end.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

It’s a beautiful December morning outside the window. Snow graces the ground and plants. Clouds promise more clouds. 32 F out there but a comfy 68 in here, thanks to the heating industry. All that would be great, but this is March 26, 2023, and we’re beginning another week of spring. Someone pass the message on to the weather deities, please.

Although the Mt. Ashland ski resort is pleased, the rest of us are more perplexed than happy. Snow was not in our end of March plans. Leading the list of the dissatisfied are the cats. The in/out game is in play each morning and afternoon. Fortunately, yesterday, after the morning’s snow, sunshine bulled through the cloud cover, delivered us from the snow, and shared some shine, pushing temps to the mid-forties. The weather conductors tell us the same will be the case today. Despite the wintry scene, we will have over twelve hours of daylight, and that’s a good thing.

Today, I have “Metal Guru” by T. Rex from 1972 bubbling in the morning mental music stream. I first heard it on some late-night music show on AM radio while driving my 1965 Mercury Comet home from my girlfriend’s house. The car was a hand-me-down from the period’s stepmother, a forest-green sedan with a solid 289 V8. My girlfriend lived out in the country on twenty-some acres with no neighbors within shouting range. I lived back in a small town, Daniels, 10 miles away, about twenty minutes by the Comet late at night. I found the lyrics and its nuances mesmerizing and picked them up, singing to my girlfriend. She didn’t know what the hell I was going on about but she was used to that. I was considered a bit out there. Despite that, she married me, and we’re still together, a half century later.

I haven’t thought of this song in years. Nor have I heard it. The Neurons dusted it off after the cats and I were talking about their breakfast preferences. For some reason, The Neurons thought this intersection of action and conversation should be noted with the lyrics, “Metal guru, is it you?” Except I was singing, “Little kitty cat, is it you?” Then the rest flowed in and I realized, oh, yeah. T. Rex.

Ah, sunshine is exploding in through the eastern windows. Looks like spring is returning. Winter is melting away…again. Stay positive. Hope you have a lovely day underway whatever you’re doing out your way. I’ve just kickstarted my heart with some coffee. Breakfast awaits. Here’s the tune.

Cheers

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Saturday’s Wandering Thought

He was thinking about buying an electric vehicle, so he was reading reviews. One car manufacturer proclaimed that their cars can be recharged at any EVgo station. He researched EVgo. They have charging stations in 34 states in the U.S. Going to their website, he searched for their recharging stations in his area. None found.

Back to the drawing board.

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Traveling Alone Dream

My wife and I had been traveling together but stopping to stay in a town, I went off on my own to visit with friends.

Now I was returning at dawn. I was staggering with exhaustion, having been up all night driving and walking.

I was a little lost. Things looked somewhat familiar but each turn had me pause to frown and figure out where to go.

At last I was in a little blue car. I came out a parking lot and began turning right. A huge red pickup truck went by, just missing me. A second came by and almost hit with both of us swerving at the same time. Both of those vehicles had been on the wrong side of the road. Quick as that, as I’m cursing the other drivers, I remember, this is a one-way street, and it goes that-away. I snap the wheel around to go in the right way, grateful there weren’t more cars coming because that could have been disastrous. Parking behind the two trucks, who simply pulled off, I walk up to apologize to the drivers. The second truck’s driver is a large elderly man, a white fellow with short silver hair, wearing a light blue short-sleeved flannel shirt. He’s walking up to the red truck. Its windows are all blacked out. I can’t see its driver.

I shrug off apologizing. I’ve reached the hotel where my wife and I are staying. I traverse a little alley and enter the rear of an aircraft to cut through to the hotel. People have spread mattresses and blankets across the aisles, and they’re sleeping. There’s also a huge Great Dane sleeping under one blanket. It wakes, sees me, and gets up and moves out of my way. The sleeping people and another little dog, small and white, awaken and see me, and laugh at the situation. I carefully get up on the mattresses and pick my way to the other end of the plane, out and into the lobby.

It’s a light blue lobby, with a coffee shop to one side. A middle-aged dark-haired woman with short black hair and brown hair greets me. I’m exhausted. I ask for coffee and then go to use the restroom. In there, I see myself in the mirror. My hair is dark brown, full and thick, matching my beard and mustache. I look like a wildman who just returned from living in the jungle. I’m wearing pale blue shorts. They’re not mine. I check my pockets for my wallet; it’s there. Finding a brush, I style my hair, beard, and mustache. That instantly transforms me into a really good-looking guy.

Okay, back out at the counter, light blue Formica, I find a glass mug. It has thin brown fluid in it, which might be weak tea, along with ice and a lemon. I sip some as a woman comes up. I realize it must be hers and apologize for drinking her drink but figure, I’ll continue, since I started. I ask for coffee to add to it.

Leaving there, I head for my room. It’s either 126 or 124. I can’t remember and chastise myself for not asking at the desk. The rooms are like little cottages but they’re stacked side by side.

I pull a key out of my pocket. It’s a bizarre skeleton key. I have no idea what it’ll fit, but it’s not a room key. It has a square, almost baroque wire design, with a short skinny portion for the lock. WTH? I have no idea where it came from so I return it to my pocket and then continue to look for the room where we’re staying.

Dream end.

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