Tag: change

Sa’day’s Theme Music

Talk around the coffee table yesterday was that everyone wants to go see Asteroid City. Terrific cast. Jason Schwartzman, Scarlett Johansson, Jeffrey Wright, Tilda Swinton, Bryan Cranston, Tom Hanks. If you’re a Wes fan, critics suggest you’ll like the film. If you’re not his fan, you might want to pass. We are his fans, so we might go. The subject is in the air. Don’t know where the currents will take it.

It’s Sa’day, July 8, 2023. Lots of room left in July at this point. Summer has slowed for us here in Ashlandia, where the day gets hot and the nights get cool. 66 F now, we’re expecting 92 around our homestead by mid-aft. I miss the annual blueberry pickin’. It would’ve already been done, and we’d have pints of fresh blueberries in frig and freezer. Some baking would’ve been done. But the drought and wildfire smoke killed it two years ago. Too hot, too dry, then too smoky. All conspired to take production down. Bushes died, and COVID took the heart out of it for the folks running it. Gone are those 6:30 arrivals at the gate, sipping hot coffee in cold mountain air as the sun pulls itself clear of the mountains and turns on the heat. Gone is the cold feel of wet berries in your fingers and the hunt down the rows for a bush that speaks to you. Gone is the hushed laughing and gossiping, more expected in a church than in a field picking berries, but all seemed to approach it as a solemn event. Well, almost all. There seemed to be one each year who had to be talking loudly on their cell phone while picking berries.

Thinking of those things reminded me of “My City Was Gone” by The Pretenders. Released in 1982, it’s about change. I’d been discussing change with others on a previous evening. I’ve seen change in Ashlandia, a shift in priorities, the decline of traditional events, the rise of doings that don’t matter to us. Our connections with the city and area are loose and breaking. We’re drifting away from it and no longer feel like we’re a part of it. Not as we were before.

I thought of Mom’s place in Penn Hills, PA, after that conversation. Her place has changed through the years, certainly. New siding, porches replaced, etc. Yeah, those physical changes took place, but its essence has remained steadfast. That’s what disillusions us with Ashlandia: its essence seems to be changing. Anyway, Les Neurons wedged “My City Was Gone” into the morning mental music stream, so here we are.

Well, stay pos, and muster the courage and strength to do it again. I’m building my energy to get out there with a strong dose of coffee. It’s what’s for breakfast, along with oatmeal. Here’s the music, and awaaayyy we gooo.

Cheers

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

He had a dream that he was going in the right direction. It didn’t feel like the right direction today. Maybe the dream was wrong. Or maybe going in the right direction was going to be harder than expected.

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Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

She entered the coffee shop, stopping by the door to peruse her phone. She resembled his younger sister so much that he studied her in depth, thinking of the similarities. Then, he realized, he wasn’t thinking of his sister as she now was, mother to two teenagers, but she’d been, fresh faced out of high school, so young and pretty.

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Just In A Dream

Another hill to climb.

Sweat plagued his eyes. He sniffed and swallowed, wishing for water. He’d been going since sunup. Heat and humility built around him. It seemed determined to crush him like a grape.

Giving up was considered and dismissed. He was here and going to do it. Doubt about whether he was following the instructions kept bouncing through, confusing him about what the little thing told him. Half-asleep, he wasn’t sure if it was a robot, tiny human, or something else, like an elf or fairy. They hadn’t introduced themselves. Maybe it wasn’t even real. Just his imagination.

Without preamble, “Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)” derailed his thinking. Didn’t matter. He’d reached the hill’s crest. Signposts were ahead. An intersection. Down this hill and up another. Stepping faster, he was there in less than ten minutes, perspiring with more vigor, and breathless. He didn’t think he’d need water for this. Not for a dream. Didn’t think it’d be sunny, or like a day in any way.

The signpost was in the center of a large gold-bricked circle. Arrow shaped signs. About a hundred of them. No, more than that. Maybe a thousand. Different colors, languages, and printing styles. Looked crude. Homemade.   

His little nocturnal visitor sounded like an irritated teacher when they said, “I’m tired of you sitting around, whining, waiting, and wishing, so I’m doing you a solid.”

They pointed. “See that?”

Slow because he was half-asleep, he pressed to see what the little one meant even though the little one was still talking. “Get in there and turn left for the past, right for the future, or straight ahead to another existence. Whichever way you go, you’ll come to a signpost.

“You better hurry if you’re going to do it. The portal will close and fade, and your opportunity will be gone.”

“Wait, what?” He sat up. Yawned. Stretched. Rubbed his eyes. Massaged his genitals. Considered peeing. Frowned. “What?”

His small visitor was barely a fading memory. The opening remained where there was usually a wall. A portal? Thinking, I must still be dreaming and I’ll wake up at any moment, he entered the opening. Fearing the future, regretting his past – too many things to change there and who knows how it would turn out – he’d gone straight.

He stared up at the signs. Words emerged. Animals.

A frown creased his face. What was that about? He’d always liked cats and they liked him. He admired birds. Dogs were okay…

He stepped in the cat’s direction with slow, short steps. Shivers tickled him. Changes took place. His fingers were gone. Paws halfway through construction had replaced them. Looked like he’d be a black cat.

He backed up. More shivers traveling him, his fingers returned.

Did he want to be a cat? He looked back down the road he’d followed to come here with the thought, maybe he should have gone to the past to see what he could have changed. He might have been hasty.

The road was gone. Nothing was there. Gray nothing.

He walked toward it. The gray nothing stopped him from advancing. Like trying to wade through stiffening tar.

Well, what the hell. This was only a dream.

He turned back to the sign and read the offerings. No doubt, that’s what they were. Unicorn. Whale. Elephant. Dog. Kracken. Dolphin.

Dragon, he saw.

Dragon. It’d be so cool to be a dragon, even if just in a dream.

But bravery wasn’t in his personal inventory. He stood, staring, considering, flounder, eel, coral snake, eagle – eagle would be fun. Puma. Tiger. Heron. Emu. Alligator.

No. With all of his fears and hopes, the best thing he could become is something fantastic.

Happy with his decision, he turned and advanced, shivering and coughing as he grew and changed until at last he walked out of a high mountain cave into a purple dusk. Spreading his golden wings, he released a fiery roar and felt the world’s fear. Yes, being a dragon was going to be so cool.

Even if it was just in a dream.

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The Cheating Dream

What a dream, I’m telling you. Began with my wife and I on a spiritual pilgrimage. We stopped at a small place that seemed to be built inside a cave. They were studying odd phenomena. Included were a series of three holes in the cave’s walls. The holes were square. They didn’t know how they got there. People studied them to see if they were changing or static. My wife suggested I should study them because she thought me good at analyzing things. At the group’s insistence, I gave it a shot.

The holes were very dusty. When I looked into them, I could see that they slanted down and to the left. They seemed to have a flap door on the right side which could cover them. That was part of the controversy. Discussions were revolving whether those flap had always been there, and if the holes were now dustier than they used to be.

I’d glanced at each of the holes when I approached them, then went to the first one on the left. The group provided me sketches which the group had made, so I could look for differences. The first two were examined and no changes were seen. But I immediately saw changes on the third hole, on the right. I pointed it out in excitement, asking a member of the group if he saw the change. This hole was also lit from below. I was intensely interested in climbing into the hole and going down into it, but was also afraid of what was there. I kept leaning in, listening while watching for differences.

My wife had been behind me to my left while this was going on. Now she said, “I’m going to look around. Remember that we need to make a decision before 8:30, and then we’ll go.” Then she walked off.

I kept studying the hole. Suddenly I realized that it was 3 AM. Time had flown past. I was alone. I asked, “Where is my wife?” I walked around looking for her, complaining to myself but aloud, “We were supposed to make a decision hours ago, and leave. Where did she go?”

Opening a door, I discovered my wife in bed with a young white man with short blonde hair. He was very skinny, no one I know from real life.

When the door opened, they separated. Realizing it was me, the man was whimpering and trying to get out of bed and run.

He fell onto the floor. I stormed across the room and grabbed him by his head. He screamed and started crying. A small, round, white table was beside the bed. I prepared to slam his head against the table.

I stopped myself as I bent to do it. He was part of this but what would hurting or killing him do? I paused, thinking about that.

My wife grabbed my arm. “Michael, stop. Please don’t hurt him.”

I turned my head toward her and snapped, “Don’t touch me.”

She pulled her head away and stepped back. I let go of the man and turned toward her. “You did this,” I said. “You started this.”

Dream end.

It took me over an hour to go back to sleep.

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Red Dream

Going across a dark, almost dystopian urban landscape, I came across Dad. He was hustling around, his normal mode, with that odd, splayed-leg walk of his. Seeing me, he said, “Here, come help me.” He was pointing and directing. “We need to paint this place. Get that brush and paint over there.” He pointed to a red brick wall.

At that point, I realized that most of the place was already painted red. “You’re painting everything red.”

“Yes,” he answered, taking up a roller and resuming.

“Why?”

“It needs to be red.”

I saw that besides the buildings being red, so were the pavement, grass, trees, and roads. Even the sky and clouds were red. “How did you do that?”

“Hurry,” he answered, “we need to get everything painted red.”

Although I didn’t understand and disagreed, I began painting. As I did, I found red rubies surrounding me. I picked them up with huge astonishment, admiring the cut gems, and called out to Dad, “Look what I found.”

“I know,” he replied without pausing his work. “Take what you want. They’re yours.”

Dream end.

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Friday’s Wandering Thought

He ended up eavesdropping again. One young woman was speaking with another. God and religion were her primary topics. Then she spoke about her boyfriend for a long time.

What drew his attention was the realization that she was crying. She said, “I love him. I know people think I’m stupid. I’m trying really hard. I think we can work it out.”

It’s a trope as old as humanity.

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Depressing Dreams

The first found me alone, waiting for my wife. She’d been with me and then went off with her friends without saying anything. Her absence deeply aggravated me. As time passed and she didn’t appear, I began collecting papers. Don’t know what they were in RL but they were real and meaningful to me in the dream. At one point, I thought that I would kill one of her friends, blaming her for my wife’s absence. Although I wrote up plans, I knew that was wrong. I wasn’t going to kill anyone else. Maybe I should kill myself, though, the dream me thought.

My wife returned, bubbly, happy, late. Outraged stirred me. Her friend saw my notes and said, “Oh my god, he’s planning to kill me.”

I threw papers aside. “I’m not. Don’t you understand? I was on the verge of killing myself.” Sobs hit me with that declaration.

My wife was stricken. She stared in shock for several long seconds, and then she was gone again. That infuriated me but the dream ended.

I was at work as some corporate drone. I complained to my boss and co-workers that I felt useless, underemployed, and dissatisfied, and that it was draining me. My boss responded by trading me to another company. As the trade was completed, I expressed disbelief, and then was told to go to my new place of employment, which was in another city.

I went there with two other people, who already worked for my new employer. Arriving, I was given a desk and equipment. I complained, though, excuse me, what is my role? Who is my supervisor? Do I supervise anyone? I was answered, “What do you want to do? What have you done in the past?”

I tried answering, enumerating my different positions, employers, etc., which just seemed to depress me. I finished by saying, “You moved me to another city. I don’t know if I want to move. I don’t know if my wife wants to move.” Someone suggested, “Maybe we can get her a job,” and then chatted about that.

The dream ended with nothing resolved.

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Slideday’s Theme Music

We continue with a shrinkage problem here in Ashlandia. Yes, the snow patches are holing and shrinking. Snow repair teams were sent in yesterday. Although they worked with demonic intensity, it was slapdash, thin in many places, and the snow continues to disappear.

It’s Friday, March 3, 2023 — 030323 — in Ashlandia. Call it Slideday, though. Came up with that decades ago as I noticed bosses and organizations often let things slide on Friday. “We’ll pick it up Monday.” Unless customer orders, hard delivery dates, or the end of quarter/end of year was underway. Then you work until it’s done, damn the day of the weak.

Sun’s presence struck Ashlandia at 6:43 this AM. Starting at 26 F, the temperature climbed to 32 F and will go on to 42 F today. A weather monitor told us on TV last night that our average daytime high temperatures are hanging about ten degrees below normal. Ashlandia will see sunset at 6:03 this evening. Stretched white clouds sail a faint blue sky. Sunshine smiles on it.

Got a favorite song in the morning mental music stream. Reading the news inspired The Neurons to dig up an old political ditty performed by this Brit group, The Who. No, not the Guess Who?. Told the tale of Mom buying this album for me when I employed it as a theme song back in 2017, so I won’t belabor that aspect. I cranked up the stereo for “Won’t Get Fooled Again” back in 1971. Hard to believe that was just 52 years ago. Seems like just 20 years ago.

Stay pos and seize the slideday. I’m seizing the coffee. It’s a start, right? Carpe caffeine. Here’s the memory music.

Cheers

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