Tag: communications

A Happiness Dream

Sometimes a dream comes along that sparks happiness when you awaken and remember. So it was this morning, with four positive things happening to me in a dream last night.

  • I was given a chocolate cupcake
  • A major league baseball team signed me up a new pitcher
  • I signed a book deal with an agent
  • and I received a check for 33,000 dollars

Fun reviewing it all in the AM. The cupcake was dark and decadent. A stranger, female, gave it to me with a smile. She was going along, passing them out from a silver tray. The energy coming from her felt so positive, I never hesitated to eat it. And man, was it good. I offered some to my wife, but she declined.

I didn’t remember trying out for a baseball team, especially as a pitcher. As a young player, I had a strong arm but it was made more for the outfield than the mound. I got an email on my phone that it was probably going to happen: the Cincinnati Reds were going to sign me. Then a phone call was received that verified, yep, it was in the works. “Come in this afternoon to sign the paperwork.” My wife was on her phone when I tried to share that good news with her.

Then, though, after she was off her phone and I began telling her, I received another phone call. This was a literary agent. They’d read my manuscript, wanted to rep me, and already had a publisher eager to buy it. I was floored. As I jubilantly shared that with my wife, a man walked up and handed me a check for $33,000.

And that’s where the dream ended.

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A Dream Hodgepodge

This dream had quite a jumbled collection.

It starts with me returning. I was off to the military; now I was back. People had been staying in my place while I was away, but that was done with my permission. Things were a little out of hand because they’d treated it like a party crib. I had a stern conversation with them; yes, they were welcome to stay there. Sure, it was okay to have people over, but they’d start trashing things, and that wasn’t appreciated. They were very understanding in return.

Then I was tidying. I had shelves of old electronics, mostly stereos, cassette and 8-track tape players, CD players, and VHS players. The dust on some were thick. As I resettled back into life, I exclaimed to myself, “Man, I have a lot of gear here. How the hell did I get it all?”

A young boy came up. He didn’t pay any attention to me. He seemed to be looking for something so I asked, “What’s up?”

The boy answered, “I’m looking for a music player for my friend. He wants one for his bicycle.”

I said, “I think I can help him.” I pulled out a small black box and dusted it off. “This has a radio and tape player. It’s small and he can mount it on his handlebars.” I looked more closely at the black box. “It also has record player on it so I don’t know if he would want it.”

“That’s okay,” the boy said. Taking it, he went away.

In a weird dream shift, my place was both outside and inside. I worried about my cats. I had two, and they were a plush gray with golden eyes. Both were young. I looked around for them. They were busy investigating things just outside and playing. When I called their names, they hastened to me, which mitigated my worries.

Then, I worried about my schedule. I needed to call and find out where and when I needed to be for work. Going through my cluttered place, I picked up the phone and dialed 633 while going to my desk to find what the final four numbers were. A woman answered the phone, “Operator intersect.”

I laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t expect that,” I said. “What’s an operator intersect?”

The operator explained, “The call is diverted to the operator whenever the call is not completed but the line is open in case someone has an emergency but can’t finish dialing.”

I answered, “Sorry, I just don’t know where I’m calling. My bad.”

Next, I thought, oh, I should call Mom. So I did. Answering before a ring finished, she said, “About time.” No hello or anything else.

Irritation jumped through me. “Wait, are you pissed because I didn’t immediately call you when I got home? Is that what’s going on here?” She did not answer. I said, “You’re being childish. I’m going to count down from five. If you don’t start talking before I’m done with the countdown, I’m hanging up. Understand?”

No answer.

I began the countdown. When I said, “Three,” I went on, “Oh, forget this. This is stupid. You’re an adult, Mom, and you’re behaving like a child.”

Then I hung up on my mother.

Dream end.

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Time To Stop Kidding Ourselves – Reblog

This is a reblog of Jill Dennison’s post, “Time To Stop Kidding Ourselves“. I tried using the Reblog button first, but that WordPress feature continues to fail for me. I ran down an article to answer fix it but the fix didn’t work. So here I am.

That aside, Ms Dennison points out that we’re already living under an authoritarian regime in the United States, and our behavior needs adjusted to face that fact.

The article is worth a read. Here’s a taste to push you over there.

Cheers

Time To Stop Kidding Ourselves

Posted on  by jilldennison under Bits ‘n Pieces, education, Election 2024, Free Press Issues, Global Issues, History, Law and justice, Political commentary, Racism & Bigotry

Ithink it’s time to stop kidding ourselves.  I am as guilty as any when I say things like “we are on a slippery slope leading to a dictatorship”, or “the Trump regime greatly resembles an authoritarian government.”  No, folks, we’re not “on a path” to an authoritarian regime … we are already HERE.  Most of us in this nation have zero representation in our federal government today – the only ones who truly do are those who are still foolishly applauding a dictatorship, who have somehow been convinced that it will make their lives better.

I recently came across a few articles published by the Open Dialog Foundation in Brussels about authoritarianism – what it is, how to survive it, and how to communicate with friends, co-workers, and family who have drunk too much of the Kool-Aid.  I wanted to share the first one titled “Year One Under Authoritarianism; What to Expect?” with you – I think you’ll recognize many of the signs …

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TUBCS Graduate

Looks like Jeanine Pirro, newly appointed top DC lawyer, is still day-drinking

“We’ve got massive amounts of evidence that we are vetting, we are verifying and we are reviewing. This is the start and not the beginning.”

She is definitely a graduate of Trump University of Batshit Crazy Speaking, TUBCS.

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The Gun Dream

This dream played out in three parts last night. Wasn’t much of me in it; I played a frustrated bystander.

I was with one of my younger sisters. We were milling, killing time waiting for something to go on. Details about that aspect were spare.

In walks a young man. Swarthy, with a cushion of dark, curly hair and a skinny, ripped body. Wears a tight maroon shirt and black pants. I barely know him but take it he’s a young man interested in one of my other sisters. He’s not very talkative. Chatter is going on around us but I’m a magnet on him. Studying his moves. Because something is off. I’m keen to know what.

I notice that as he shifts, he has an automatic handgun. He’s trying to hide it. I think he’s going to do something stupid with that weapon. Then he goes off.

Awakened for a cat matter, I reflect on the dream. It’s not out of my usual book of dreams. I lack clues about what it means.

The dream’s second act starts with me and the guy and my sister. I think the guy’s name is Paul. I try to talk to him. He’s truculent. We’re taking refuge in a garage that’s been converted into a bedsit sort of situation. The small space’s walls are cinder blocks painted white. Flourescent tubes give us stark lighting.

My sister is resting. I’ve covered her with a blanket but I’m watching Paul. Food is available, along with an old microwave. I offer to prepare something for everyone, talking to them about what’s available and what they might want. Paul is pretty furtive. I notice he has a black ski mask. Slipping it on, he leaves.

Figuring that Paul is off to rob someone, I’m angry. I rush out to chase him down and tell him not to do it. The door opens to an alleyway lined with a fence and thick with junk, like barrels, broken wooden pallets, and cast-off tires. It’s raining. The late afternoon light is anemic. Unable to see Paul, I return inside and put something into the microwave.

Another cat break is endured. During that time, I see that Paul resembles my sister’s father. She’s my half-sister, I should clarify, with a different father. I wonder about that as I tuck back into bed and fall back into sleep’s grasp.

Segment three has Paul returning. It’s much darker in the garage, and I don’t see him well but come to see that he’s still wearing a black ski mask. “What did you do?” I ask him several times, to no responses.

Someone pounds on the door. Adjusting his balaclava, Paul goes to the door. Aiming the gun at head level, he jerks it open. I wonder, police? Some other criminals? I hear speaing but can’t understand it.

That is where the dream ends.

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The Factory Dream

I was a young man, possibly in my early twenties. Some other fellows were with me at a factory. I’m not sure how many were present. There were at least three, but maybe five, not including our overseer. I never took a head count.

We were in a factory doing a special job. No details of that job are available. It was cold but sunny weather. The factor was a plain, spare building with a whitewashed apparance that presented an air that it was on the verge of being abandoned or falling apart. Corrugated metal construction. Gaps in the walls. Bare, cracked cement floor. Signs that it’d be used for something else before and was now on a fifth or sixth life.

Under an uneven combination of weak overhead lights and sporadic, fading sunlight eking in through large, filthy windows, we worked around a long, dirty conveyor belt putting things together. As part of this, each of us were given some small black devices which seemed to be some sort of governor and also a CPU that told the system what to do. To install mine, I had to climb up a tall metal shaft and slip it into a slot just so. Some jiggling followd and then the conveyor belt sprang into noisy activity.

I don’t know what we were making but we shut everything back down and gathered again. The overseer, an oversized white guy in his mid-forties or early fifties, receding brown hairline and white short sleeve shirt with a tie, told us that we had one more run and then we could go home. But the other run was at another factory, about a mile away.

I had a car, a dark brown 1970s era Chevy Malibu. Sort of a ratty vehicle. I asked another for a ride to the other factory. Once we got there, I realized that I would need to return to the previous factory. We’d been sleeping in some little locker room there on cots. I’d left my clothes and gear there, not to mention my car, and would need a ride back.

This seemed to irritate the other guy, a big, good-looking guy with short, curly hair. He turned surly, and then shunned me during the rest of the session and wouldn’t speak to me. I was taken back by the change and wanted to talk to him about it.

The regular factory workers arrived. They all seemed to be foreigners to go by their dress, appearance, and language. They watched me as I climbed up to install my governor, laughing and joking about it. I gathered they had some other way of doing that and my method seemed strange to them. I tried explaining, “This is what I learned,” and asked for information about the other way. They wouldn’t address my questions.

That’s where the dream ended.

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A Lost & Confused Dream

I was in a small corner office with three other men. We were cold as hell and huddling for warmth. I’d made a sort of bed and had a thin blanket. One of the other men snuck in to spoon me. I was like, fine, I need the warmth, we need the warmth.

Feeling him shivering, I got up to find a better blanket. I’d just found a heavier one for him when the other two men returned. One told me that he’d lined up a job for me, so come with him. As he spoke, I was staring out a window. A gray dawn was breaking over a crusty snowscape

I went into the other area with him where I was surprised that it was teeming with energetic people mostly in their twenties and thirties. I was introduced to them as their new co-worker. But what was my job? They were going to figure that out. The man who hired me took me back to where I’d be working, showed me a modern desk that was my ‘station’, and gave a new iPhone. Then he told me to go with him for orientation.

We rushed around the busy building. Several stories high, it struck me as tres modern with multiple mysterious and exotic-looking projects going on. At one point, we entered what was some kind of space vehicle simulator. A cockpit was on one end with seating for about twenty. I walked around, and in doing so, it shifted forward, startling me. The others laughed, calling me a newby.

My boss disappeared into a noisy crowd. I realized that I’d forgotten my phone back at my station and wanted to retrieve it. I asked for and received directions but became thoroughly lost. As a crowd of people left a meeting room, one recognized me and asked if I’d been to HR yet. I admitted that I hadn’t, so she told me where to go. Once again, I became lost, and entered rooms where I was forced to ask others for directions. Everyone was unstintingly helpful, encouraging, and engaging.

Noticing signs I’d not seen before, I followed them back to my zone. Once there, I got my iPhone. My boss was there and told me that I needed to check my emails because meetings had been set up for me. Using the phone, I began reading my emails and learning where I needed to go, and then found that the phone would tell me exactly when to go, and where, but I still remained clueless about what I was supposed to be doing.

Dream end.

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The Dad & I Dream

Don’t know my age when it started. Seemed like I was a young adult.

Dad and I were sharing a smallish but modern apartment. A winter storm howled outside, snow pummeling the world in unending shovelfuls. A general sense of disturbing chaos reigned.

I had a few cats. I was trying to feed them but they were running around, attacking each other, hiding. In the midst of this, in the living room by the stereo, I discovered a large window was broken. I stopped to check on it, inspecting it, confirming, because it was hard to tell, yes, a panel is gone. You’d think that’d be easy to see with snow falling, cold weather, a murdering wind, but it required earnest consideration of it for me to figure it out in the dream.

Yes, the window was broken. Several panes were missing or shattered, laying in pieces in a growing snowdrift. The cats tried to get out. As I lunged to pull them back, they retreated on their own, discouraged by the storm. Confusion seemed to paralyze me.

Dad came in, talking about a need to go somewhere, to get food, I think. Impatiently, he told me to hurry up. I was grabbing a cat, checking on the cats, looking at the broken windows. Concern over the stereo getting ruined rose up, so I moved components. Dad shouted at me to come on. I locked the cats in another room and followed Dad out. As we went, I was telling him, “Dad, there’s something you should know, there’s a window broken in the living room.”

It felt like it took some repetition of telling him this before what I was saying sank in. Then, he responded in alarm, “You should have told me this before.”

Next thing I knew, we were going back home because he was worried, and I was defensively trying to tell him that I’d been checking out the window, and I tried telling him but he wasn’t listening.

Then we were in the living room. The heater was running, hot air coming out of vents but snow dusted the floor and crusted the sofa, table, and chairs. Many things were turned over. Things were missing. The stereo and television were gone. We realized people had broken in; we realized, looking out the window, it was teenagers. They were running away with our stuff.

Dad said with bitter disappointment, “You didn’t do anything. You knew this had happened, and you didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you do anything?”

I was an adult now, and shocked. He was right; why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I take action? I could have called someone to repair the window, or put up boards. I could have done something, but I didn’t.

Dream end.

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Genufloof

Genufloof (floofinition) 1. Gestures, sounds, and postures used to earn an animal’s trust.

In use: “Feral or near feral young animals often distrust humans because they don’t know them, so humans will genufloof by lowering themselves, trying to make themselves smaller, while speaking softly and holding out a non-threatening hand.”

2. A posturing system for exchanging greetings shared by animals with humans.

In use: “Whenever Michael and Papi encountered one another, they genufloofed, Papi by first stretching his front legs and then his back legs in long, leisurely moments, and Michael, by squatting down, saying, “Hello,” offering a kissing noise, and holding out a few fingers for the cat to rub against.”

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Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

Mom was always home, the location which held his heart. Though she moved several times since he left home when he was fifteen and ended up living with his father, just returned from military service in Germany.

Keeping up with Mom was a challenge. New locations, new husbands, boyfriends, new jobs. She went back to school, got her GED. It’d been her secret that she hadn’t graduated high school. Then, nursing school, and the nursing profession, which she loved. By then she was in her late forties. She finally gained the independence sought, and bought a home for herself.

Keeping up for many years was cards, letters, phone calls. He only heard from her on holidays and birthdays. He initiated all else. Then email became popular. Now it’s text messages. Through it all she was the same but changed.

As was he.

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