Tag: Dream

A Fishing Dream

A friend was taking me fishing. I was ignorant about what to do. He was providing me gear, bait, and instruction.

First, we had to get there. He gave me instructions, but we were driving separate cars. Both were white. It then developed into a quasi-race. Oddly, as we drove, he would sometimes be beside me in his car, and sometimes I’d be beside him in his car, talking, even though we were in separate cars.

We arrived at a place but stayed there only a short period. Being there mostly seemed to amount to me walking around behind him. Both of us were carrying our gear (and wore fishing hats). Smiling people tried talking to my buddy, offering advice, or just wanting to exchange fishing insights, but he was abrupt and dismissive to everyone. After leaving there, we went down a four lane white concrete highway. Parking in a lot, we needed to cross to the other side. He made a comment, “We can do this whenever we want, there’s no time limits, and we’re not racing.” Then he went and crossed. After considering the situation – no traffic was coming – I followed.

We went into a long, low building. Sounds of running water filled the space. Rows of blue plastic seats were set up for fishing. No else seemed to be fishing. A young man had a stack of white things enclosed in clear plastic bags. He offered them to us as we went by. “No,” my friend said with barely a look.

The man called after us, “They’ll give you support.”

I was intrigued, so I stopped. “What kind of support?”

The man explained that they could support your back and shoulder, and held one up for me to see. My friend had kept going. He called back, “We don’t need support, we’re already sitting in chairs.” I thought that made sense, but the young man replied, “This will aid your comfort and remove some of the strain.”

My friend answered, “We don’t need them,” but I said, laughing, “Well, I might need them.” That’s where the dream ended.

The dream reminded me of my father-in-law, Jim. He passed in December, 1991. I met him before I met my wife, his daughter. He and my father were best friends at the time. Dad had been stationed in Germany before being reassigned to DESC in Ohio, which was supported by Wright-Patterson AFB outside Dayton, Ohio. Dad had been assigned there before and had supplemented his military pay by working part-time for Jim at a grocery store.

I met Jim through fishing. He instructed me in my early fishing efforts after I moved in with Dad. I enjoyed fishing with Jim, and will even say that I never enjoyed fishing as much as I did with Jim.

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A Dark and Rainy Dream

It was all wet, black and white, for a while. I was with many strangers in a dilapidated, rusted out industry area. Worn out, rusted metal and falling brick walls dominated the land. Seems like a railroad yard was not far off. There were many cyclone fences, barbwire topping some. Holes were in the fences where people had trashed them. Gloominess prevailed.

I was being detained (wrongfully so, in my mind) with all these strangers. I was to stop and stay there. Didn’t want to but recognized fighting against it would be foolhardy, a conclusion supported by strangers giving me warning stares. Okay. Authorities were threatening a black man, same age as me, a few feet from me. He had a long closing knife, brass and wood, which he covertly dropped and kicked to one side. (The knife was the only color in the dream at that point.) I shifted, covering it with my foot, then drawing it back, biding my time until I could slip it into my pocket.

Later, after the authorities moved off, I gave him his knife. He thanked me in broken English. We chatted, and he warned others not to bother me, acting as a protector. He seemed like he was Japanese, then I realized he was Korean. I mentioned that I’d been to Kunsan Air Force Base in Korea, supporting the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing. He showed me a color photo of a Korean male. I recognized him and told him we’d worked together at Kunsan. That seemed to bond us.

We were released shortly after that, but now specific customs and rules needed to be observed, like where to stand (and not) while waiting to cross the street. Watching others, I quickly picked up on what was what, but my new friend took pains to point everything out to me. I appreciated that. We made our way through the gated area to an intersection, then waited with others for the light to change so that we could cross.

After crossing, we realized that we were going in different directions. He showed me the knife again, thanking me for recovering it and hiding it for him, then showed me the photo again (at which we laughed), and then shook hands and said good-bye. When I turned and started walking, I was suddenly by busy freeways of white cement. The rain had stopped failing. The clouds were breaking up, and night was coming.

I felt happy for having met the man and helping him, though it was such a small effort for me, and pleased with how he’d helped me.

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A Key Dream

The dream began with me buying a Porsche. A 911 SC model, which would make it between 1978 and 1983, it was dark blue – ‘Sunoco blue’, in my mind, after the color used by Penkse/Donahue in the late 1960s and early 1970s (on, for example, the Ferrari 512 they raced at LeMans/Daytona or the Porsche 917 used in Can Am racing in the first year) with a tan leather interior. Very classy and clean to me, even though it had right rear quarter panel damage. Seeing it, I made an offer, which was accept. I paid $10,000 for it, transferring the money via Paypal. After driving it home, I told my wife. She was pleased with the purchase. I told her I was going to have the body repaired. I wasn’t certain whether I’d keep it or sell it after that, vacillating between the options.

Penske Sunoco Ferrari 512, LeMans, 1971

After parking the Porsche at home, which was a sort of compound of buildings, I walked around, preparing for guests. They were already arriving. Someone needed a key. I had a spare that they could use to unlock a door. As I gave them that key to use, I noticed several emergency keys were by the doors, often hanging above the door. I told others that I didn’t think that was very smart. While, yes, it was convenient to have the keys there in case you forget the key, outsiders might come, see the keys, and use them to get in when they’re not supposed to.

I entered the main house where most guests were congregating. Dad was there, taking measurements for a project. He and I had a discussion about what he was doing, and more importantly, why he was doing it at that time, since the guests were arriving for a party. He replied that it would only take a little bit, and besides, the contractors were there.

Yes, the contractors were there, in the foyer by the front door on the other side of the crowded living room. I told them that Dad was taking measurements. The contractors, two men, were testy and impatient. Dad began calling out numbers. Hearing them, I repeated them to the contractors, telling them that those were the numbers they needed. Dad kept doing this, but the party noise was increasing, making it difficult to hear, and the contractors were slow to start writing the numbers down, forcing me to remember and repeat the numbers. As Dad kept moving around, calling out numbers, guests began acting as intermediaries between him and me, listening to the numbers when he called them out, then coming to me to tell me the number and where it was from, which I would then give to the contractors. This all struck me as pretty hilarious.

The dream ended while we were in the middle of doing this.

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A Short Car Dream

Don’t quite know what to make of this dream. This dream was all close first-person POV. A friend was with me but I never saw them, just heard them laugh or swear. I don’t know who it was. I’d purchased a new car, a unique, exotic collectible of sorts. (I never did clearly see the car in the dream). I’d acquired it at a large outdoor option. After purchasing it, I was inside, driving it, following a similar car. The car ahead came to a stop sign. Like me, it was turning left, according to its flashing signal. Nothing was coming, but it didn’t proceed. Impatience growing, I beeped to get them to move. The driver flashed me the finger, but then drove. I pulled up to the sign. As I stopped, a second hot rod pulled up alongside me on my right, then ran the stop sign and turned left in front of me, highly pissing me.

I turned left, drove a short way, and pulled in to park in a designated slot. I saw the first driver and their parked car but didn’t comment or take action. Throngs of people were moving in both directions. After parking my car, I picked it up and started carrying it under my arm. As I did, I saw a young woman coming toward me. She had a strap around her shoulders which was attached to her car, which was hanging on her back. I said, “That’s what I need to get. I can carry my car with me and leave my hands free. I won’t even need to park. I’ll just take my car with me wherever I go.”

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A Sharply Focused Dream

Only recall one dream from last night, but it was bold, sharp, and clear. Back in the military (again), I was trying to help a younger person, who was also in the military. This involved helping three young kittens while the airman was simultaneously trying to organize assistance and travel for a group of her peers. Located outside the U.S., she’d come to me for help contacting the powers-that-be back in the U.S. for some authorizations. I was generally/usually the correct contact for these matters in a unit, but this time, I’d not been given that authorization for some reason. I explained that to the airman. She kept pressing. We took it up the chain as I explained to the wing commander and unit commanders that I couldn’t help her because I’d not been given the authority in this instance.

(Meanwhile, the kittens kept disappearing (often in bed clothes and blankets), but I always recovered them, keeping them protected, and feeding them until I handed them off to someone who could foster them full time.)

The commanders all agreed, that was a temporary oversight and didn’t matter, dismissing it, certain that it was going to be rectified right away. While I couldn’t believe that they were so dismissive, the airman exuded a ‘told you’ air.

The dream ended.

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Sean Connery, Me, and A Cat In A Dream

We were ordered into a car. My companion, a male, was up front in the passenger seat. Top down, the convertible car began speeding along.

I said, “Is it my imagination, or do I detect from the motion that this car is going backwards?”

No answer came. As I processed that null response, I said, “Is this a Rolls Royce?”

The driver was looking back over his shoulder. He was in the right hand front seat. Looking back as he did verified for me that we were going backwards — I couldn’t see over the sides of the car to be sure.

The driver was Sean Connery. As that registered, I debated, Sean Connery or James Bond?

I gathered that we were going backward around a cloverleaf exchange and then accelerated straight onto a highway. At that point, Connery executed a handbrake turn, reversing us 180. We now traveled in the correct position.

After a time, the car was pulled over. Telling us, “See you later,” Connery hopped out and waved good-bye.

My companion — a short, elderly white male — and I were relieved to be free of Connery and have position of our Rolls again, because we needed to turn the car in. Problem was, that wasn’t the car that was expected, and the company would be upset. We traveled back to the turn-in location where a tall, white man in a suit greeted us. After hearing our problem, he said, smiling, “No problem. I can make this go away.”

Some paperwork was processed. As that went on, I checked some physical records. These tracked my health and activities. I was shocked to discover they were marked SECRET in the standard stamp at the top. It flummoxed me to think that those innocuous records were marked secret. I then also discovered my CIA identification, a rueful reminder of the secret world I inhabited.

The tale man returned. “Slide your company card through this card reader.” I smirked at the expression, company card, but did as told. “Your bill is twenty-four dollars,” I was told. As I reacted, he added, “It’s been paid.”

My original companion and I went off in another car. Exiting the building, a young black male stopped us. “You’ll need this to get back in.” He handed us a laminated blue card with black grease pencil writing on it. As he walked off, I called out, “No, we don’t need that, we already have one.” I held our original up, showing it to him, and then flipped the other to him. It sailed like a flying disc.

He caught it without effort. “That was impressive,” I said.

He shrugged. “I do that all the time.”

“How many times a day?”

“At least three.”

That impressed me. My companion and I drove off.

Dream shift. I was on vacation, walking toward a river. Bending down as I reached the roaring, turbulent river, I rubbed a cat’s belly. Wondering who this friendly feline was, I investigated and discovered it was my own ginger mini-puma. As I talked to him, he rolled around and then stood and stretched.

I was worried. We were over a mile from home. “What are you doing here, so far from home?” I asked the cat. In response, he trotted ahead of me, as though he and I were journeying together.

The cat splashed through some water. I crossed onto a natural rock bridge. Standing over the raging white water, I saw something scything through the water ahead. I couldn’t say what it was. Then a bird attacked me. I swatted it away. Another bird then attacked. This bird latched onto my leg. As its claws dug in, I beat it until it released me. Realizing that two birds attacking me was unusual and guessed, they’re probably protecting nests in the rocks around me. With that conclusion, I hurried on.

Dream end.

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The Mall Dream

A dysfunctional, post-apocalyptic world had arrive in the U.S. It wasn’t extreme. Shit had happened. Infrastructure and governments were failing, oil and gas were limited, food and water were scarce, and security was precious.

Somehow, I’d taken over a large mall.

I established myself as its ruler and then set up a society to live within it. I’d managed to make it secure, acquire food and drink, and we were generating power. Details aren’t available.

Friends of different times in my life heard of it. A large horde of them arrived as refugees. Everyone from childhood to the recent past were represented.

After greeting them outside on a sunny day, I took them in, assigning them spaces and familiarizing them with basic concepts: everyone works, no physical violence or abusive behavior, and respect one another. Break one of these, once, and you’re gone.

They quickly settled in. One favorite old friend, Don, became de facto representative of that particular group. He ended up hanging out with me a bit. They had suggestions for improvement. I thought them good and adopted the suggestions.

Meanwhile, I had two Mazda Miatas and gas for both. Both were green but different shades, with the new one being darker, almost forest green. I often drove the older one around. On this day, I decided to take the newer one for a ride. I invited Don along.

But first, I went around pissing on the mall floors. I pissed copiously, everywhere. I was then ready to go, but then regretted pissing everywhere. “I shouldn’t have done that,” I told Don. “I need to clean that up.”

Don, his cheerful, relaxed self, answered, “Don’t worry about it. We got you covered.” He pointed out there, where everyone was already mopping up my mess.

That’s where it ended.

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The Nineteenth Game Dream

I was introduced to a game. I’m not strong on remembering details, but coins were involved. These coins were copper, brass, and gold. They had patterns cut into them. The game was about matching and stacking coins in precise patterns. As each pattern was completed, the player advanced to the next game, which offered more complexities. The nineteenth game was the hardest game level.

Playing the game soon absorbed me. I played alone under a light, on a table. Sitting, bent over the table, I examined the pieces, selected the stacks and positions, arranged them, re-arranging them as necessary. If you had a piece wrong, the game ended. You had to follow a predestined set of arrangements.

I finally screwed up. A buzzer announced that I’d lost the game. Lights came up. A man entered. He informed me that I was playing the nineteenth game. Surprising news for me. He went on to say I was very close to finishing it, which pleased me, and then informed me that I was the only one left playing at that level. With those circumstances, they’d been streaming my play globally for the last twenty-four hours. Everyone was watching, cheering me on, hoping that I would win.

The experience left me happy but eager to begin again to reach and finish the nineteenth game.

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The Paying Dream

What else to call it? I begin in a modern, well-lit grocery store. I’m at the register to pay. The total is $15.87. I have the money to cover it, pay, take my plastic bag of goods, and leave.

I don’t know what I’m buying. Again, I’m there. Paying at the register. The total is twelve something. I debate about using my debit card or paying cash. I pay cash, figuring that I have just enough.

I’m walking into the grocery store to shop. It’s modern, well-lit, and busy. (The store is always modern, well-lit, and busy throughout the dream.) I’m at the register. The total is twelve something. I don’t have cash on me. I decide to pay with my debit card. I do so without a problem.

I’m back in the store again, at the register, paying for my purchase. It’s later in the day but still bright and sunny outside. I decide to use my debit card. I struggle to use the card right. Then I struggle with the PIN. Impatience wells up in the shoppers behind me, rushing out of them as agitated comments. “I don’t understand,” I say. “I just used it this morning and it worked fine.” I finally pay, grab my bag, and go.

I’m driving into a parking space in front of the grocery store. Sunlight flashes off the car’s windshield. It’s a light blue convertible, but I don’t know other details. I enter the store to shop, then I’m in line to pay. The total is fourteen something. I don’t have the cash for it. I debate between using my debit card and my credit card. I use the debit card. It doesn’t work, exasperating me. I go to the credit card. I slide the wrong side through, and then slide the right side, but then realize my card has a chip and the terminal has a chip reader. I pop the card in but can’t remember my PIN for it. I can’t believe I’m having such trouble remembering my PINs.

I’ve not noticed the cashiers before. They’ve never said or done anything as I went through my paying problems. But now, a manager comes over, big, white, middle-aged guy, short-sleeved mustard-yellow shirt, black tie, small mustache. He comes to the terminal and does something to override it and process the card. Then he says, “You know what you need to do?”

“No,” I reply, “what?”

But he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to someone behind me. I turn to see them. The dream ends.

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Stealing Batteries Deam

I’d dream I was back with folks from my military time — my final assignment, actually — but we weren’t in the military. I’d started a new job and was pleased and happy. The bosses and co-workers all seemed to take a shine to me. Things were going well. Then (you knew it was coming), one co-worker asked me to put something into an envelope for him and stamp it secret. He gave me the something, adding as he walked away, “I need to take it with me when I leave, so if you could hurry it up.”

I was eager to please, so I set right about taking care of it. Putting something in an envelope and marking it…no prob!

But, the something was a package of batteries. Eight of them. They were about C sized. Each was bundled to function as two.

Confusion struck. I was fetching an envelope but was asking myself, what’s going on? Why am I doing this? I remembered that he wanted to stamp this secret. Secret? Why?

As I cottoned to what was up — he was stealing these batteries — the bosses came around. One was a short female who I once worked for. She was just chattering away with a big smile. I was nodding and smiling back while hiding the batteries as I saw the requesting co-worker give me an anxious look over her shoulder.

Time was running out. The boss wanted something else done. “Okay,” I agreed, “but I need to finish this first.”

She wanted to know what I was doing but then veered off to another work area. I hurried to put the batteries into the envelope, seal it, and stamp it. The first thing was done but then another supervisor, a guy I worked with at a start-up after retiring, came by to see what I was doing. I hid the envelope and chatted away as the operation around me began to close up for the day. I needed to hurry. I wanted to help this guy because he’d come to me, and I didn’t want to disappoint him, even if I did wonder, was it worth it? Why was he stealing batteries? How much did batteries cost?

Then, though, I gave up. Instead, I found myself in the kitchen. Most of the others were already gone. Dishes with half-eaten food on them were on the stainless steel sink counter. Another co-worker (also from my last assignment) said, “We need to clean this up.” So, we did. The last thing I remember was scrapping a half-eaten piece of pie from the plate into the trash and then turning to wash it in the sink as the water ran.

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