Tag: Dreams

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Sounds have come tapping. Cue “It’s Raining Again” by Supertramp.

Light rain sporadically spits down on this Wednesday, the 27th of April, 2022. The temperature is at 44 F and a high of 60 is possible, they say. They also said it wouldn’t rain today.

Sunset is expected at 8:06 PM while sunrise came and went at 6:12 AM.

I have guitarist Joe Walsh with “Rocky Mountain Way” from 1973 cranking it out in the morning mental music stream. This one came out during a dream. I’d been startled awake by a cat checking to see if I was alive (“No, I was just sleeping, damn it”). The dream featured mountains, as my dreams frequently do. When I thought about those, the neurons hit the play button. Out came Walsh.

I’ve always enjoyed the song, playing it too often and too loud in my youth. It was a regular staple in high school art class as well as my part of my vinyl rotation at home and on 8 tracks in the car. Never got to see Walsh live in concert, except when he was with the Eagles on the Hell Freezes Over tour in 1994. The way I wrote that, it sounds like he died, but he’s still alive. I just checked. At least, that’s what the net claims.

Stay positive, test negative, etc. Can’t believe a Republican called for Dr. Fauci to face a shooting squad and be executed. Further, that said Republican was cheered by other Republicans. That party has lost its ever-lovin’ collective mind.

Here’s the music. If you guessed that I’m now going for coffee, give yourself a gold star. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

Friday has arrived. Around the nation, in work stations and meetings, cars and on Zoom, I hear people smiling and telling one another, “Thank God it’s Friday.” TGIF. For shift workers, it might not be Friday. And wait staff, hospitals, and others associated with jobs whose tasks and activities don’t recognize a standard work week, they’re probably muttering, “Is it Friday?” Then they think how the weekend might spin. It’s a four-day weekend in the U.S. For, this is Good Friday and the First Day of Passover. Sunday is Easter. Many schools are closed for today and Monday. The change will do some folks some good. Your life might vary. Let’s hope some shooter somewhere doesn’t decided to make this a more memorable weekend.

Today is April 15, 2022. Hey, your taxes done? Sunrise was another glorious show, a sharp dawning of light piercing the sky as the mountains were cleared at 6:30 AM. Temperatures are at 37 F outside of my house on the valley wall. Sundown will take over at 7:52 PM. Our high should be in the fifties again. Another winter weather advisory is in effect, for snow over 2500, 2-6 inches. A lot of snow for April, but appreciated, given our dry winter and drought conditions.

My dreams featured waterfalls. Naturally, the neurons are playing “Waterfalls” by TLC (1995) in the morning mental music stream. (In fairness to the neurons, they first started with the theme song to the Mouseketeers.) 1995 was the year I retired from the USAF, and I remember the song playing during my commute in my final months, wondering if I was chasing waterfalls. It worked out well, though, for me. The AIDS epidemic of the era was behind the song’s lyrics, something I later learned. While I took it as a song about doubt, it’s more of a song of worry, pain, and desperation, and a parent trying to protect their child. It’s much different from my dreams, where I remember realizing I was standing in a waterfall, looking over its edge and thinking, “Neat. What power and beauty.” In the manner of dreams, the waterfall infused me with a sense of strength, and I walked away feeling invigorated.

Stay positive, etc. Hope your weekend goes well, whether it begins today or another day. I’m off for coffee. Here’s the song. Cheers

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The Room Dream

I arrived home as a young man. Mom gave me a room. I was happy to see her and happy to be there. We were living on a train, and the room she gave me was an entire train car. Long and narrow, I had a bed, desk, dresser, bookcase, chair, and wardrobe. I set them up to provide separate sleeping and living areas, using the bookcase and vanity as a makeshift wall. As I set it up, my young sisters came in and visited. Sometimes they brought young neighbor boys that they were watching. Mom would also occasionally come by.

I stacked my books and organized my desk, made my narrow bed, and slid against one wall. One side of the train had windows, and I set my desk up under them so I could look outside.

Young people in a sixties era Chevy Impala convertible (after the fins were dropped) began driving by. Whenever they did, some of my things would get shifted, annoying me. This worsened; even as I cleaned and organized again, they drove by, knocking things over. They never reached in or anything, but I knew it was them, as they were laughing about it.

I decided I’d put a stop to that and devised a way by changing the room around. The new arrangement was less satisfying, but it was staying neat and still workable. However, one of the little neighbor boys my sisters were watching kept sneaking into my room and tearing things up. He was fair and blonde, giggling often, but crying whenever he was stopped or reprimanded. I kept putting him out, warning him not to do that, and warning others to keep him out, and then cleaning up again, and again, but he kept getting in there. Mom came to me and told me to be more patient and tolerant because he was a small child and had mental and emotional health issues. I complained to her but took her point and promised I would try.

The train with my room went on the move. That pleased me because I thought we’d moved away from the boy causing the problem. But he got in there again. I was bewildered. My sisters explained that he’d come with us. I felt that I had no choice but to close and lock my doors. After I did that, I discovered him sliding in under the door. It looked like he could completely flattened himself, becoming as pliable and flexible as a sheet of paper.

My exasperation and irritation spiked. How was I supposed to deal with that. I took hold of the boy to take him out of the room. He immediately screamed, writhing and crying in my grasp. Others came running in. I said that I hadn’t done anything to him, that he was overly sensitive, defending myself with the claim, I was just stopping him from ruining things again. My sisters took him out of my room.

Dream end.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Monday, March 28, 2022, is out of the gate and running. The sun slipped into the valley at 7:01 AM and will slip away at 7:32 PM. The temperature is a comfy 52 degrees F but the high will probably top off at 60 as rain is in the tea leaves.

No dreams were in my head this morning. It happens, but it always feels weird. Like, what happened to the dreams? Why aren’t they there?

What is there is music. Tom Jones is singing in the morning mental music stream. So are the Beatles, Who, Stones, and 21 Pilots. What’s it all mean? I queried the neurons but they’re not saying. It might all have to do with being up late writing last night. Was about to close the files for the newest work in progress, The Light of Memories, and shut down the computer when I thought, let me start this one scene so I don’t lose that thread. Forty-five minutes later, the scene was finished, and two others were started. I don’t generally like writing late because the neurons start running around like adults at a beer festival, which isn’t conducive to sleep.

The neurons have quieted. Into the silence, they’ve brought up “Fell on Black Days” by Soundgarden from, like, 1994. An interesting choice, a dark but strangely mellow tune. Used to listen to it during the SF Bay area commute. Guess it reminds the neurons of better times and places.

Here’s the music. Stay positive, test negative, etc. You know the drill. What’s that, neurons? Yes, you’re right, it is time for coffee, or, as I call it, coffee time.

Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

A stratus layer mothers the sun, protecting it from our prying eyes. Theoretically, we had sunrise at 7:11 this morning, but few bright rays have slipped past the cloud shield. The temperature is hovering at 46 degrees F as a fine mist drifts and falls, but today’s high is forecast to be 77 F before sunset at 7:25 PM.

Today is Tuesday, March 22, 2022, or 03222022 in the American style.

I was up with cats last night. Another — a different — sick one, as Tucker puked and went lethargic. My wife is sleeping in another bed adjusted for her back issues. Tucker, who sleeps with me 99 percent of the nights, slept with her. I missed my furry boy and his taps on my hands and nose, and deep, throbbing purr. I asked her this morning, how he was. “Oh, he’s fine,” she said. Oh, he ate? “I don’t know.” Did he drink water? “I don’t know.” Did he use the litter box? “I don’t know.” How do you know he’s okay? “He seems okay.” That is not how it works.

Meanwhile, sick cat took Tucker’s absence as an opportunity to cuddle against me. I pet, scratched, and spoke for him for long hours in the night. His ability to eat is diminishing and he’s fading, despite hopes. Of course, I used the time to write in my head. It wasn’t the plan; the writer is always there, and the muses said, “Hey, while you’re not busy doing anything.” They’re very single-minded. My mind shouted, “Eureka,” as some new and surprising vector took shape. Of course, it must be pursued today.

A 1986 Moody Blues song, “Your Wildest Dreams”, settled into the morning mental music stream. The neurons latched onto after a few dreams. Now it’s on loop and must be released into the net so the neurons can go on to other music.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the shots when you can. The neurons are calling for coffee, threatening me with a medley of 1910 Fruitgum Company melodies if I don’t comply. So off I go. Cheers

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The Pencil Threat Dream

In my early twenties, I was second-in-charge of an enormous global competition. People had gathered from around the world. The games’ name started with a Z and was something like Zweimeckel. Others worked for me as judges, referees, and umpires. They rushed about, watching and ruling over the various events underway and scoring them, a noisy, busy sight under blue skies, while I strode along, grinning and nodding in approval. I mostly saw the workers and was indifferent to the events and competitors. Those things only mattered to me if something went wrong.

Something did. A young female competitor broke the games’ harmony with sudden threats. I responded to the site and found she was complaining, then grabbed a yellow pencil off a clipboard and brandished it like a sword. Her threats found laughter: what could she do with a pencil? “Plenty,” she defiantly responded, and then pulled the pencil point out. “I can stab someone with this?” The point was so small, she couldn’t hold onto it and kept dropping it. That brought a round of greater laughter.

Everyone paused, waiting to see what I would say. I ruled that she wasn’t a threat but that she was dismissed from the games. She was being removed as I turned away.

Dream end.

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The Silver Cars Dream

Again, my dream made me a young man. I was with others, driving in cars on wide, busy boulevards. Sunshine blessed us so we had the roof down on my car, which was turquoise. An entertaining time was being had. It was all about a car show. All these old model cars were there to be judged. We guessed there were hundreds, maybe thousands. Old Porsche variations and European sports cars and GTs dominated, but there were also 1960s and early 1970s American muscle — Mustangs, Camaro Z28s and SS, Firebirds (including Trans-Ams), Cougars, GTOs, Cudas, and Chargers. All the cars were silver except for a few black, white, and turquoise ones, with one other exception. Silver abounded, making us laugh.

We had a list of the cars and were driving around to see them but the cars being judged were also being driven around, creating an entertaining game. Friends had their cars entered, and so did Dad, and old silver Thunderbird. Although I was sometimes driving, I was a passenger at one point, looking at the list of cars. I call it a list, but it was like a small newspaper. The car’s make, model, and year would always be in bold. I was running my thumb along the lists, exclaiming as I noted friends and celebrities’ cars, when I looked up.

Traffic was going in three lines in each direction, very busy. Ahead of us was by several car lengths was the car, I believed, the rarest and most exotic. I said, “That’s it! Catch that car.” The driver (don’t know who it was, never saw them) accelerated. Dad, who was in another car, which was gold, the single gold car in sight, said, “You’re never gonna catch them.” I replied, “Watch us.” Our car shot forward.

But the car we were chasing — was it a Jaguar, Ferrari, Lamborghini? — accelerated more. Pulling away, like they were trying to evade us, they began cutting in and out of traffic. “They’re going to crash,” I said. Dad, from the other car said, “That car is never going to crash. It can’t crash.”

Just then, the car we chased spun and flipped. Wildly, it righted in air and landed neatly. Now facing the wrong way, straddling two lanes, and now black, it sat there as cars went around it. Then it executed a backflip with a twist, landing on its wheels, now silver again, back in the right direction, in one lane, and accelerated away.

So cool, we shouted with laughter in my car. So cool.

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Another F1 Driving Dream

A bounty of dreams again last night. I again had one about being a Formula 1 driver. I’ve now had several in the past few weeks. In the previous ones, I was a fast up and comer. Last night, though, I was now champion. It was, look out, Alonso. Slide aside, LeClerc. Out of my way, Max and Lewis. I have arrived.

The dream was mostly a montage of me in a sleek F1 car slicing around tracks and taking checkered flags. At the end, I was congratulated on being World Driving Champion. I was then shown an image of my sick black cat; his tumors were gone. Then, I was given my prize: two cans of cat food to feed him.

I was quite ecstatic. My cat was better, I had food for him, and I’d won the WDC. Ah, the stuff of dreams…

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The Mountain Claims Dream

As a young man in this dream, I was on team. We were competing against other teams to claim part of a mountain. The mountain was good sized, thick with forest and grassy, rising at a steep angle, with cliffs and sharp drop-offs on either side. Don’t know why claiming this mountain was being pursued. That was never mentioned.

All the teams managed to claim some of the mountain. Some had better parcels than others. My team was dissatisfied with their parcel and were inveigling the other teams to get more parcels or better parcels. I tried telling my team that more mountain was available. None paid attention to me so I trudged up the mountain on my own.

The weather had been cold but clear. Now, as I trudged, the environment turned dark and icy. I kept going up past where the others had claimed parcels and began claiming more for my team.

Some of my team caught up with me and wanted to know what I was doing. I explained it all, which delighted them. They were surprised because they didn’t know the mountain went on past the claimed parcels. The weather cleared as they looked at the new parcels I’d claimed. Two of the other teams tried coming up to get some but realized they were too late and that I’d already claimed the best. I then found a new cement four-lane highway came up to the parcels I’d claimed. When the rest saw what I’d found, they began celebrating.

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