Tag: Dreams

Monday’s Theme Music

Guten Morgen. Welcome to another edition of another day in another month in another year, aka, March 22, 2021. Bruising clouds and wet surfaces attest to a rainy persona this morn, even though the planet rotated around per usual and presented our star at 7:11 AM. The rotation should hide the sun at 7:25 PM in these parts for twelve plus solid hours of daylight

Dreams are affecting my song choices again today. After contemplating dreams and muddling through some confusion, the 1982 song by The Police, “Spirits in the Material World”. The song just seemed to fit the general mood, the sense that I’m dealing with multitudes of spirits in one world before returning to the material world (here).

I don’t know. Give me some coffee and let me think about it. Think positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Have some fun, too. Cheers

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A Dream of Smells

This dream happened just before I woke up. It was a very simple dream. Naked, I was in the bathroom using a blue washcloth to wash my body. As I ran the wet cloth over my face, a sweet smell rose. Stopping, I identified, watermelon. Where did that smell come from? I wasn’t using soap. My washcloth had no scent. Resuming, I washed my arms and chest. Then I smelled, cantaloupe. So fresh and sweet, it was a wonderful smell. After checking the washcloth, I sniffed my arms and hands. Yes, they smelled like cantaloupe. But where did the smell come from?

Continuing with my torso, the smell changed to blackberries. By now, laughing and mystified, I kept washing, but looking around. No others were in the bathroom; the house was silent. Washing my legs and feet, an apple smell rose.

Stopping, I smelled my arms. They still smelled like cantaloupe. When I moved my arms away, I could smell apples. Watermelon, cantaloupe, blackberries, applies: all fruits. What did it mean? I chuckled about smelling fruity.

At that point, I woke up to birds singing outside the window, but smelled…nothing… The dream’s vivid scents remained in my mind so I sniffed my arm.

Yeah; nothing.

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Back with Jeff Dream

Jeff and I were together. We ran together back on Okinawa. Had a good time. Haven’t seen him since then, so that’s thirty-seven years ago.

In this dream, Jeff and I were civilians but tasked with working on what seemed to be military plans. We were each given fat folders of information. A global map dominated a wall. A few older men sat along the edges of the room. I was ready to get to work, eager for the task, but others reminded us that it’s classified and we need to be aware of our environment. Yes, the room was open on one end and other people, who might not have the clearance, were walking and milling. Most were female.

We were told there were a few training meetings about protecting information and ethics that we needed to immediately attend. Carrying our enormous folders, we headed for the meeting rooms with others. Getting there required climbing a wall. That seemed to be optional but I decided I was going to do it. A woman noticed me going up and asked, “Who’s that going up? Why, that’s Michael. Good for you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Shaped like the letter U, covered in red, yellow, or green rubber, the holds were loose. Many fell out when you grabbed them. I had one arm pinning my folder to my body. With the other arm and hand, I pulled myself, support myself and then find holds for my feet. When I reached the top, I threw the folder up, then used both arms to leverage myself up the final few four to five feet. The top was flat. Getting down required me to jump down three large steps. Picking up my folder, I descended and hurried on.

The rooms were already almost full. I wasn’t certain which one to go to. A woman told me where to go. I saw Jeff by the front so I went to that room. Only two seats remained at the front. I took one of them by the podium. Jeff then gave a short talk. When it finished, we were given a beer break. I went over with others and asked someone at the front of the line to bring me a beer. They did that. I drank some of it before I was told it was time to go to the next meeting. Still carrying my folder, I headed for the assigned room. When I reached it, I was told, no, go work on your new assignment. Another man then showed me where to go. I entered a room where Jeff was waiting. We sat down and began to work.

1

Another Dream

I didn’t know what to call this dream. It popped about. The dream starts with my wife joining me in bed. Naked and in our twenties, we play grab-ass, laughing as we do. For some reason, it’s sunny.

Then… We’re at a play with audience participation. Don’t know what the play is about. I’m up by the stage. The audience, including me, are laying down. The light is low, with focus on the stage via yellow spotlights. During intermission, it’s announced that prizes are available. The prizes are up by me. I begin exploring them. One is of a pair of model racing cars: a Chaparral 2E and a Mclaren M8F. The Chaparral always raced as a white car while the McLarens were orange. In this model, though, the Chaparral body parts are painted orange.

Not all pieces are painted, I observe. The cars are models to be constructed, and small, maybe 1/86 scale, yet, there’s amazing detail. Some pieces are in chrome, and others are in brass. There are fittings for water and oil lines, suspension pieces, engine covers and headers, brakes, modular wheels… It’s mind-blowing the amount of details in these tiny models given away. The announcer is saying that these are for children but I say, “These aren’t for children. I’d never give these to children. The pieces are too small.” I look at the box, confirming that it states for children five and up. That has me shaking my head. It’d be a challenge for me to assemble.

We leave the theater, and are out on a sunny plaza. Many people are returning to work but I don’t need to. Because I was laying down at the theater, I have a pale yellow sheet around my waist. A red-headed young white woman is flirting with me. She’s talking about some safety procedures that I previously established for work, and how they’re still in use. They call them “the Seidels,” she informs me, which she implies is funny, but also implies that I should be honored because they’re still using the documents I create and call them by my last name.

She invites me to sit at a table with her. Drinks are ordered. Making chuckling noises, she’s reaching under the table. As the chuckling stops and the smile leaves her face, she finally looks under the table. I look, too. Her hand is up under my sheet. She asks with some indignation what I’m wearing. I realize that she was trying to get into my pants. I laugh. She huffs away.

There it is, all that I remember, although there’s a sneaking sense that I have some gaps.

3

The Measurements Dream

It was a weird shopping dream. A bunch of other things had happened where I was going around shopping but then I came to this point. I was helping people shop. Roped into it because I was there and knew what was going on, I was friendly and upbeat about helping others, eager to do it because they were grateful for the assistance. But then I encountered a trio. It seemed like a husband, wife, and older child from what I saw, but that’s a guess. White, all were overweight. I was helping them get three ounces of the product that they wanted. Measuring it out, I handed the white bag to them. “What’s this?” the man asked. “We wanted three ounces,” the woman said while the child hovered sullenly behind them.

I was confused because this was three ounces. I showed them the scale and measurement with the stuff on it. “That’s three ounces. That’s what you asked for.”

The woman smirked. “We want three ounces.”

Her smirk irritated me. “This is three ounces. Look.” I pointed at the scale. The line for help was piling up. “That says three ounces.”

The man and woman peered at it. “Where?” he asked.

I pointed again, moving my finger to emphasize where it said three ounces. “There. That says three ounces. You said you wanted three ounces. This is three ounces.”

The woman smirked. “We. Want. THREE. Ounces.”

WTF? Seriously. Looking back on the dream, it went on with more of the same. My frustration kept rising. With crowd noise growing from impatient people waiting behhind them, I was finally rid of the people only for them to return a few minutes later. Flummoxing me more, they insisted they hadn’t been there yet. “We want three ounces,” the man said. The short woman was holding the white bag I’d given them before. Their listless boy hovered beside her.

I asked, “Do you want three more ounces?” They gazed at me like stupefied cows, so I said, “Because I already gave you three ounces.” I pointed at the white bag in the woman’s hand. She looked at it like she’d never seen it before. “Isn’t that what’s in that bag?”

She said, “We want three ounces.”

I gave up. Just walked away. People called after me but I kept going with the thought, there’s somewhere else that I need to be.

2

Sleep Easy

I’ve been reading about sleeping (yeah, researching). I’ve always been one to fall asleep quickly and easily, in almost any location. I’ve gone to sleep in waiting rooms, cars and aircraft (military and commercial), and tents during a typhoon. One of those times in the typhoon, my wife was with me. She claimed that the tent was blowing away and I was dead asleep. Coincidentally, after that trip, she declared that roughing it required a hotel room and a chocolate on her pillow. On another occasion when I was a teen, Dad and his wife (yeah, my step Mom) awoke me to take cover in the living room floor because of a tornado. I went in there and went to sleep. According to my step Mother, so did Dad. She couldn’t believe it.

Then I came across the claim that people don’t fall out of bed while sleeping.

News to me. I’ve fallen out of bed twice in my lifetime. Both happened in my early teens, and in my usual bed. I was stone sober, I swear! Didn’t drink nor indulge in drugs then (as if drugs and are regular pals now – we’re not), and wasn’t sick. Just floomp. Out of bed and onto the floor.

I decided to cast a wider research net and leaped to the web. Research revealed that this is a REM Sleep Disorder. Ohhh, okay. They went on to talk about people acting out their dreams.

That’s another thing I’ve been known to do. The book claimed that people experience paralysis during sleep to keep them from thrashing about and hurting themselves or others. Tales are circulated around my family about me thrashing in my sleep. Three immediately spring to mind. Once, I came down to breakfast. Taking a look at me, Mom asked, “What happened to your eye?” I didn’t know what she was talking about. My sister said, “He hit himself.”

Wearing a mystified expression, Mom naturally went, “He hit himself?” I stared without comprehension about what my sister was saying. Sis went on, “I heard noises coming from your room so I went in. You were fighting with your pillow.”

“Fighting with my pillos?”

“Then you swung at it and hit yourself.” I scoffed, of course. I didn’t remember any of it. Sis swore it was true.

During a second night thrashing, my cousin was sleeping over. We were sharing a bed. He awoke to discover me on my hands and knees beside him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for worms.”

As he said, “Worms,” I lunged forward with a shout, “There’s one,” and managed to hit him. That’s when I awoke and he told the story.

Third time was with my wife. We’d been married a few years when she woke me. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Why’d you wake me?” I was pretty cross about being awoken out of a solid sleep.

She replied, “You were moving around, and then started swinging your fists. I was afraid you were going to hit me.”

All this time, I had no idea that I have a mild sleep disorder. I wonder if it’s in any way associated with my ability to sharply recall dreams. I’ve deliberately curtailed remembering dreams to a significant degree. Making efforts recalling dreams ends up eating a chunk of time because I remember — or tell myself that I do, perhaps — a great deal. Besides that, the dreams show recurring patterns and get boring, like watching movies with different titles but interchangeable plots. I enjoy driving dreams, thought. I’m usually driving sports cars like Ferraris, BMWs, or Porsches, and I’m often driving them through snow, but enjoying myself.

That’s probably the best aspect of dreams that I recall. Many make little sense but through them all, I seem to enjoy myself. I rest easy with that.

5

Car In A Dream

He awoke with a fast start. Pulse still hammering, heart palpitating in his chest, he kept still, eyes wide open, focused on the dark night around him, waiting for his eyesight to catch up.

Common sounds asserted themselves: others snoring throughout the house, including the dog on the floor and his wife beside him in the bed. Wind was kicking around something loose on the house, reminding him that he’d need to hunt the object down before it broke free. Something to do when daylight arrived, after the other winter chores were completed, something to complete while the sun shone and he paced himself until spring.

Sleep was not coming back soon. Lightly he unfurled the heavy blankets and quilts, untangled himself from his wife’s grasp, and slipped free. An icy floor met his soles. Shivers jumped through his body. Eyes finding form in the darkness, he eased out of the bedroom, past the old dog, and out into the kitchen.

A tabby was settled on the kitchen counter, watching him with still eyes. Drifting to the window, he peered out past the curtains and glass while he scratched the cat. It purred happy in response. He’d dreamed of cars again. The car in this dream had been from about 1980, although he thought he was living in 2021 when he dreamed it. Just speculation about that, as those dates felt elusive. He knew the car, though, green and low, was not like anything seen in this century. Cars were still to be invented. He shook his head at that. Cars were still to be invented, but seemed so real… If the car was from 1980, that was still one hundred twenty years away. Scratching his face, he prepared to return to bed.

He awoke with a fast start. Gaping at his familiar bedroom, he settled onto his side with a long sigh. He’d dreamed again that he was living on a farm in eighteen sixty. Breaking free of his wife and the cats huddling against him, he slipped out of bed and moved through the house. Night lights embedded in the walls helped guide him as he made his way to the garage and flipped on its lights. His BMW M1 reflected the scene in its gleaming green surfaces, including himself, staring at the car. For a moment, he saw himself as another person, the old farmer? And then another — the man from 2021?

Shutting the garage lights off, he returned to the house. Cats had followed him and now demanded food, attention, or both. Touching his wrist, he woke his Backhand. “Show me today’s dreams,” he said, amending, “from the last two hours.” The dreams paraded by until the green car arrived. “Freeze.” He drank it in. “Enlarge the driver’s face. Clarify and sharpen.” He squinted as it grew in size, trying to decide if it was him, the man from 1860, or the guy from 2021.

Were they — he — all the same?

He closed the dream. Either something — worlds — were coming together, or something — the divide between worlds? — was coming apart. Maybe something else, like his sanity, was coming apart. Padding down the hall, ambivalence slowed him. He wasn’t certain he wanted to return to bed, wasn’t certain if he wanted to return to sleep. For to sleep meant to dream, and he was becoming worried about where his dreams might next take him.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Today is Wednesday, February 10, 2021. Sunset was at 7:14 AM. Sunset will be about 5:37 PM. Nice having that increased daylight. Winter’s worse aspect for me is that late sunrise and early sunset. Those effects are pronounced on this side of the mountain, where mountain narrows sunshine’s impact. The temperature is up to 34 degrees today with the high of fifty-five coming later today.

Randy was in my dreams last night. I’ve written about him before. A year older than me, he worked for me at my last military assignment. After he retired, he became a successful businessman. Colon cancer cut that career short when he was sixty.

He and I had a lot of fun together. Randy was a big Boston and Van Halen fan. I think he leaned toward Van Halen by a few degrees, probably because Van Halen had a larger body of work than Boston, but it was only by degrees. Anyway, I decided to go with one of his absolute favorites, “You Really Got Me”. Lord, what do you think of that attire? Definitely part of the big-hair rock era, innit?

Stay positive and test negative. Wear a mask and get vaccinated. Here’s the sound.

3

A Black Beard Dream

This struck me as hilarious. In the midst of other dream action, I came to discover that I’d grown a tremendously thick beard, light gray in color. Preparing to go off to do business, I thought I’d trim it back with an electric razor. Interruptions kept occurring, limiting continuity. In an attempt to get it done, I was trimming it without a mirror. Since It was so long, broad, and heavy, I didn’t see any harm in that; I’d trim it back, and then tighten it up and make it neater.

Now, nearing the time to leave and wanting to look more presentable, I gathered myself in front of a mirror. Behold, where I’d trimmed the beard back, it was a luscious and glossy black. As I was cutting back from below, that meant that I had gray up around my mouth and chin. I was so pleased and astonished by the deep black beard revealed, I thought, I should trim off that gray and make it black, too.

I cut into the beard as planned but was horrified to see that the cut didn’t come out as planned. But on second look, the cut did a service by revealing more of my face. I thought, I need to do more of that. As I was doing so is when the dream ended.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

It’s a snowy Wednesday in Ashland, Oregon. Today is Feb. 3, 2021. Sunrise was at 7:22 AM and sunset will be at 5:28 PM.

The snow is light and the temperature is 35 degrees F, so it’s not hanging around at this elevation. Completely overcast, the land is an black and white study.

My dreams seemed anchored in 1982 last night. Something about them had a 1982 vibe. I looked like I did (or believe that’s how I appeared) in 1982 in the dream, and a wallet that I bought in Korea in 1982 made its appearance. A song, “I Ran (So Far Away)” by A Flock of Seagulls, was imposed on my mental musical stream. I wasn’t certain it was a 1982 song but verified it via the net.

Why 1982? Don’t know. Not a particular great or bad year for me personally, that I recalled. I was stationed at Kadena AB on Okinawa. I was taking some classes with University of Maryland. We were living in a tiny apartment off base. Work was okay, and so was life. I did break my neck in May of that year, requiring me to wear a halo device for the summer, but nothing else special happened.

Ah, the mind. It works in weird friggin’ ways.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vaccine. Cheers

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