Tag: father

Saturday’s Theme Music*

*Began publishing this as Sunday’s theme music. Because I thought it was Sunday. My internal calendar is untethered with my routines disrupted. My apologies.

Mood: Springflective

Spring has taken over Ashlandia on this day in June’s middle. A flotilla of menacing clouds have surmounted the mountains surrounding the valley, blocking the sun’s effects, and holding our temperature hostage in the low fifties. Saturday, June 15, 2024, will likely only face high temperatures in the upper sixties today, ending our unusually warm streak — for this time of year, of course.

Fire season has begun and there are already several on the maps to be watched to see how they grow, what direction they take, how long until they’re under control, and what happens with the smoke.

Dad went into the hospital yesterday. He’s in his early nineties so a visit there once in a while isn’t a great surprise. I mean, he grew up during the cigarette’s heyday and was a smoker, first of Lucky Strikes, and then shifting to pipes and cigars. He quit smoking thirty to forty years ago but the damage was done. He also spent 20 years in the military and was exposed to carcinogenic stuff during his tours, and survived a tour of Vietnam, too.

His current issues began with an enlarged prostrate which blocked his bladder. One kidney has apparently failed, quite some time ago, according to his wife, though Dad never mentioned this. Nor has he ever mentioned that they wanted to start him on dialysis. But the issue du jour is fluid around his heart. He’s been stented before and has had edema issues but this is a new one. So they’re going to drain away that fluid. The stay is basically observation, they said *cough cough*.

Dad, though, was recalcitrant to go into the hospital. His wife said that after the doctor saw Dad’s test results, Doc called Dad and asked him to go to ER, which Dad did. But when they wanted to admit him for obs, he refused to give his permission. Went on for hours. Dad demanded a second opinion. So a second team came in and evaluated him, and agreed, he should be admitted to the hospital. Dad finally gave his permission at 12:30 AM Friday morning after arriving Thursday afternoon. His wife said she left the hospital bone tired but encountered a huge thunderstorm. Not wanting to drive the highways and Interstates of San Antonio, Texas, in the rain, she found a chair and spent the night sleeping in it.

Gotta call them to get the lowdown on here and now.

If you ever read my blog, you can imagine how The Neurons reacted to news about Dad and his health. All manner of songs, poetry, and essays skated through the mental scene while I reflected about who I think Dad is and how he influenced me. As I’m still trying to figure him at with me at 68 years old, I ended up with “Alive” by Pearl Jam from 1991 in my morning mental music stream (Trademark grandfathered). Of course, figuring out Dad is a moving target. I’m changing in slow ways most days, and so is he. We don’t see one another often — he lives in Texas and I live in Oregon — and we don’t talk often. We try, and we mean to, but we’re the same in that way, sort of strange loners who socialize well but aren’t terribly sentimental. We can hazard the company of others but we’re very satisfied being on our own.

Stay strong, be well, keep positive. Endure, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Got my coffee so we can rock on. Here’s the tune. Cheers

2

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.

0

The ‘Miles’ Dream

People were running in positions as though they sat in cars, following lanes marked with white lines and arrows. I did the same, jumping into the left-turn lane toward my home. The streets were narrow, lined with tall cement and brick buildings pink, yellow, white. The setting reminded me of Okinawa outside of Kadena Air Base’s main gate back in the 1980s.

Arriving home, a tall, old, cement building, I encountered friends. One needed to leave but his son’s baby sitter hadn’t arrived.

“I can take him,” I volunteered.

Ted, a Black friend, answered, “You sure? I don’t want to burden you.”

“Miles isn’t a burden.” Miles was the boy, a light-skinned Black child with a sweet, happy face, an oddly muscular body, and a head topped with soft curls. “We’ll have fun, won’t we, Miles?”

Miles agreed with a grin and words I didn’t understand, tottering over to show me something in his hand, which was empty.

“Okay, thanks.” Ted left.

Miles and I walked down the street to another building. People there seemed high or tipsy. Performers, I knew. Students. Singers, actors, musicians, artists.

Miles and I spent time chasing one another or playing hide and seek. People knew him more than they knew me. They started asking, where is his father? Why do you have him?

I explained that I was watching the boy for his father because his father had an appointment, but his mother was coming to pick Miles up.

“What was the father’s appointment?” I was asked. “Why isn’t he here?” They were disapproving, even though I’d already explained that the baby sitter had an emergency.

“He was counter-protesting a protest.”

Oh, that makes sense. That’s important, others agreed.

Miles disappeared from my watch. I panicked and searched for him. His father came in just as I found Miles. I said, “I was so worried that something had happened to him. I took my eyes off him for just a second and he was gone.”

His father, who was now another person, said, “I know what you mean. That happens to me all the time.”

0

An In-Law Dream

My Mother- and Father-in-law, both deceased, showed up in my dream last night, along with Dad, who is alive. I was young and with my in-laws at their house, along with Dad, who was visiting. I was outside when I turned and looked at their house. This dream house was nothing like any of the homes they lived in dring the time I knew them. They had changed this house, though, installing a flat front facade in a deep slate blue color that really appealed to me. I complimented them on the color change, enthusing about it. They then added a flat white latticed gate, which popped again the blue. Whole thing came across as stylish, modern, and sharp, which, honestly, counters their RL simple country style. Dad was helping with the gate. As they finished, I walked over and checked it out. I discovered two machine head screws at the bottom sticking out of the gate.

I complained about the screws sticking out, chiding them about not finishing in a joking way that we’d shared with one another throughout my adult hood. Dad and FIL replied that the screws were fine. But I went over to finish screwing them in. When I applied pressure, the screws slid in without any resistance. I said, “There’s nothing behind these screws. They won’t help at all.” They ignored that and walked off.

Dream shift, we’re inside, playing some silly game tossing a ball around that none of the others would ever do in RL. None were ever silly that way around me. I was back in the right corner, which had a hallway leading to another area. The walls were pale green. I began examining them more closely and discovered mold growing on the walls. I pointed this out to them and said that something needs to be done. When none of the rest responded, I began cleaning them.

Another dream shift found me outside again, in my pajamas. Bright sunshine lit the broad fields and short bushes. I knew it was mid-afternoon. Someone kicked a football around. I decided to go out and play. My FIL said as an aside that someone serious about it would not be barefoot and in their pajamas. Ignoring him, I went out after the ball. It bounced behind me. Catching it on a bounce, I raced across the field. A small girl in pink pajamas attempted to tackle me. She had no chance but I didn’t want to hurt her so I stopped and let get me.

Dream end.

2

Many Dreams

I’ve been under a barrage of dreams the last two nights. All of them have been as fleeting as me meteors on a summer night. One impression remains bold from one dream: I learned that Frank Sinatra was my father.

Bet that’ll be a surprise to Mom.

5

The Baggage Dream

I thought this a great dream to experience on New Year’s Eve/Day. I was traveling as a young man. Not sure what the transpo means were. Seemed like a planes, trains, and automobile variation. I’d stopped at a cafe to eat. It seemed like a cafe but it had a huge eating area, lot of floor space, and many tables. It was packed with travelers. Most were happy. Many were children and families.

I found a place and put my baggage on a table, then went up and ordered. Just three people were behind the counter, serving all these people. I ordered a sandwich. I thought it would take a while but the sandwich was quickly prepared and given to me. I took it back to my table to eat.

While I ate, I decided to clean out my baggage, which was a dark burgundy backpack. As I went through, I discovered it was full of stuff from previous travels. I frequently recognized things from visits to other places, and chuckling, tossed most of it into the trash. Then I neatly tidied what I was keeping. When I finished, my baggage was light, clean, and organized. I went on to meet my father. He was there to give me a gift. I told him that I was on my way to a new job. He was pleased for me.

Happy new year.

3

The Activities Dream

There were so many of us. All there for activities, as in clubs and sports activities. Buildings, fields, tents and canopies provided the settings.

I was there mainly for racquetball. We had a tournament…seven players. I was ranked fourth. Yes, mid-field, but I was having fun. An elderly white man with a laconic voice approached me and told me that he thought he could help me improve. Was I interested?

Absolutely. He started by telling me he would hit a few balls around to see how I reacted and assess my playing level. Only three balls were hit, though. I returned two of them. The first shot pleased me, the second shot was ‘okay’, but the third was horrid. I was thinking that I needed to improve my racquet control but he was like, “Oh, dear, that wasn’t good.” Interruptions kept him from hitting other balls. We needed to leave the court.

So we went outside. Overcast, a blowing wind put me into a sweater and jacket. My instructor hit a ball. It went wildly askew. With others watching, he encouraged me, “Chase it down, chase it down, get it, get.” I ran and ran, trying to get my racquet under the blue ball…and failed.

Oh, he was disappointed. “We have much more work than I thought,” he announced.

Rain began falling. I took that as an excuse to quit, taking off my sweater and jacket, and putting on a raincoat. I was also concerned that my blanket was getting wet, and had to retrieve it. My instructor said that we’d continue later.

I went into the building and joined a group of young people. Many were female. Inquiring what they were there for, they informed me that they were part of the surfboard building club. Did I want to join? They passed around sample materials and sign up sheets. They were trying to think of other uses for surfboard materials and construction techniques. “What about coffins,” I suggested. Half-serious, I said it would make coffins lighter. I decided not to join that group and went on.

Next stop was the blues society, where they were offering lessons in how to play blues guitar. I signed up for that after some conversation. When I did, I discovered that I was already a member but that my dues were in arrears. I needed to pay five extra dollars to be reinstated. They handed me an electronic pad to sign my name and make the payment. As I did, my wife joined me. For some reason, I didn’t want her to know that I was five dollars overdue, so I hastily finished business and led her away.

The activities center was closing down. We were being urged to leave. Someone called something to us. Apparently, it was about my father joining the blues society. “No,” I answered, “he’s suicidal.” My wife repeated that response to the people asking the question.

We went on our way.

0

A War Games Dream

I dreamed I was playing war games. Not the kind where troops are loaded into aircraft and dropped somewhere while aircraft fly sorties and ships maneuver, such as the ones I did as an adult in the military. No, this was the board games type where famous battles are played out to see how you fare compare to the real deal, on boards pre-home computers. I used to play these all the time. I’d started with Battleship, progressed to Risk, Axis & Allies, and then got into more complex games. I’d even gone so far as to invent my own.

In this dream, I was a teenager. Like a movie, I was watching me. Walking around outside, I found small hills shaped like mountains and forests that rose to my thighs. Pieces about two feet tall were all around. Each was shaped as a tank to represent armor units, infantry, jets, destroyers, aircraft carriers, submarines, etc.

I realized I was on a huge board game. I wasn’t sure if I was a player, so I walked around, regarding the different pieces. They were very cool to me. The first pieces encountered were of WW II in Europe and north Africa, I discovered pieces from the American Civil War in one section, then found the Napoleonic Wars.

Someone told me it was my turn. I asked questions about what was going on, like, which side am I on, and what I was supposed to be doing. As the other explained it, I realized it was my father as he was when I was young. I was just grappling with pieces to make my first move when the dream ended.

Awakening, I chuckled about the war the subconscious neurons like to play as they engage in their own games.

0

The Heart-Attack Dream

It began with me in bed, at night. Pain was rushing through me. I couldn’t see nor hear correctly. I thought, I’m having a heart attack.

No one else seemed present. The heart attack would come and go in waves. I tried calling for help but couldn’t. I decided that I’d work through it by thinking of what I was feeling and experiencing, and then countering those things with my mind. That seemed to work, as the pain faded and the heart attack passed.

The lights came on. A large spider, I’d say two feet tall, was to my left. I acknowledged its presence and left the room.

I’d survived, I decided. Outside the bedroom, in another room, were my wife, a few friends, and a dead cousin. As I looked around, familiarization flowed in. I knew where I was. We need to go home, I announced to the rest. They talked about this, objecting, how are we to do that?

But, I judged, the weather isn’t bad, so I’m walking. It’s only a few miles and it won’t take long.

They didn’t believe that I was serious. Shrugging them off, I left. My wife and a few others joined me.

The road was a rough, one-lane, dirt and gravel road that rose, fell, and wound through sparsely populated, wooded countryside. As we went, we’d see a car coming, call out, “Car,” and then step off the road until it passed. Impatient to continue my journey, I announced that I’m running.

At that point, I realize that I had a foot injury and had been limping. I thought, I’ll have to push myself through my foot’s pain and stiffness. Behind me, the others said, “He’s not serious, he’s not going to run.” But I started running, gritting my teeth against my pain. Soon I found a stride.

The others started running behind me, but I was well ahead. Seeing the road, I’d call, “Car,” as a warning to them, and step aside until the car had passed us all, and then resume running.

I reached home. Uncles were there. They offered me wine, but it was white wine and I turned them down. Dad arrived with a girlfriend. He offered me some white wine, but I turned him down. I wanted some wine, though. I was getting ready to go somewhere.

Passing into another room, I saw Dad’s girlfriend asleep in the living room. I went into the adjacent kitchen. I found a bottle of white wine but kept looking for red wine. As I didn’t find anything except white wine I thought, maybe I will drink some.

Dad came in. While talking to me, he produced a bottle of white wine in a light green bottle in a clear plastic bag, like a gallon-storage bag, and showed it to me. It’d been opened, but had a cork put back into place. “That’s what you’re drinking?” I asked. When he said that he was, and offered me some, I answered, “Well, pour me a glass, I guess.”

As he did, his girlfriend awoke in the other room. She came in and introduced herself to me, which annoyed Dad. We talked for a few minutes. Then we talked about cars, and who was using what car.

The dream ended.

0

Grappling with Dreams

My recent series of dreams have involved structures and family. Two that stand out were about my father and my in-laws.

The dream about my father had bronze red overtones to everything. We were underground, in a cave. Alive (as he is), he was selecting his coffin and burial site. His burial site was a strange building. It had been some sort of business. I was asking him, “This is where you want to be buried?” It seemed so bizarre to me.

Dad barely took notice of my question. He was busy organizing his burial process and closing the deal for the building. Passing out leaflets (which were red), he told me, “You’re one of the pallbearers but you won’t be carrying me.”

I said, “Where is this place?” Someone pointed out a map on wall. I went over to the map and studied it, determining that it was on the California-Nevada border. Knowing where it was, I stepped outside to see it. I discovered I was standing on top of a hill. Below was a huge quarry operation. Shaped in a circle or oval, it was miles wide.

“This is a mine,” I said, looking for Dad. “Why would you want to be buried in a mine?”

The dream ended.

The next night, I dreamed that I was visiting with my sister-in-law and her husband. Other relatives from my wife’s side were present, as was my wife. My mother- and father-in-law have both passed away, and we were at their old home. Only this home was nothing like their home.

Everyone was turning to me and saying, “What should we do with this?” The house was like an faintly familiar maze of rooms and additions. I told everyone, “We need to determine what we have.” Everyone agreed to that, but asked, “How?”

I said, “Well, first, we’ll need to explore.”

Officials came up to us to talk about the house and our plans. I told them of my plan, and they approved. They then said that I should contact a specific person. While he was a teammate, we’d never been close and he was a year behind me. “He’ll certify the findings for you,” the officials said.

I agreed to do that. Then I began leading the family around the dwelling. I said, “I’m going to turn on light switches. Everyone watch to see what lights up. We need to open every door and find every switch.” All agreed.

I did as planned. Whenever I opened a door, I’d find the switch and turn on the lights. Surprising reveals followed. Old rooms and additions that we didn’t know about were revealed. Some were old offices, with filing cabinets and seats. Although old, they showed signs of recent use. Scenes like this, of different rooms that we didn’t know about, happened again and again.

Finished, we went outside. My sister-in-law’s husband came up to me. He said, “Now you know what we faced. Not so easy, is it?” He was laughing, and agreeing, I laughed, too.

Studying the house, I said, “I never knew that it looked like this.” It was a sprawling, eclectic design of multiple levels. Many were new and some were old. As I looked at it, I said, “I know what to do.”

The dream ended.

I’ve dreamed about these in-laws a few times in the past two weeks. In other dreams, I was driving them. I’ve dreamed about my wife’s parents’ home numerous times in the past few years, but the dream and home were always different. The commonality is always that the house surprises me, I’m exploring it, and everyone is looking at me to decide what to do.

 

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑