Tag: ferrari

Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

Play the taps. It’s that time. Another tee shirt is being retired.

The apparel in focus is a black tee shirt with Michael Schumacher in an F1 Ferrari in the rain at Spa. Bought in 1996. Not so much that I’m a Ferrari or Schumacher fan — I was rooting for Damon Hill in the Williams — but I liked the shirt’s colors and action. Its style.

I wore it for playing racquetball. Used to play three or four times a week back in the you know. Then it became part of casual Friday work clothes while toiling for start-ups. Spent the last ten years as yard work uniform and then sleepwear.

I’ve gotten my use out of it.

One underarm yawns with a huge hole. Otherwise fine. The hole appalls my wife, who is sensitive about worn clothing.

I won’t throw the tee away. Sentimental attachment. It’ll join a few other aged worn tees in my bottom drawer. Let ’em toss ’em after the flames feast on my body.

2

A White House Dream

I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.

And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.

The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.

Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.

While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.

Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.

Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.

The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.

What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.

The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.

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A Dino Ferrari Dream

Young, probably in my twenties in this dream, I was outside with my wife and some friends. Sunshine bathed us in what felt like a warm, beautiful day.

An unknown and unseen man was telling me that he had a car for me. Excitement growing, I laughed and joked about what kind of car this guy was giving me when I looked across the way and saw the front end and passenger compartment of a red Dino Ferrari 246 GTS.

Gasping, I asked, “Is that the car?”

See, the Dino 246 (pictured in photos) was released in 1969. I was thirteen and had discovered sports car and Formula 1 racing. When the car came out, I found it stunning. Even better, a few years later, the 246 GTS was released. This was a targa version of the same car. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I studied and drooled over photos of this car. Eventually, a plastic model was purchased and put together, and the model found space on my bedroom shelves.

But the unseen man said, “No, that’s not it.”

Disappointment staggered me. Then he indicated a black 246 GTS sitting elsewhere. “That’s your car.”

Ecstasy fluttered through me as I goggled at the gleaming black gem of machinery. The man was explaining, “It’s not a 246, but an Evo.” Even as he spoke, I saw the flares that marked the Evo. Evos privately reworked Dinos with upgraded engines and mechanical gear, and not a targa, but a fixed top.

I couldn’t believe that this beautiful car was to be mine. I asked about it a dozen different ways and the man repeatedly assured me, “That’s your car.” Most of the rest of the dream was spent riding around in the car with my wife, showing it off to people and explaining what it was.

But then came a moment when I’d parked the car and found a man with a petrol hose in his hand standing by it. Going to him, I questioned him and discovered that he planned to dose the car with gasoline and set it on fire. I firmly told him, “You are not setting my car on fire.” My voice and words were enough to send him hustling and stumbling away. I then had to explain to others who came up what had transpired as the man with the hose watched from a distance. Seeing him watching, I thought, I’m taking my car and leaving.

Dream end.

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854 Cars Dream

One of the weirder dreams experienced last week stayed with me. This was from last Wednesday.

I’d entered a large building on some business. I was in a hurry and a little annoyed when someone hailed me. The young man in a suit confirmed my identity, increasing my annoyance, and then said, “I wanted to ensure that you knew your cars were here.”

People hurried around us. “What cars?” I asked. Given with great impatience, I waited for the answer so that I could explain that I’d flown in. It also seemed odd that he said ‘cars’ instead of ‘car’. On the other hand, maybe someone had provided me a rental.

“Your cars,” the young man replied, as if that explained anything.

I told him that explained nothing.

He looked at me like trees were growing out the sides of my head. “Your cars,” he responded and then spit out with haste, “Your cars were shipped here.” He spoke like he didn’t believe that I didn’t know this. “You have eight hundred and fifty-four cars.”

I repeated that number back to him. It was a ridiculous number. When he confirmed it, my mind looked for explanations and figured, oh, he means model cars or Matchbox cars or toy cars, something like that. Smiling, I asked, “Where are they?” I’d see them and then I would pursue understanding of how I’d come to have eight hundred and fifty-four cars. Someone was behind this, doing it as a joke. “Can you take me to them?”

Joy lit the young man’s expression. “Yes, sir, right this way, sir.”

We were in one of those convention centers attached to hotels, or the other way around, and had to cross a wide space. We entered a garage filled with cars and stopped. I waited.

“There are your cars,” the young guy said.

“Where?”

“There.”

I knew the guy meant all those cars in that garage. My vision roamed. Chevies. Ferraris. Fords. Mazdas. Mercedes. Jaguars. Porsches. A Jeep.

The guy asked, “Is everything alright, sir?”

I explained that I was surprised. I didn’t think these cars were mine. I thought there was a mistake. The other kept insisting, these are your cars, you are the right person and explained that they’d gone through great lengths to verify who I was. “Who did that? Who is they?” I naturally asked. No coherent answer was given.

The young man and I walked among the rows of cars. I verified, eight hundred and fifty-four. He confirmed that and then went on, cataloging the cars’ abilities, amusing me. He said, “You have fast cars and very fast cars, new cars, and old cars.” He was pointing at cars as he spoke and I was turning, gawking at the collection, stunned beyond further thought. Many famous and rare models were present. I eyed pretty green Mustangs that I was sure were in movies, silver Ferraris, and red Ferraris, blue Porsches, and a yellow Jeep. A low and wide Lamborghini and a stately, dark Rolls Royce. Old cars, new cars. All were in great shape.

The dream ended with me standing in the garage wondering, where did I get all of these cars and what was I going to do with them?

Reading this after capturing it all doesn’t give insight into how rapidly this unfolded. The dream was a torrent. I guess that’s the mind, rationalizing explanations of the scenes and images, trying to develop something cogent, and failing. Cheers

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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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Thursday’s Theme Music

This is a twofer Thursday post, featuring a dream and a song, because this song started in my dreamstream.

It was a turbulent stream, with multiple vignettes and one-act plays. I think the music made this one memorable.

“Conquistador” began playing in the dream. Hearing it, I said, “Hey, I know this song. “Conquistador”. Procol Harum.” After remembering hearing the song’s live version in high school in the early seventies, and talking to my friend, Bob, about it (in the hall in front of the art classroom, by my locker, where he was talking overly loudly and enthusiastic, trying to catch some girl’s attention), I thought about other Procol Harum music I know and wondered where the music was coming from. I couldn’t identify its source.

All that was backdream. I was in my most recurring dreamscape, which is dark green, slightly rolling hills. I seem to know or I remember such hills most often out of dreams. Accompanied by several friends, we were admiring two exotic hyper cars, a Lamborghini and Ferrari, that belonged to others, and discussing their styling, price, and performance capabilities.

My friends were envious, but I said, “Yes, but my car is faster than either of them, and costs more.”

They were skeptical. So was I. I thought my ride would be there by now. As it wasn’t, I didn’t think my ride was going to arrive, and was becoming anxious.

“Conquistador” ended, and my ride arrived, a stunning silver Aston Martin. “Wow,” I said, along with my friends. “Wow.” I never believed it would arrive.

Then, it was just there.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FW2KN7Tz89s

 

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Another Car Dream

It was the second part of the dream, begun as I was exiting the first part. Walking across rich, deep green grass of a valley floor, with roads on the hillside above me, I met an elderly white woman. She said, “I have an opportunity for you.”

“Hang on,” I said. I briefly returned to the first part of my dream to tie up some loose ends, telling people, “This woman says she has an opportunity, so I need to go on,” and then resumed the second part.

The dream’s first part had left me satisfied and triumphant with the outcome. I had the sense that I’d made progress, and was continuing to progress, setting the stage for the second part. I was in a confident mood, meeting this woman. She said, “I’d like you to buy and drive exotic cars for me.”

I briefly thought she meant that she wanted me to be her driver, but she said, “I want you to thrash the cars, trash them. I want you to drive them without care and wreck them.”

I said, “You want me to wreck cars?”

“Yes, I want you to buy expensive cars like Ferraris and Aston Martins and drive them like you’re an average driver in an average car.” When she said this, I saw a red Ferrari go by on a hillside road above me. It was like she’d summoned the car.

Her suggestion that I was an average driver and that I’d wreck these cars when I drove them irritated me. “Why do you want me to do this?” I said.

“As a show.” While I thought, television, she said, “No, not like that dreadful Top Gear or those other ones. Buy these cars and live them in the real world and drive them hard. I’ll give you the money. You buy the cars and drive them.”

“And wreck them.”

“If that happens. I want to show what it’s really like having these cars and driving them.”

It was weird to me. I said, “I can imagine my friends’ reaction to this, when I say some lady wants me to buy expensive cars and drive them, and don’t worry about wrecking them.”

“What do you say?” she said.

“I have to think about it,” I said.

“Why? You’ll be paid to drive wonderful cars, without any concerns about what happens to them.”

“I know,” I said, “but it seems wrong.”

The dream ended.

0

An Inconclusive Dream

First, my sister-in-law was visiting my wife and me. She was upset and came to talk to us.

I can’t describe where we were at. My observations were limited to a very close personal point-of-view. There seemed to be a place in black and white, and seemed like it was night, but we were inside, so I’m not certain of much beyond those basics.

I don’t know what upset my sister-in-law, either, nor why she came to us. All of that is hazy. My wife and I were tired and got into bed to go to sleep, and my sister-in-law got into bed, too.

None of us could sleep. First, one of my cats (the ginger fellow) came in, walked up to my head and looked at my face. I tried pulling my covers over my head so that I could sleep.

Then, I heard voices. After listening and failing to identify who it was or where they originated, I got up and started talking about them. My wife said that she heard them, too. I went to find the source and discovered my nephew. He’s my wife’s other sister’s son. Sitting cross-legged on a bed,  he was engaged in a noisy phone conversation on speaker.

I went back and reported that and then left for downstairs. Downstairs was daylight. Part of it was a gas station, but there was also a junk yard, and other things that I couldn’t make out. The gas station owner turned out to be my lawyer. I was being tried for something. I don’t know the charges. He and I walked around, supposedly to talk about the case, but neither of us were interested in it. He thought I was going to be convicted, and I unconcerned. Strolling around, we were under lights, but outside, but remained daylight. Others were there. They distracted the gas station owner/lawyer, a big old white male with short brown hair dressed in blue overalls. He drifted off to talk to them.

Sitting down, I gazed around the pile of junk. It was mostly old cars, tires, pieces of fencing, and a few appliances. Across the way, I saw a Studebaker Hawk. Rusted and faded, it had lost its side windows and wheels, but was otherwise intact. When the lawyer/GSO returned, I pointed it out for confirmation that’s what I was seeing. Yes, he answered, and then launched into a meandering story about how it came there that I couldn’t hear or understand.

He went away ago. Turning, I discovered a red Ferrari Testarossa Spyder go-cart. I wanted to know if it ran, and what it used for an engine, whether it was electric or gas-powered. I put these questions to the lawyer/GSO when he came back.

ferrari-testarossa-spyder

“Sure,” he said, with a good ol’ boy laugh while scratching himself. “It runs.”

“Can we start it?” I asked.

The laywer/GSO looked around and said (I think), “Let me see if I can find him.”

My wife came down. I told her about the Studebaker and the Ferrari, showing her the latter, telling her that I was waiting to see if it can be started.

The dream ended on that note.

5

Flying into Egypt

I was served a rack of what the hell dreams last night and awoke confused.

The most sharply remembered dream had me in a small airport terminal. I was well dressed and very happy, wandering about the small building and its small rooms, flirting with woman and awaiting my flight. It came shortly later. Nothing significant from the flight took place until deplaning. Then I realized I was in an airport in Egypt. I’d flown over some terrible sights, looking down and seeing wasteland.

My pilot was Egyptian so I passed sympathetic comments on to him. He seemed little interested and accepted the comments with brusque impatience before going on to his business between flights. Which, in retrospect, made sense. He’s a pilot, with things to do and little time.

I needed to await my next flight. I spoke with others about what I’d seen. They also seemed little interested. A few were confused. I had no pants on and was naked from the waist down, further confusing them. Having my pants off was part of my plan, I assured them again and again, smiling and showing them my pants in my hand.

Meanwhile, a beautiful dark-haired women who seemed Italian was present. She intrigued me because she was in a red Ferrari racing suit. I finally struck up a conversation with her, asking why she was wearing a Ferrari racing suit. She seemed secretive, furtive but flirtatious, and was coy about telling me. This began a series in which people talked to me about what I saw as I flew into Egypt alternating with her and I teasing one another about why she was wearing a Ferrari racing suit.

It was close to departure time. I put my pants on. The beautiful woman beckoned me to her. We squatted down. Leaning in with a glance around to see no one else was there, she indicated her suit and said, “This is for the future.”

I was confused. “That’s a future racing suit for Ferrari?”

Widely smiling, she nodded. “Yes, yes, it’s for the future. It’s very special. I’m testing it.”

Before I could properly respond, she lifted up a bag and pulled out another racing suit. Yellow, this one was for the Jordan racing team. Jordan has been out of racing for a decade plus.

“This one, too,” she said. “It’s for the future.”

I was now greatly confused. There wasn’t time for further conversation as my flight was called.

And then I was off the aircraft and in a new terminal in America, with an unspecified friend. We were leaving the airport and discussing how to leave. One of us wanted to get a car or taxi; the other wanted to walk out to the gate and catch a ride there, or keep walking.

In retrospect, I think the friend may have been me, and I was both entities. If so, that begins to make some sense, moving the dream out of the ‘what-the-hell’ category and into the ‘huh’ realm. It’s into the ‘huh’ category because it has some sketchy sense – future and past, and confused, indecisive directions and courses. With Jordan and Ferrari Formula 1, some elements of highly advanced technology and cutting edge performance is referenced. I don’t understand its context completely. More thinking is needed.

And Egypt? I’m baffled. I’ve only been to Egypt a few times, strictly on military business, traveling on military aircraft.

I don’t know why I flew in and out of Egypt in my dreams.

0

Sentimentality and Nostalgia Win in a Landslide

Purging tee shirts today, and shorts. I have many of both, old and frayed and worn, that never escape the drawer. They often no longer fit, because I am no longer that size.

But there is a Pink Floyd tee shirt from the Momentary Lapse of Reason tour. What a party that was. What was it, 1988? While stationed in Germany. We partied with Germans and Czechs. Man, hard to believe it was so long ago. I was a different person then. Well, I’ll keep it, even though its collar has partially separated from the shirt’s body, the colors have lost their luster, and the underarms are holed. I’ll keep it.

Also, the tee shirt celebrating Mark Donohue and the 30th anniversary of the Porsche 917-30, which itself was over a decade ago. That’s in good shape but small, a keeper. Also a keeper is the Australian Grand Prix shirt from 2000. My boss, a good friend, bought it for me. I was supposed to accompany her to Australia. We were doing clinic trials for a new medical device for treating chronic total occlusions, but plans were changed at the last minute and I didn’t go. But she remembered how I’d been going on about racing in general, and the Formula 1 race was going on that weekend, turning the place into a carnival, so she bought the tee shirt for me. It’s never been worn. I haven’t seen Laura in ten years but I remember her brightly as one of the best people I ever worked for and a sensational friend.

Michael Schumacher in a Ferrari in the rain is kept. That was his first year with Ferrari after he won two WDC with Bennetton. A red tee shirt from an Iowa writing conference is kept, and another, from a writing conference in Portland, is kept. My LeMans tee shirt is kept. This tee, although drained of life, celebrates Mario Andretti’s final year of Indy car racing. To the keep pile. The Steeler AFC championship shirt from my brother-in-law must be kept.

The tee shirt from the race course formerly called Laguna Seca is also kept. It has the old configuration on it. We ‘won’ passes from the Marlboro people when they were doing a promotion on Moffett NAS. I phrase it as ‘won’ because they gave us the passes after enjoying our company. That was when? Well, Marlboro sponsored Penske, and Al Unser Jr, Emerson Fittipaldi, and Paul Tracy were the driving line-up. 1994, a year before I retired from the USAF, that was the weekend the late, unique Randy stole a golf cart from a track official and drove it around because he was tired of walking. Blue, the tee doesn’t fit, but it’s the thought that counts.

In the end, the thought counts for a lot. The Goodwill pile is much smaller than the pile to return to the drawers. But these shirts, with their smells and rips, shrunken and frayed, are better than photos. I’ll die someday. An estate sale will be held or my wife or relatives will come through and look at these shirts. Those who know me will know what they’re about, and why I kept them.

The rest will just have to wonder.

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