I’m amused when elderly women flirt with me. Then I remember, I’m just three years short of seventy.
I’m basically their age, although that’s not how I see it in my optimistic mind’s eye.
A Black and White Cake Dream
This dream was compact, busy, and brisk. My wife and I were at a school. Both of us were adults. She was a guest while I was taking classes.
The school was an old dark red brick building. Tall and austere, ivy grew up the sides. My class was small, and we were the school’s only class. A large brick walking path went around the school, sometimes weaving round bushes as it did.
My wife was happy being there and I was having a good time. I had two instructors, both female, and older than me. The primary teacher was an attractive woman just a few years older than me, a brunette who was tall and shapely. The course’s end was near, so students and teachers were familiar with each other. My wife would pop in and see how it’s going and then hurry off to some social activity. I was fine with all this.
At one point, I said in French to another student that my name is Michael. He, jokingly replied in broken French that he didn’t know what I was saying because he didn’t speak French. I told him that I didn’t, either. We had a good laugh.
Final papers were due. I found myself rushing into class at the last minute. I didn’t know the subject and the other students began explaining to me what was expected to be turned in. I panicked, thinking that I hadn’t done it, but they reminded me that I had, and told me what I’d written. One of them even had a copy of this. All this flabbergasted me.
The teacher came in and announced in a smiling, friendly way that the course was done and that we’d all passed. There would be a party and everyone was invited. I went to find my wife. When I found her, she was already with a few other students. She knew about the party and ended down the winding path through the bushes to go to the school’s other entrance. I chased after her. Hearing me running after her, she started laughing and running. I passed her.
We reached the other entrance and entered. The attractive teacher was there. She and my wife talked about and then the instructor said that she would be serving cake. I helped her set up tables and chairs and wheeled a television on a cart in for her. She and I were talking throughout, and she began flirting with me. I was flattered but taken aback.
Her flirting grew, but then she left. Everyone sat down with cake, which was a black and white whipped cream cake, with long shaved chocolate curls on it. I was the only one without any. I saw that there was another piece over the television and went over and got it. The teacher entered and asked me what I was doing. I explained that I didn’t get any cake, so I’d taken the last piece. She replied, “I cut everyone a piece and served it. I served enough for everyone, and I served it all. There was none left.”
I answered that I didn’t receive any and then looked at my plate. It was empty except for some whipped cream and chocolate curls. I said, “Did I eat my cake? I don’t remember eating it.”
I looked over at the cake by the television. None was left. I was puzzled and troubled about what had happened.
Then, abrupt dream shift, I was just out walking on the path by myself at dusk when I encountered the instructor. She flirted with me, and then gave me a hug, kissed my cheek and said, “You did very well. See you later.”
I answered a little abruptly, “I can write, but I’m not one of those who can write brilliant, flowery prose.”
Starting to walk away, she turned back to me and answered, “Oh, don’t worry. That’ll come.”
Dream end.
The Medicine Woman Dream
Had multiple dreams last night. One had me walking toward a street with an axe in my hand. I picked up a flat rock to sharpen the blade as I walked. Then I thought, “I shouldn’t be walking down the street with an axe in my hand. People might get the wrong idea.” Going t a cafe, I visited with a friend working there. She flirted me, calling out, “Oh, my boyfriend’s here. I’m gonna go on break now.” I flirted back but said, “I’m not here as your boyfriend, though. I’m here to give you my axe.” She responded, “So you’re here in an official capacity,” a comment that puzzled me. But I left the axe with her and somehow ended up with a hand gun.
Now I’m walking down the street with a hand gun, thinking, “I probably shouldn’t be walking down the street with a gun like this. Yeah, it’s legal, but is it any better than the axe?” I stuck the gun into a pocket, then worried about shooting myself by accident. I kept trying to think of a safe way to carry my gun. The dream ended as I was trying different ways.
The dream which intrigued me most was very brief. A knock came to my door. Opening it, I discovered a small but perfect elderly woman on the other side. Though elderly, she was very straight, but when I say, ‘small’, she was one to two feet tall. Everything was in perfect proportion on her, though.
She said in an accent that I couldn’t place, “Michael, I’m here to give you your medicine.” I replied, “Oh, okay, good.” She then said something else. I answered, “I have no idea what you just said.” She gestured and said, “Done.”
That was the whole thing.
The Flirting
He approached the common table. Two young women were at one end. As they looked at him, he asked, “Do you mind if I occupy the other end?”
“No,” one said. Gesturing to a chair that was pulled out, she said, “Not at all. We already pulled out a chair for you.”
The other woman said, “We were just getting ready to go, anyway.”
Nodding as he began unpacking his gear, he said, “So you saw me coming, pulled out a chair, and prepared to go?”
Their laughter made him smile.
The TV Movie Dream
The dream felt like a made-for-TV rom-com. I was a clean-shaven young NCO in a pressed service-dress uniform and tidy haircut. Due to weather circumstances and other logistic problems, I was required to help a four-star general for an evening. The general was a notoriously finicky and critical man, but I accepted my assignment with an aw-shucks gulp.
He was at a conference. The evening didn’t go as planned but I managed to keep a step ahead, and it went well from the general’s point of view, if not to anyone else’s thinking. (Sorry, but details are lacking.) The general then wanted to leave – now. But his aide, chief-of-staff, and other personnel weren’t there. Nonetheless, he wanted to go now. So I led him out of the building.
It was late a cold and starless late night outside. It’d been snowing for several previous days but sunshine had prevailed that day. Much snow had melted, flooding streets with icy slush. It was messy and travel was limited. But no problem, I took to the general to my parents’ house. Previously in the evening, I’d come by and set up a place for the general in their sprawling split-level. After showing the general to his place, I went upstairs and told my parents about their house guests. They accepted it with a matter-of-fact shrugs and smiles.
After that, I checked in on the general. He was fine, didn’t need anything and stressed, he didn’t want anyone to disturb him. He had work to do and then was retiring for the night.
Good to go. I returned to the convention center and encountered the rest of his group, as hoped, because they needed to be told what’d happened. They demanded to know where the general was. I explained it all to them and answered their questions. Their hostility soothed, they admitted that I’d done well. One insisted that he wanted to visit the general. I told him the general said he didn’t want disturbed. I left them discussing what they were going to do and went home.
As I arrived home (my parents’ house), a car of young women pulled up. The neighbor’s daughter left the car. The car left with the young women leaning out of their windows hooting and waving at me. The daughter, a short brunette in her late teens whose father was in the military, came over and flirted with me, beginning, “I hear you kidnapped a general.”
I told her the story. We flirted and then I was temporarily called to the house because the general wanted something to drink. When I returned, the young woman’s older sister, a tall blonde, was there. She asked me, “What would you do with slush like this when you were a kid? Wouldn’t you build a dam?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
The older sister said, nodding, “You settled a debate. Good-night.”
She left us. The young women and I went for a walk along the slushy street, building slush dams, but also breaking one open.
The dream ended.
***
Somehow, from all of this, I ended up thinking that the dream was about the outcome was the only thing that mattered.
Michael Seidel, writer 