Two dreams gained press in my morning reflections.
The first dream placed me in an old white house. My deceased mother-in-law was there, puttering around in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hand, as she did in her healthier years.
Looking outside the kitchen windows, I saw fast-moving brown water had taken over the creek. As I did made coffee and looked at books, I kept an eye on the creek. The waters were rising.
It wasn’t raining but I put together that it’d heavily rained after several days of snow, and we were seeing melting run-off. I told the others about it. Nobody seemed to understand what I was talking about (a common issue in my dreams). The water was then actually three inches above the window’s bottom edge, but it only flowed past on one side. Looking out, I confirmed it was flying above the banks but staying to the banks’ formation.
I told the others, “It’s going to flood. We need to leave.” My mother-in-law said, “No, I think I’ll stay here.”
I thought it was a bad decision but it was her choice. I donned my hat, put my laptop into my backpack, and swung my pack into place. Going to a big white door to leave, I encountered a small white dog looking up at me. With a spurt of blood, its head popped off. I was horrified and struggling what had happened. The dog’s head turned and looked at me from its spot on the wooden floor, and then the head and body re-attached. Tongue lolling, the dog stood, looked at me, and wagged its tail.
“What’s going on here?” I said. “Water overflowing its bank, but continuing to flow as if it’s in its banks, a dog loses its head for no reason, and then it re-attaches? What the hell?”
Nobody paid any attention to my comments. The dream ended.
***
The next dream found me waiting for friends in a parking lot by some docks. I was excited, because we were doing something special that day, going on some sort of ride.
They walked up, my friend and his girlfriend. He was having second thoughts, which disappointed her. He asked me, “How ’bout you? Are you ready to go?” “Yes,” I said without hesitation.
We encountered four other friends. They were going in another car. Grabbing some gear, we got into my friends’ little silver car and took off. It was a quick ride. My friend voiced his uncertainties about what we were going to do, and the girlfriend turned to me and said, “He’s been like this for the last few days.”
I sympathized with both but said nothing.
We arrived and parked, and unloaded our gear. Then we approached the entrance. There was a line and we’d need to wait. They gave us a number. It’d be called when it was our turn.
We went out and sat on a grassy area by a sidewalk. One employee asked us if we wanted to play a game. The game involved us using a small bat, about eighteen inches long, to hit a ball about the size of a golf ball. The ball’s landing place established what you got, from out to home run, with every kind of hit in between, along with things like force outs and put out. Sure, we agreed.
My friend tried first and ended up with a little dribbler that ended as an out. Taking my turn, I hit a single. By the rules, you keep going until you’re out, so I kept going, hitting several more singles, getting better with each until I hit a home run. Everyone was impressed.
I surrendered my turn so that others could play. They were all quickly out, and it was my turn again. I continued hitting doubles, triples, and home runs. The employee said, “You’re better at this than anyone that I’ve ever seen.”
It was time for us to go on our adventure. I opened on of my bags to get my helmet out. I immediately spotted a Royal Stewart band. Pulling it out, I confirmed that the crash helmet I had had belonged to Sir Jackie Stewart, a retired three-time Formula 1 world champion. I’d been a huge Jackie Stewart fan in my teens, so having the helmet delighted me.
My friend and his girlfriend discovered that they’d forgotten their helmets. As they bemoaned that, I said, “Don’t worry, I have extra helmets.” Opening bags, I found racing helmets. As I wondered why I had so many helmets, I thought that they belonged to retired racing drivers and was going to pull them out to look, but had to pass them on to my friends.
The dream ended.
Michael Seidel, writer 