The Affair Dream

I dreamed my friend’s wife offered to have an affair with me. She’s not a person I know from RL. I knew her in the dream from previous visits. After this visit with my wife, she asked me to walk her home. I agreed, to be polite. She said good-bye to my wife and the woman and I began walking. As we were walking, she began singing “Close to You”. The Carpenters had a hit with the song in the last century.

I didn’t think anything of it. When we reached her place, we hugged. She didn’t release me. That’s when she proposed the affair and told me, “Wasn’t it a clue when I was singing the song?” I admitted that it wasn’t. She was very attractive and I was interested. I asked her how it would work. We ended up parting ways with a promise to see one another again.

I went to a friend’s house. Other women were there. I heard them talking about having affairs with different friends. They were apparently paying the men after they broke off the affairs. One woman said emphatically, “I give them three weeks and then I’m done with them. They want more but I won’t give them anymore.” Another woman answered, “They always want more.” I didn’t know any of these women.

I went back to my house. We were preparing to have a dinner party. I found that my wife had moved all the furniture out of one bedroom and planned to make it the master bedroom because it was larger. The house was light blue and the interior walls were white. Both bedrooms were very large and ensuite. I didn’t like the plan, reminding her that she didn’t talk with me first and that there were reasons we’d made the decisions which we had about which room was the master bedroom. She told me that her friend, who’d proposed the affair, had made the suggestion.

I went off to do a task, which was to etch a line in a glass so I could break it off and splinter it. A friend arrived for dinner and asked what I was doing. I smiled and explained, “I’m breaking glass. We need broken glass.” He replied that he thought there was an easier way to get broken glass.

The affair friend arrived. She talked me into going into another room with her where we ended up passionately kissing. Hearing a noise, we broke it off, separating and leaving the room.

I went to another friend’s house. He wasn’t there but several other friends were. They were helping him to submit a manuscript for publication. I stepped up to help, listening as the friends spoke. They said this was the last time they were helping him. As they talked, I checked out the box they were using. Opening it up, I found a poorly typed manuscript and several mailing labels. The labels weren’t affixed to anything. I commented on it, telling them that the labels needed to be fixed. They ignored me, closing the box and taping it shut. The tape was old and kept breaking and wouldn’t stick. They were still talking about how they’d tried to help him for yours and was tired of it because he didn’t seem to be making an effort. I’d been about to appeal to them for help but decided they weren’t very helpful.

Dream end.

The Four Buildings Dream

I was alternatively and seamlessly at different stages in my life, from teenager to middle age. I was going through four dull brown monolithic buildings. Almost featureless, their outside corners were hard right angles. They reminded me of huge parking garages, but they teemed with people.

As I went through them, I realized the buildings were familiar. Navigating them, getting lost, finding my way again, I realized that two were schools and one was retail stores, like a giant mall. Traversing the steps to different levels, finding my way through the buildings, I’d get lost and take wrong turns and circle back, searching for the right way to go. Doing this, I became more familiar with the layouts. Some was new information being learned or realized, while more came from dredging up memories. I realized that the fourth building were floors and rows of offices and cubicles, the corporate world.

Deciding I had a semblance of understanding about the arrangements, I began searching for familiar places and faces. I sometimes glimpsed people in the crowds who I thought I knew. The buildings were always so crowded and busy, and everyone was rushed and harried. Becoming firmer about my commitment and more convinced about where I wanted to go, I entered a long and tall but quiet and empty room.

A tall flight of black metal stairs was available in the room’s middle. I went up the stairs. Inside were three women. As I walked around, they asked, “Who are you?” Without letting me answer, one said, “Maybe you can help.”

As she said this, another said, “I’m not getting anywhere. Maybe he can try.”

I recognized the three women as RL blogging friends. I’d never met them but knew them online. They were at a workbench. Some electronic device was in pieces on it. “Here, come here,” one ordered. “You try. We’re supposed to use this to analyze but it’s not working. You try.”

I didn’t understand what they were talking about. I asked, “Analyze what?” I had an impression it was to locate guns being fired but then changed that idea to the device being something about interpreting people’s moods.

The one woman was talking fast about their efforts to use the device and putting it back together while she spoke. When she finished putting it together, she stopped talking and shoved it at me.

I protested and scoffed. “I have no idea what this is. What makes you think I can fix it?”

They urged me, “Just try.”

I bent down, figured out how to turn the thing on, and began messing with switches, dials, and buttons. A male voice was immediately heard.

“You did it,” the women said. “You fixed it.”

I was shaking my head, answering them, “I didn’t fix it, I didn’t do anything. I think you might have fixed it when you put it back together.”

They hugged and thanked me. I kept protesting that I hadn’t done anything and then left going back down the stairs.

Knowing where I was in relation to the buildings, I decided to visit my elementary and high schools. Taking different stairs, I left one building and entered another.

No, that wasn’t right. I reversed course and tried again. Coming down stairs, I entered a place I knew as my high school. I immediately spotted a number of people who’d worked for me during my life. “There you are,” one said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this book. You said it was a good read. This is turgid, dull, and flat. I wanted to kill myself reading it.”

I laughed, pleased to see him, shaking his hand. “It is a good book but it might not be the book for you.” I began going on about different tastes and expectations. While I talked, another person came up. This was Howard, from “The Big Bang Theory”. He said, “I thought it was a good book. I enjoyed it, although I thought there were places where it needed help.”

We spoke for minutes more about the book and then I said, “I need to go,” and told them I’d see them later. I left that room and entered a fourth-grade room which I remembered. It was full of young students at desks. Several began asking, “Who’s he,” as I walked around the room and remembered it. Others began saying, “I know him.” A teacher who I didn’t know came up. “I know you,” she said, then shook my hand. She began telling me about all these things that I supposedly did. She insisted I was famous. I clapped back, “I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

I left the room. The dream ended.

Buying A House Dream

I was out of the military but with a group of people who were all former military pilots and friends of mine. A celebratory air raked the outdoor gathering. We were jubilant although I don’t know why. I knew I was being awarded a bonus of some manner and was telling that to my wife. Rumors said that I was getting a new car. When she asked, what kind of new car, I began walking around, showing her the others’ cars. All were silver, exotic sports cars, very modern. All were missing at least one wheel, but usually two. When K inquired why that, I explained it was for security, to keep the car from getting stolen. One car particularly struck me because its rear half was modeled after a fish’s tail. I thought that was really cool. No accounting for tastes in dreams.

A woman came by telling us that we needed to buy a house soon because prices were rising. My wife and I asked her how many were available. She answered, “Three. They’ll go quickly. You need to move fast.” After consulting briefly with my wife, I put a bid in on one. We were told we won, it was ours.

We were ecstatic. Our bid had been $540,000. Shortly after, one of my pilot companions came by and told me that the house had gone up in price to $620,000. Then another came along and said, “Oh, now it’s $700,000.” The woman realtor smiled, finished paperwork and replied, “That’s okay, it’s already theirs.”

Dream end

A Long Melancholy Dream

AKA, the Four Cars Dream

It could have been known as the Big House Dream, as well. Although I was about forty years old at the dream’s beginning, I was twenty at the end.

It began with a search for car keys.

I was looking for the keys for a car I owned when I was twenty, a signal orange Porsche 914. The drawer where I kept the keys was shallow and white. Another set of keys, for my RX-7, was in there, but where were the Porsche keys?

I began going through the house looking. The house was huge, rambling, and one story, with many low stone arches. Every room was empty except for that first one, which had a desk. This was my house; I’d newly acquired it.

Unable to find the keys, I ambled around the house until I stopped in one long and wide, all-white room. One piece of white furniture, a sort of stand turned upside down, was in it. Finding a can of black paint, I painted the stand. Finding other cans, I spray-painted the walls purple. As I finished up, a large, rotund, bald man with huge, muscular arms came in.

“There you are,” he said. “I need you to come with me.” He looked around at the painted room. “Nice job.”

I knew he was my minder and followed him. I was thirty by now. My minder told me that there was someone to see me. My minder showed me to the door.

Walking up a residential street, I encountered my old friend, Jeff. I haven’t seen or heard from him in RL in almost forty years. Jeff told me he had exciting news. He’d inherited a classic Porsche 911 from a friend. The guy had completely rebuilt it, and the car was pristine. Truly impressed, I congratulated Jeff. Jeff then said that he had a car for me and gave me the keys to a BMW. He said that he didn’t need it and he wanted me to have it.

I was flattered. I tried to turn it down. Jeff insisted. I accepted the keys to the car. The car wasn’t around. Jeff was going to have it shipped to me.

We parted. He went back up a hill, and I returned to my house.

I was now in my mid-twenties, wearing a brown leather jacket which I remember owning from RL. My minder was there, along with a girl who I knew to be sixteen. Her dark brown hair, like the color of oak, was long and shiny, framing a petite oval face. She smiled often, shyly. She wore jeans and a white button-down men’s shirt. She never said her name that I heard.

The minder left us. We chatted, with her peppering me with questions. Hearing a noise, I went out through one of the larger stone arches. It was late dusk, and the light was low. This arch opened to a path that entered the woods. I thought I heard and saw people down the path. It was my property, so I was concerned about what they were doing. As I walked, I picked up several flat stones to throw, if needed, as protection.

The girl had stayed back. After I returned, she questioned me about what was going on. I told her about the people and stood ready with the rocks. Young people came down the path, but they turned away from my house and property and kept going. Not needing my rocks, I set them down. With the BMW keys in hand from Jeff, I returned to the search for my Porsche car keys. This time I found them in the drawer where I’d first search. There was nothing else in the drawer. I thought that they must not have been there before, and someone must have placed them there after I’d searched.

I was now twenty. The minder returned. He said that Jeff wanted to see me. I went to the front door. Appearing very old, sad, and tired, Jeff told me that he’d decided to give me the Porsche which he inherited. I tried talking him out of it. He told me that he drove the car and saw himself in it, and that he looked ridiculous. The car didn’t fit him, but he believed it would suit me. Handing me the keys, he left.

I went outside of my house and sat against one of its stone walls. The girl came out and asked what was wrong. I told her that I was thinking about my friends and how I missed them. She noticed the keys and inquired after them. I told them that they were to four cars which I owned, and then described them. I could see each one. My Porsche was an orange 1974 model; the BMW was also a 1974 model. The green 911 Jeff gave me was a 1971 model year, and the blue Mazda was a 1981, which I had bought. She was most impressed when I mentioned the BMW, calling it a Bimmer. She said she really liked them. I answered, “No, you don’t understand, this is a vintage car from the 1970s, a white 2002. You’ve probably never seen one. They stopped making them before you were born.” I remembered then that I’d owned a BMW 2002 in RL and became confused: was I dreaming or remembering?

More dream followed about taking a trip with other people, but this is where I’ll stop.

Thursday’s Theme Music

A Steve McQueen sort of quiet cool reigns today, Thursday, March 24, 2022. The sun spit some rays into the sky at 7:08 AM. Light came up but warmth is still to follow. We’re sitting at 47 F but are expecting a high of 74. Hazy blue rules over us, with a few larger clouds peeking around the ridges but it looks like we’re set for a day of sunshine. Sunset comes at 7:28 PM.

The cats are quiet today. Sick cat lingers on. He gave me a scare last night. I’d let him out the front to enjoy some fresh air. I was with him, then turned my back for a minute, and he was gone. I thought, I’ll probably never see him again. Broke my heart thinking of him out there in the cold, waiting to die. I cursed myself for my stupidity. My spouse and I donned flashlights and walked around, searching and calling for forty-five minutes. He neither showed nor answer. Then, lo’, two hours later, he was back at the front door.

I’ve been meditating on of my friend’s death, and my short history with him. I’ve only known him ten years. He was an intelligent, earnest, amiable guy. I met him through Brains on Beer, an informal group of retired scientists and engineers who like to drink beer and talk science, the arts, and politics. I was member number seven. Only one of the original six remain, but we’ve managed to expand to twelve. I advocated setting up a gofundme to take donations in his name for some of his charities, and the others agreed, so I’ll be doing that today.

These losses — the friend and sick cat’s waning battle — set me on a mental memory roadshow. Before living on Oregon, I lived in California for fourteen years. After moving to Oregon, business kept taking me to California for a few more years, so I have California on my mind. My neurons noticed and now “California Dreamin'” by the Mamas and the Papas (1965) in on the morning mental music stream’s PA system. It’s been featured as theme music before, but it’s a solid song and will work again. I like this video of it from the Ed Sullivan Show. Hope you enjoy it, too.

And now the neurons are whispering, “Pardon, sir, might we have a bit o’coffee for the blood?” Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the shots as needed. Have a better one. Cheers

While I Was Away

I was out shopping with my wife, enjoying a fresh spring day. We’d been tight about going out during the pandemic. She is compromised with RA, so she worries, and I worry.

While I was shopping, I thought often at my sick cats at home, hoping they were okay, processing sticker shock and dismay at the most recent men fashion trends, especially in shoes.

I returned home. Both cats were alive and okay (relatively). My voice mail notified me of messages. The first few sounded shaken and just asked to receive a call back, no subject given. They arrived hours ago.

The third one got explicit. Word had gone out. ‘Mike’ had been hit by a truck and killed. No confirmation of which Mike. There are three in our group of friends.

Further messages and emails clarified: a friend of mine named Mike was hit by a truck and killed while delivering food to senior citizens. Eighty-five years old himself, he stayed busy, volunteering at numerous places, always helping others, or traveling to museums and art exhibitions around the country. He’d been a mainstay in our beer group and was the driving force behind the donations collected from the beer drinkers to fund STEM efforts in local at-risk, low-income schools, and for the regional high school robotics program. He leaves behind a wife who was also busy as a volunteer, and a huge gap in our community.

A House Dream

I was split about what I was calling this dream because of its varying facets. WTH.

I was a teenager. I’d biked back to visit an area where I previously lived, to see the friends still living there.

But my friend wasn’t home. Platinum blonde and white, with hair and clothing styles lifted from the 1960s, aunts and older female family friends were there and told me, “Make yourself at home.” I was in the kitchen with them and felt uncomfortable because it wasn’t my place. They scoffed away those protests while they stayed busy chatting and doing things.

The large, bright kitchen was fresh, airy, and uber-modern. Hidden doors and cupboards were everywhere. The refrigerator opened and unfolded like a transformer toy and held an amazing amount of food. My astonishment rabbited higher with every revelation.

One aunt was looking for cheese. Announcing, “I can’t find it, I have to go to the store for it,” I replied, “Wait, no, I know where it’s at.” I showed her some unfolding refrigerator section that she didn’t know about where the cheese was tucked away.

After that, I walked around the home’s bottom level. My friend’s mother returned home at that point. Short and fair, blue-eyed, with pink lipstick and white gold hair cut like Marlo Thomas in “That Girl”, she told me that I was welcome to stay as long as I like. I demurred but walked around because the house fascinated me. The living room had two large, comfortably furnished conversation pits, but the back of the living room had two natural reflecting pools surrounded by cliff walls. I saw my friend’s Mom take her bikini top off and sit back, relaxing and meditating, but looked away, not wanting to impose on her.

Going on through the house, I found a large green lawn adjacent to the living room. No walls separated them. Another front door led into that area from the outside. Two front doors! I was quite impressed and thought, every house should have two front doors. It made sense.

I had my bike now, and pushed it toward the house’s back, where I encountered the ocean. Yes, there was a large beach, reminiscent of central California, inside their house, or the house wasn’t closed in on that end. I couldn’t decide which it was as I enjoyed the crashing waves and different bird varieties.

My friend still hadn’t returned. I decided to head home. I pushed my bike back up into the living room. Seeing his mother, still topless by the reflecting pool, I called out to her, “I’m going home now. Thanks for everything.”

She came to me, putting a tee shirt on as she did, and asked questions about my planned route home. Announcing she was going that way, she said that she’d ride with me, and pulled her bike out. She was doing some shopping that way.

We rode our bikes along a rutted narrow dirt road filled with potholes and talked. She asked me why I liked her. I told her because she was intelligent, clever, charming, and beautiful. I raved a bit about her house, which I thought was amazing. She was distant in reply; I realized she wasn’t paying attention but was focused on riding her bike.

We arrived at a little market where she wanted to stop to buy bubble gum. Small wicker buckets at angles on wooden platforms abounded in a cramped, small stall. She told me to pick out some gum for myself and then said, “Oh, I need to get tongue for the dogs.”


She was holding up several packages. “Oh, yes, they love it.”

I was bewildered. “But isn’t that bubble gum?” Then I thought, who would make tongue-flavored bubble gum? I must have misunderstood.

That’s where it ended.

The Beer & Organization Dream

Middle-aged to the young side, I’d join some sort of commune. We were interested in helping one another by joining resources. It was a sprawling, wooded compound with multiple cabins and buildings. I wasn’t part of the core group, but I was an early member, joining while the group was still small. I was member number ten.

After joining, I noticed that they were a bit disorganized. I’d always had a knack and desire for organization and began addressing the organizational needs. I didn’t want to be aggressive about it nor upset the balance; I just wanted us to be more organized. As newcomers arrived to join — a young couple, then a smiling, middle-aged white male (who turned out to be retired military, like me), then several single women — I began inserting gentle reminders to the people placing them about where we’d put others, suggesting we could write these things down.

Several people suggested we have beer. A group of us sat down and sampled several different beers — IPAs, red and brown ales, stouts, porters, lagers. Another man asked me how I viewed the general groups. I told him my first preferences were stouts and porters, then ale and IPA, followed by pilsners and lagers. But drinking beer was like listening to music, and my preference and desires changed with the moment. We had a good conversation, full of laughter, about this.

We went back to the compound. It was a sunny day. More arrivals entered. One of them, a tall, tall-haired man, came to me and suggested I was the resident beer expert. I denied that and we joked back and forth. Then he invited me to have a beer with him. We sat down at a table. A woman asked us what we wanted. I wanted to know if she had any Oregon beers. She didn’t know and invited me to look around.

While looking at the beers and going through them, I noticed a food section that’d fallen into chaos. It was part of a circular display. Beers were on top; under them were layers of food, napkins, and utensils. Gleaning what was meant to happen with the setup, I re-organized it into what I thought was a better flow. A burly black man came up and announced, “I’m the proprietor of this establishment. I saw what you did with that display, and I’d like to offer you a job.”

We shook hands, and I thought about it, but declined the job with a smile. He replied, “I didn’t think you’d take it because you don’t look like you need it, but it never hurts to ask.” He told me to help myself, that he’d cover my bill.

I was flattered by his generosity. I found a dark, creamy ale to take back to my body. I poured into a glass; the creamy head rose up and overflowed. I sipped off head, laughing while I did. After talking about what I liked about the beer, I invited him to sample some. He did and declared that it wasn’t to his taste. “Too creamy.” I understood his criticism, as others had said that. “It’d been good as a beer float,” I told him. He’d never had one. I explained what it was and offered to order one for him when I realized that I was supposed to be meeting others. I said bye and left.

The others were supposed to meet me in a pub along the street. There were dozens of pubs, so I started at one end and entered, looking for them. Someone bought be a beer to sample at each. I thought it was would be boorish to decline their offers, so I accepted and drank. By the time I reached the last pub and found my friends, I’d drunk a lot of beers.

The new place was light and airy, with light pine walls, many windows, and picnic tables. I apologized to the others for being late and found that one of them, a female, worked there as a server. I didn’t know that and told her so, then sat. She brought me a beer.

On the table was a pair of women’s athletic shoes and a tube of pink gel. I wondered about these. The serving woman pointed out that the shoes had grass stains. The pink gel was supposed to get them off but it didn’t work.

Well, that was like a challenge to me. I took a shoe and applied pink gel. The gel started sliding off. She said, “That’s what always happened.” Undeterred, I used my finger to spread the pink gel along the shoe. Like that, the grass stains disappeared.

“You did it. You’re my hero,” she said.

The dream ended.

The Balls Dream

The dream was odd. It was about me and two balls. Ahem. These were small hard-rubber balls. They easily fit in the palm of my hand. I’d been traveling with friends. The friends included a person I worked with about fifteen years ago — a female who I’ll call S — along with a male that I didn’t know, who was white and my age, and another female not known to me, but a friend in my dream. The male and I were throwing the ball as we chatted. First, we seemed to be in a mall but moved on to a gathering that was by a beach. As we went, we encountered other people, talking with them.

I also discovered a special affinity with the balls. Although dull red and normal in appearance, I discovered that I could hurl them with great power and accuracy. I first found this on my own, then decided to explore it with my male friend. This happened first in the mall area. He was about fifty feet away. I thought, I can really put some speed on this. Worried about him not being able to catch it, I refrained from throwing it too hard. After visualizing a six-inch square target in my mind, I threw it with impressive velocity. It landed right where I wanted but he had trouble managing to bring it in.

S joked with me about the balls. Out on the beach, I explained to the male friend that the ball was energized; I fed off its energy and it fed off mine. It was a matter of being in the moment. I thought that anyone could do it. He asked for a demonstration of what I meant. I sent him out into the water because I didn’t think he could catch it and I didn’t want it hurting anyone. When he was about a hundred yards out, with waves splashing over his knees, I whipped the ball at him. It shot out above the water with a little rooster tail. He flinched and missed it. The ball skipped into the water.

But I had a second one in my hand. Using the second ball, I called the first ball back to me. My throwing prowess catch the attention of the crowd. They clamored to see more. I discovered by trying that I could throw the ball in a high, long arc that would bring it back to me, and that I could catch it. After I demonstrated this, others gathered, including male and female children. I kept telling them that they could do it, too, and then would throw it to show them. They would try to repeat what I was doing but kept falling short. Some tried catching the returning ball when I sent it off in a long arc, but it would usually come in too fast for them. Even when they missed, I could put out a hand and have the ball return to me, even after it rolled to a stop on the ground.

S said, “You’re pretty good with those. I think that’s something special.” I thanked her with a laugh. That’s where the dream ended.

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