Tag: friends

The Actors As God Dream

I was with my friend, Ron, sitting at a cafe table outside. Another friend of mine, Marge (who doesn’t know Ron, and lives across the country in Ohio), came up. She said, “Can you think of anyone who played God in movies?”

As Ron and I took in the question with a look at one another, Marge said, “I’ve tried, and I can’t think of anyone.”

I said, “Well, off the top of my head, I can think of Morgan Freeman, George Burns, Alanis Morrisette – remember? She was God in Dogma.”

Ron said, “Morgan Freeman played God?”

“Yes,” I said, “in that Jim Carrey thing. I think it was called Bruce Almighty or something. I’ve never seen the whole thing. I think I saw some of it in a hotel.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said.

I said, “Didn’t Whoopi play God in something, too?”

None of us were sure. Marge said, “Thank you.” As she did, Ron and I pulled out laptops to Google actors who played God in movies.

That was the dream, short, sharp, and clear. What’s not clear is what it meant and why I dreamed it. My guess is that it was some food generated neuron frenzy.

I never asked Marge why she asked the question.

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Older

I’ve noticed that as I’ve grown older, the span of years among my friends is much greater. I have several good friends who are older than my parents. That enlivens some conversations when I say, “Mom is getting older.”

I struggle with imagining having a friend who was twenty-five years older than me when I was, say, five, but if I wrote a novel about it, I’d probably call it, Her Oldest Friend.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

This song, “One Night Love Affair,” has been streaming off and on in my head throughout the last several days. Although it was released and became a hit in 1984 when I was stationed on Okinawa, I associate the song with Onizuka Air Station in Sunnyvale, California.

I was in charge of the base command post at Onizuka. We were living in base housing on Moffett NAS in Mountain View. Several of the people who worked for me were neighbors. We used to throw huge parties, playing music and volleyball, singing, dancing, grilling out and drinking for a day.

I made mixed tapes for these affairs. One of the tapes included several Bryan Adams songs, including “One Night Love Affair”. This song, in particular, would always start an argument. It followed a Boston song, “Foreplay/Long Time”. One guy loved Boston. He thought Boston and Van Halen were the greatest rock bands ever. He despised Bryan Adams. The other liked Boston and Van Halen. While he preferred Bush and STP, he staunchly defended Bryan Adams as a rocker. Once this discussion commenced, it would continue off and on until the party ended. Sometimes they’d be the last ones there, still talking about it.

The memories make me smile.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

This morning found me awakening with a song streaming in my mind. How unusual! I don’t believe that’s ever happened before (*snark*).

The theme du jour was being delivered by Sammy Hagar on vocals as part of the amplified group called Van Halen. The song, “Why Can’t This Be Love”, was released during my formative years. 1986 found me moving from South Carolina to Germany.  I was a wee lad of thirty years old, and full of wide-eyed wonder and innocence. My new friends introduced me to this interesting musical genre called rock. That changed my thinking forever.

I really associate this with Randy, though. After Germany, my next assignment took me to California, where I met Randy. Now dead of cancer at fifty-nine, he was a huge Van Halen, Boston, and Atlanta Braves fan. Go to his home, and it wouldn’t be unusual to find him on the patio smoking, windows open and drinking coffee or beer, with Van Halen, Boston, or the Atlanta Braves on.

Crank it up. You know Randy would.

 

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William Shatner and Seven

The dreams, the dreams.

A tsunami of eclectic dreams lifted me up and carried me out. The numeral “seven” dominated. I know of at three instances. I believe that I counted seven dreams, and seven appeared in two of them.

An argument ensued, and a rift opened between two groups. I knew them all. I thought it was bullshit, and stayed loyal to my friend. The rest were throwing a party. My friend was being ostracized and wouldn’t go. I went anyway, to make a point. The host asked me if I was still friends with the other guy. I said, “Yes.” “Then you’ll need to pay seven dollars for a beer.”

Fine. WTF? went through my mind. Was that supposed to intimidate me?

I left the house through a back door, just to get fresh air. A Saint Bernard was there. He wanted out. I knew he wasn’t supposed to get out, but he got out when I opened the door. He ran around a moment, and then I said, “Get back into the house,” which he did. I returned to the party and went to the hostess. I had not finished my beer, but I wasn’t staying. I gave her the seven dollars and said, “Give this to your husband.” She didn’t understand and didn’t want to accept it. “Just give it to him,” I said. “Tell him it’s from me. He’ll understand.”

Seven appeared again later:

I’d been waiting with my friend to take a course. He remained ostracized. People avoided our table, and our so-called friends were rude to us. The instructor, noticing this, told my friend and I, “Pay me seven dollars. You’ve finished the course.”

“No, we haven’t taken it yet. We’re waiting to take it.”

“No, you don’t need it. You’ve already taken it. Here’s your certificates. Just give me seven dollars.”

Okay.

It was interesting that I was receiving seven dollars, and then giving seven dollars, all under the umbrella of seven dreams.

In another dream vignette, I didn’t like how matters were transpiring. I was being interrogated and told to sign a loyalty statement. That made everyone afraid. I was afraid at that point, but then asked, “Why should I be afraid? I will not.” So I endured, and signed. Everyone else told me that was a mistake. I said, “You’re thinking wrong about this. As long as they have you afraid to sign, they’ll control you. But because I’ve signed, I can never be controlled again.”

They did try to make me sign again, but I prevailed against them, twice, and felt damn good about it.

Then there was the scene where I was in someone else’s new house. It was very high-tech and expensive, with many windows, and even glass walls inside the house. Its layout bemused and amused me. I thought they were trying too hard. While walking through, I saw a wreath with a candle in a box. I’d seen this in portions of other dreams, sometimes in a box, but sometimes hanging on a door. I’d come to know that these were made and distributed by William Shatner.

Seeing this one, I pointed it out to my friend. I said, “They’re everywhere.” My friend said, “That William Shatner is an evil genius.” We laughed.

Out of all this, I awoke from dreaming and slipped into writing mode. I needed to write a chapter called “Circle,” I realized. “Circle” began acquiring substance as soon as the word was known.

So here I go, writing like crazy, at least one more time.

 

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The Tree Dream

Vignettes played as dreams last night, with each sharing the need for there to be a tree in it.

The first vignette centered around camping. I was with friends (none recognized). We were searching for a camp site. It might have been at Laguna Seca (Mazda Raceway). One of the guys suggested that I go ahead and find us a site. “Just make sure it has a tree.”

I went looking and saw plenty of trees, but none that seemed to fit the need. Alone, I began complaining to myself about why one of the others hadn’t come with me.

Another vignette began. I was with friends. We were there to play softball. “Find us a field with a tree,” one man told me.

“A tree?” I said. “Why would you want a softball field with a tree? Wouldn’t the tree interfere?”

He and others insisted we needed a tree. Exasperated, I agreed to find a field with a tree, and then a third vignette started.

I was with friends. We needed a hotel room. “Try to get us one with a tree,” a friend told me.

A hotel room with a tree? “Do they have those?” I said.

“Yes, I’m sure they do. Just ask.”

They went off, leaving me alone. After looking around, I spotted the front desk and went over. “I need a room with a tree,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” came the answer.

Without further issue, I entered a room. Huge, it was carpeted, with windows. And against one pale wall, grew a large tree.

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Smockville Brewhouse

I’m pleased for my friend, Ron.

Ron’s son and daughter-in-law have started a business. Located in Sherwood, Oregon, it’s called Smockville Brewhouse. Click on the link, and check it out. Go ahead, I’ll wait here.

Smockville

I’m please for Ron, not because his son is opening a business, but because of the relationship the two of them, and the entire family, demonstrated while the idea germinated, the business plan was created, and the brewhouse established. It was beautiful to see Ron’s happiness, pride, and enthusiasm.

I hope the business flourishes. If it’s dependent on enthusiasm and pride, there’s a damn good chance that it will.

 

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His Dark Secret

His dark secret wasn’t that he disliked coffee. Nor was his dark secret the revelation about how broke he was, or how he collected cans and bottles from the streets and did odd jobs to have the money to buy a four-shot mocha at the coffee shop every day.

His dark secret wasn’t that how he worked for the money and spent it on coffee every day because he liked flirting with the young women who worked behind the counter. Neither was his dark secret his admission that his coffee shop visit was his day’s only highlight, and he looked forward to it each morning. No, his dark secret, that he didn’t share even with himself, was that they were the only friends he had.

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Experience

He was seventy-five, and she, the younger, was just seventy-three. They met on a cruise to Alaska, an adventure to eat food and see things like glaciers. They knew they didn’t agree on politics but there was e l e c t r i c i t y between them, not sparks or embers, but record one hundred mile long billion volt lightning strokes. So they said, what the hell, let’s try this and see.

Adventurous people they were, they went ‘camping’ together, renting a small cabin to share (there were separate beds), fishing and hiking in the day, campfires and singing at night.

Ten days in, they knew it would not work. He was an ardent Trump supporter and she was advocating RESIST. She gave him three choices: “Take me to an airport and I’ll fly home. Drive me home. Drive me to somewhere where I can rent a car and I’ll drive myself home.”

He replied, “Number three sounds good.”

So that’s what they did, swearing never to see one another again, and unfriending one another on Facebook.

It was a thirty-day life experience.

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Ragged Dream

Leaving a business conference. Get in my car to drive away. My wife is with me and my car is a silver sports car. I start driving down the road when I notice someone not in their lane off my right rear quarter panel. Concerned they’ll hit me, I accelerate and move to the left. The road is rough and bumpy, with many cracks and potholes, but eventually, with some drama, I get clear of the other car, a large silver SUV.

We come upon a little truck stop. We’re to pause there to meet up with others. They’re already there, including several friends from my life. We purchase food and coffee. Some of my co-workers are there. We gather around a guy who’s explaining what we need to do to collect expenses and be reimbursed. A co-worker asks for an expense slip. I realize I need the same and request it. I’m also given some additional travel money. Pleased, I go off to join my friends.

I’m ready to hit the road; they’re not. I try to complete paperwork but realize a few things are missing so I can’t complete it. Then I worry about my car from something I see through the truck stop window. I go out and check on the car and find it’s fine. Back inside, I hang around a cashier counter, idling at racks of food, map and magazines, waiting for my friends. They come out. “Ready to go?” I ask.

“No, not yet, just a little while longer,” one female friend answers. “I want another cup of coffee.”

“Ten minutes?” I reply.

“No, twenty.”

I accept that but I’m not happy. Returning to the counter, I press a button on a small device and discover I’ve inadvertently purchased three lottery tickers. The smarmy, greasy, toothless cashier demands payment, and I fork over ten dollars. Inexplicably, I return to the device. I think I’m doing something else and hit the button to buy lottery tickets again. I’m so exasperated. The same cashier demands payment, and I do it. And then, I hit the same button one more time.

This time, I can’t find the money to pay him. I thought I had more money. The cashier crows, “Then I’m just going to have to take these lottery tickets back. No money, no tickets. That’s how it’s played.”

His attitude annoys me but I’m more annoyed that I don’t have the money I thought I did. And people around me now think I don’t have money, and that bothers me. Going through my wads of papers I’m holding, though, I uncovered a fifty dollar bill. “There,” I say, trying to show it to others. “I do have money.”

The end.

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