Tag: military

Friday’s Theme Music

Back in 1985, I was traveling frequently with the military. Based in South Carolina, I was a frequent visitor to California, Florida, Virginia, and New Jersey. Between them, I spent months in South Korea and Egypt, dashed through Spain, and part of a week in Belgium. This travel all revolved around war readiness planning and exercising.

Somewhere in those travels, I picked up on a song called “Live is Life”. I’d heard the song but didn’t know who did it. It didn’t seem to have much playtime in America. Eventually I hunted it down and discovered it was by Opus, from Austria.

Anyway, as I adjusted to today’s limited agenda and travel plans and admired spring’s growing presence outside, the song returned to me. It’s a jaunty song without deep lyrics, kind of odd as a rock song — more pop than rock –but it’s easy to sing.

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The Lawyer Dream

Dreamed a lawyer was trying to seduce me. Blonde and female, she was young and friendly.

hadn’t started long that, though. First, she and several other young lawyers showed up. All were dressed in suits with trousers. She wore a gray suit with a white shirt. There may have been four in the beginning. They’d already to literally practice law by observing and doing mock cases. None were anyone that I know.

I was young and they were young. I wasn’t a lawyer. Seems like sometimes I was in the military but other times that I wasn’t, which amused me during the dream.

I found a place to sit on a secluded cement space just outside the courtroom area. The center was a courtroom; the rest was like a small arena. I wasn’t there to watch, but to rest and take a nap. The young lawyers arrived. I observed them but didn’t think much more about it than, “Look; young lawyers.” All were dressed neatly.

They came over to where I was seated and asked if they could sit there, too. Sure; I didn’t care. There was space. The blonde, and a slender, dark-haired white male, sat beside me. He was dressed in a blue suit with a white shirt and red and blue striped tie.

She was immediately adjacent to me. I had a blanket, and I told them that I was going to take a nap. They were fine with that. The mock trial started as I pulled my blanket up. The blonde said she was cold; would I mind sharing my blanket?

Sure, no problem. The trial continued. I was making comments about it because I knew the people involved, which surprised the lawyers. I shrugged it off; it was just stuff that I knew. The blonde cuddled up against me. As I drifted toward sleep, her hands roved over me. She began kissing me.

Amused, I chatted with her about it. She told me that she wanted me. I told her that I was flattered but I was going to pass. She was understanding. She went off to get something. Her friend told me that the blonde really liked me. The whole thing amused me, as it was so much like high school.

One mock trial ended. I was going off to another area. He wanted to walk with me. “Sure, come on.”

We left the courtroom arena. Now we were inside an enormous atrium attached to a tall, large building. I knew that I was on the eleventh floor. We could look down and see other sidewalks and bridges, all of it connecting buildings, all of it inside. I was chatting with the lawyer, who was young, bright, and friendly. He was also gay, he told me. Well, cool, fine he was friendly and polite person, so what’s orientation have to do with anything?

He wasn’t sure how to get to the next courtroom, so I took him there. We arrived, and as we were chatting, the judges arrived. Two were previous commanders of mine, 0-6 colonels. They greeted me, making jokes about things, hamming it up for the others beginning to arrive.

I took me leave as others arrived. The blonde female lawyer arrived dressed in a tight, dark-blue dress. She kissed me hello, told me that she had a room nearby, and suggested that we go. I let her take my hand and lead me away.

The dream ended.

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Today’s Theme Music

Dreamed about a Chev. Corvette last night. My Dad and I were in it. I was driving it first. We stopped at a store. People complimented us on the car. I told everyone that it was his, and most people said, “Yes, I had that impression.”

I’ve had similar Corvette dreams before, but it put a Corvette song in my head. Prince’s 1983 song was “Little Red Corvette”, but that’s what came to mind this morning as I was thinking about the dream.

I vividly remember hearing “Little Red Corvette” while stationed on Okinawa. (I was assigned to the 603d MASS on Kadena AB, 1981-1985.) We’d gone to McDonald’s on a whim because we were going to have some corn soup. Standing outside in sunshine afterward, “Little Red Corvette” was playing on a car radio beside us. We were talking about going to the American Bakery for dessert. It’s a strangely vivid moment in life.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Planning the day, thinking about doin’ a little drivin’, I thought of Sniff n’ the Tears.

Don’t know much about this band. I could look them up, but I didn’t. I remember listening to the radio somewhere on a Texas Interstate, coming back from Austin (we lived in on Randolph Air Force Base, just outside of San Antonio) and hearing this song, “Drivers’s Seat” on the radio. And the announcer – it was the weekly countdown – said, “That was Sniff n’ the Tears moving up in the countdown.” My friends and I, hearing that band’s name, started laughing, and then we were coming up with other band names.

Anyway, the song mentions being doin’ a little drivin’ on a Saturday, which I’ll be doing. I’m sure many others will be out there. As they used to say on Hill Street Blues, “Let’s be careful out there.”

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Thursday’s Theme Music

A double-whammy brought this song into the stream this morning. First were dreams about photographs. Then, as I’m sitting at my desk thinking about the dreams, I see a photograph of my wife on the desk. Taken of her in Christmas, 1981, it was our first Christmas in Okinawa, Japan. A note on the back in her writing says, “I was sick as a dog.” She looks wonderful, though, in a bright purple short-sleeved top. Her hair is bobbed short, as she wore it for a number of years.

Between the dreams and memories, Ringo Starr’s old hit song, “Photograph” (1973) arose. About the only thing in common between the song’s lyrics and sentiment, the dream, and the photograph on the desk is that word, photograph. Everything else is quite different.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

I was ’bout to go outside (and let a cat out) (it’s Boo’s morning habit to go out, do his business in a corner of the yard (the far left side behind the bushes, thank you), and then groom in sunshine) (unless it’s raining or snowing, of course) to gauge the weather (it looks pleasant and warm) when I stopped. Hand on door handle, I watched through the glass at a profusion of birds. The many birds me from opening the door and disrupting the little sparrows’ and jays entertainment.

Boo really wanted out, chittering and chattering at the birds (they were a joyfully noisy congregation). I wondered what’d brought them here.

The juxtaposition of birds and weather reminded me of an instrumental song, “Birdland” by Weather Underground (1977). I used to listen to this in the Philippines while burning candles, reading books, and sipping wine, a pleasure combo.

After the birds abruptly departed, I let the house panther (and jigsaw puzzle expert) out to do his thang, and then came in and re-acquainted myself with “Birdland”. That song always prompts a grin. Hope you hear it and grin, too.

Or at least, smile.

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A Series of Weird, Short Dreams

I dreamed that dandelions were growing out of my cat’s head. I decided to pull them, because I thought, the roots must be growing into his brain.

I pulled the weeds. As they came out, his head broke apart like the top of a chicken potpie. Brains spilled out. Panicking, I tried pushing them all back in.

Before that —

I was marrying a robot. The robot resembled a cross between an Oscar and Marvel’s Iron Man. He’d been sent to kill me. I’d captured and converted him, easy to do because he was a foot tall and never moved, standing like the Oscar all the time. I don’t know how he was expected to kill me, but I was marrying him.

Before that —

It was cake again. A large white sheet cake was on a table. It looked gorgeous, and delicious. Writing was on the top. Leaning forward to read it, I misjudged space and distance and began falling into the cake. Wildly flailing, I managed not to hit the cake, but tilted the table. The cake began sliding away. I tried grabbing it, seizing a handful of a corner and tearing it away.

In a slow-motion sequence, I raised the cake that I’d torn away up to my face. Yellow inside, it smelled like lemon. I put some into my mouth to taste it. It didn’t taste lemon. I couldn’t decide what the taste was.

The cake was still sliding off the table. Lunging forward, I caught the cake, stabilized the table, and ‘saved’ the cake, except it was a mess.

Others came in. I wanted to run but I had cake all over me. Obviously, I’d done whatever had happened to the cake. As the rest came up (all strangers, dressed casually, but with what looked like flutes of champagne in their hands), I said, “There was an accident.”

Ignoring that, smiling and talking, they looked at the cake as though nothing was wrong. One woman said something to me. I held up the handful of cake and asked, “Is this lemon?”

Before that —

I was in the military, dressed in a crisp light blue shirt with dark blue pants, supervising a group of young NCOs. I was assigning them positions, roles, and titles. “You’re NCOIC of Back Office Reporting, BOC.” I laughed. “And you are Console Operations, COPs.” That brought more wild laughter from me. To the third, I said, “And you’re NCOIC of Training, which is, well, that’s just training.” I found that hilarious.

Before that —

My cat was sick. I was looking for his medicine. After I went through the house, I finally found it (it’s the last place that you look, innit?). Then I couldn’t find the cat. Putting the medicine down, I went through the house looking for him. Finding him at last, I couldn’t find the medicine. I said, “I just had it.”

That’s all there was.

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The 192 Dream

A military dream, again, but with a twist.

I told my wife that the Air Force wants me to return to active duty again. She laughed. “Let’s do it. We can travel.”

I replied, “That’ll be enlistment number 191 for me.” We laughed at that.

(Real life note: I spent just over twenty years on active duty in the military, with one break in service. I’ve not gone back in since my retirement almost a quarter of a century ago.)

So I went in. I’m in a fresh uniform, sharp as hell, feelin’ good and lookin’ good, you know? We’re walking around a large multi-function building – personnel and finance offices, admin offices, mess hall and open mess, exchange and commissary, along with a food court, barbershop, eyeglass place, medical facilities, and fitness center. People are coming up and introducing themselves. We’re enjoying ourselves.

My spouse goes off with other spouses to do something. I keep wandering around on my own. I get a call. They’re offering me a promotion, if I’ll enlist one more time.

I run into my wife. She’s heard the news and encourages me to do it. I answer, “That’ll be number 192 for me.” That makes us both laugh.

That’s the dream.

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The Theater Dream

The theater dominated, but there were several features, some of which are clichés to the max (ha), like a military phone call (that wasn’t a call), and being pantless.

To begin –

With others, including a boss I used to have, we were going to the theater. This was some special deal, a grand event.

Checking in was an odd process. We entered a pristine, glistening marble foyer, black on the floor, pink on the walls, white on the ceiling. Stunning. Machines were embedded in the pink walls. After moments of floundering uncertainty about what to do, we realized the machines would provide us with our tickets. More floundering (instructions were absent) before figuring out, look into the small bas relief image on the machine and speak your name. Tickets were issued with fast, impressive swish. We guessed that it was a security system which identified us via a retina scan and voice.

The ticket lit up with gold arrows telling us where to go. Following its arrows, we learned from an employee that the ticket was geared to our bodies, that the machine back there had also verified our weight and scanned our bodies to verify who we were. Wow, some system, we said to one another, while wondering, why would a ticket need to be so specific to an individual? Nervous jokes were made.eate

I ended up in a bedroom. This couldn’t be right, I thought, but was reassured by my previous boss that it was. She was friends with the theater owner, so had gotten this box for us. It was the owner’s personal box. But I, confused, because it was a bedroom, was ready to challenge that when one wall opened, showing the stage right in front of us. Besides that, my ex-boss showed how we could watch the play via multiple monitors.

Great deal, I thought, impressed, but still freaked. The box was obviously a bedroom, and was full of jewelry. Be jeweled bracelets and watches abounded, along with key chains with keys. I didn’t want to touch anything lest people thought I was trying to steal it.

Then, horror, I knocked a bracelet off a dresser. It landed in my pocket. With alacrity, I fished it out, hurrying because I didn’t want to be seen.

A phone rang. I realized it was the Wing Commander calling on his hotline. Punching on the connection via one of the old 306 consoles (where did that come from), I answered with my name and rank.

“Sorry,” the commander replied. “I was sleeping and accidentally pressed the button.

Time to go! Leaving the theater, we went to a party in a luxurious mansion. Bottles of expensive red wine were being opened. People were asking me, what wine do you want? What bottle should I open? I was answering, there are bottles already open, let’s not waste them. I like red wine.

Bottles were opened anyway. I had a little red wine, straight from a bottle. Wow, it was fantastic. Then —

Time to go! Seeing the wine being wasted, I tried to put corks back into the bottles. They fell out, refusing to stay. I as being urge on.

Back at my place with my wife (which I understood was a temporary place), she offered me food, which were breakfast leftovers, she explained. I selected a few pieces, even though they were cold, and ate a bit, which tasted good. Then —

Time to iron! I needed to iron some pants because I wasn’t wearing any. I found pants and two ironing boards with irons in another room. One iron was small, like a toy. They other was a standard-sized iron on a standard folding board. The two options confused me. Before I could decide —

Time to go! My wife informed me that we needed to leave to go clean up another place. I protested that I’m not wearing any pants. “Don’t worry,” she replied. “Nobody will see you.”

We arrived via dreamport (that is, we turned around and were there) in a small house that doubled as a business. It looked tidy but my wife said that we needed to clean it. I agreed but told her that I needed to iron my pants and put them on first.

Right after that was announced, several of my wife’s friends arrived. I hastened to cover my lower nakedness as they laughed, hooted, and pointed, brushing it off, they’d seen it before, before they went off into another room, where my wife served them coffee and tea.

The dream ended.

I think my subconscious (working with my conscious mind) this morning, decided this dream was about broken dreams and lost promises. But after thinking about it while walking and then writing it out, I think it’s about the imposter syndrome.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Yeah, another song that seems like a remnant from the dreamscape that’s slipped through the filters between the worlds and ended up in the stream of my consciousness.

“Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin'” by Journey has an entertaining hard-rock bluesiness to it, delivered by the beat and that piano playing. The lyrics are based on a true story experienced by Steve Perry, according to memory, which claims it heard that factoid on American Top 40 whilst stationed at Randolph AFB, Texas in 1979. Drove a lovely Pontiac Firebird then, which we’d just purchased new. I was back in the military after a year’s break. Owned a restaurant and attended college during that break, but that’s another story.  Big news of that year is that the Shah of Iran, the end of the Iranian Monarchy, and the Iranian hostage crises. Jimmy Carter was POTUS. Remember any of that? Seems like a million years ago.

As for the dream? Ah, that’s another tale. It needs thought about more to be writ about.

Like Steve Perry’s leather pants?

 

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