Tag: money

Mom’s House – A Dream

First, this isn’t anything like Mom’s real life house.

I was sleeping in the dream when something awoke me. I stayed in bed listening. Shades were pulled but daylight was growing visible through the slates. I knew I was in Mom’s and I thought I was alone but I was hearing noises downstairs. As I listened, I realized it was one of my younger sisters, so I dressed and went downstairs.

Down there, I found an open door that led to a patio. A man in half-removed black leather clothing was prostrate on the patio. My sister was further out on the patio, busy doing things. We said hello, and then I asked about the man. She said it was my cousin, Rick. (Due to the marriages and divorces, Rick isn’t her cousin.) Rick, half sleep or drunk, said with a grin and eyes barely open, “Yes, it’s me, Rick. I came to see you.” He then went to sleep.

I moved on out onto the patio. I’d need seen this house of Mom’s before, and was amazed. It was a white cement modern design on the ocean’s shore. Sunshine brightly lit the day. The tide was coming in, entertaining me with smells and thunderous cracking sounds. I was pleased and astonished and talked to my sister about this.

But — the house was right on the shore, although there was an elevation down to the sea. The incoming tide was coming closer and closer to the house, slashing the rocks and earth with heavy rolling waves. I worried about the house flooding, and watched until the waves were right at the house’s foundations.

Then something moved on my vision’s edge, flagging my attention: a black and white kitten was cavorting about on a cement piece. It disappeared.

I hustled over to look for it. It was down under white cement bridge trusses, along with another kitten. The second one was playing in the sea water. Horrified, afraid they needed rescued, I leaned further over.

A man and boy were down with the kittens. With me watching, the boy retreated, calling the kittens, who ran after him.

I headed back for Mom’s house. Now I could see more of its exterior broaded slabs of glass and white cement at arty angles, a very modern and interesting design, with several patios, porches, and balconies. I also saw then that the water had completed retreated already. I asked myself, “How did that happen so fast?”

Going over, I spoke with my sister, pointing out the tide threat to the house, because climate change was raising water levels. I showed her where I can see how high the water used to go, and compared it to this latest. My sister was dismissive, answering, “I know, but this is Mom’s house. It’s not my problem.”

I chastised her for that thinking but left. Mom and her partner arrived. We talked about the house but then she mentioned her other house and wanted her partner to go check on it because there’d be a storm early in the week. I volunteered to go with him and we headed for the door. Mom stopped me and said, “Do you need money? I can give you some if you need it.” I graciously turned her down, thanking her as I did.

Her partner and I arrived at another place. Isolated and not nearly as grand as the place which I’d just left, surrounded by mud and puddles, it was also white and modern, although it all looked shabby and dirty. I asked him, “Whose house is this?” When he replied that it belong to him and my mother, I followed up, “You two bought it together?”

“Yes,” he answered.

He and I made our way into the house. There was no furniture. In the kitchen, I discovered warped, damaged cupboards. I pointed these out to him, and he agreed, these needed to be replaced. I found an open window. Showing him, I asked, “Is this always left open?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, that’s what’s damaging the inside. That needs to be closed.”

Dream end.

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The Lavish Hotel Dream

I found myself at an expensive luxury hotel in my dream last night. My wife was with me at this place. Polished gold covered many surfaces, and if it wasn’t gold, it was sparkling glass, shiny marble, or deep, dark wood. Located in the middle of a very busy metropolitan city, the tall skyscraper was hugely busy and full.

I don’t know why I was there, but my wife and I made a complaint about something going on. No idea what that complaint was, but shortly after making it, the hotel staff were suddenly hugely obsequious and apologetic to me. Then they said, “We didn’t realize it was you.” Laughing, I joked, “I didn’t realize it was me, either.”

Just like that, they were treating me like I was royalty. I’d show up and they would tell other customers to make way for me, a cringe thing for me, who prefers not having preferential status or being the center of attention. Almost as wild, the other customers seemed to recognize me and were also differential, which, oddly, made me suspicious. I drifted into questioning why this was happening, sneaking into territory that they were playing a big joke on me or setting me up for something.

Going to a ballroom section, I was accosted by some staff as I entered. I thought they were going to tell me to leave. “Here, try this food,” they said, offering me things on toothpicks. The first turned out to be some kind of special and exotic cherry. Eating it, I was blown out by its juicy sweetness. I told others, “That’s great, you need to taste this.”

The staff said, “Oh, but this is very expensive. It’s free for you but others need to pay for it.”

Pulling a huge wad of cash out of my pocket, I replied, “I’ll pay for it for them.”

“No, no,” the staff answered. “You can’t pay for anything. Put your cash away.”

I responded, “Why can’t I pay for anything?” Meanwhile, the stash of money in my hand shocked me. It was all US currency. I thought, where’d I get all this money? I figured it must be change and it’s probably ones and fives or something. But going through it, I discovered twenties, hundreds, fifties.

Another staffer was beside me. “If you liked the cherry, perhaps you’d like to try the dried apricots.”

“Oh, I love apricots,” I answered. “Yes, I definitely want to try them.” He gave me two and I ate them with gusto, simply staggered by their flavor. “So good,” I told the staff. “Thank you.”

Just then, a manager arrived. “I want to speak to you,” she said. I was like, oh, no, what’s wrong now? She said, “Your stay here is free, so I wanted to tell you that you’ll see a refund on your credit card statement.” She then handed me three shiny pennies. “These are also for you, with our compliments.”

As I took the pennies, I wondered, why are they giving me pennies when I have so much cash, and the dream ended.

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An Unsettling Dream

After an outrageously fun dream that had me grinning when I awoke, a later dream stamped its imprint, unsettling me.

The second dream was about a friend. Oddly, I can’t recall ever clearly seeing him. I can’t give any description to him except to say he was a contemporary, male, white, and both in our early twenties.

He came to my house and told me that he’d stolen twenty thousand dollars. No details about that were shared. The dream and I focused on what I should do, how can I help him? He’d already told me that he’d told others.

He suggested that he needed to hide the money. I agreed, telling him that I would help. Next thing I know, we’re at his house, a suburban home, in a lower level, in a small den. There’s one oblong window at ground level; I keep looking out it. Dusk is falling.

Green shag carpet covers the floor. He lays down on the floor, face down, legs stiffly together and straight, arms out at ninety degrees, like he’s on a cross. He’s wearing a yellow top and red shorts. I tell him that I think he needs to get out of there. He doesn’t answer. I’m pacing, worrying, and tell him the same thing. He seems to have given up.

I start telling him, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you.” That’s when I realize that I stole the money with him, bewildering me. I don’t remember doing that, so how was it possible?

I’ve hidden my share, which was also twenty thousand. I repeat, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you. Where is it?” Sirens are getting louder. I don’t doubt they’re coming to his house. He’s given up, so they’ll catch us both. Even if I have escape, I’m sure that he’d tell them who stole the money with him. He’s already told others. The dream ends with the sirens growing louder, me pacing, glancing out a window, running a hand through my hair, trying to understand what to do, and him still in a cross position on the green shag carpet.

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Friday’s Wandering Thought

He wondered and worried, would hotel rooms begin emulating air travel pricing, monetizing everything? He wondered if there would be a day when he reserved a room but that doesn’t mean he has a room – just like buying an economy airline ticket or even rental cars (see Seinfeld for more). He can imagine going online to rent a room and being offered upgrades. Ten more dollars for both a bed and chair in the room on top of what you’re paying for a preferred floor and location, size, and view. Twenty-five more for pillows, sheets, and blankets. Go for the Deluxe Room Plus – it includes complimentary coffee and a television, just fifty dollars more.

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A Dream of Money & Fighting

Many of my recent dreams have been about self-doubt, communication problems, and confusion. Last night’s dream added a different twist. A sort of duality emerged right at the beginning.

I was a civilian but arrived at a military complex. Walking in, I assumed my military persona as an experienced senior NCO. I had a huge cache of cash with me, US currency, twenties, fifties, hundreds. I was trying to put them into a leather bag. There was so much, it would fit. I shoved some into pockets but was left with more.

While this transpired, I grew aware of three men watching me. One black, two whites. All taller than me. Bigger. But middle-aged, as I was in dream world.

I suspected they were planning to jump and rob me. I wasn’t going to permit that to happen and placed my keys in my hand with the tips outward between my fingers. One of the men came close. I turned on him as he reached for me, and swung hard at him.

I completely missed.

But he was surprised, taken aback. Dropping back, he stumbled, fell, hit his head, and lost consciousness. One down. Similar things happened with the other two, where I was completely clumsy and ridiculous in my fighting efforts — I am not a fighter in real life or dreams — but still won. With them dispatched, I went to find my room, number 2407.

The complex was like a maze. Signage was almost non-existence. Doors were closed but no locked. I ended up going through quarters for different people, along with operations areas and work rooms for different squadrons. People sometimes challenged me as I walked in on dental and surgical operations, counseling sessions, and newcomer orientations. I kept walking through, trying to find my way, often telling them when they accosted me, “I wouldn’t be here if you guys had signs. This is totally ridiculous.” I vowed as I went that I would write this up to give them feedback about the lack of signs, and the disorganization which I encountered.

When I found my room, it was locked. I had a key, though. It was a calm oasis within. Paused there, I reflected on the dream’s elements while still dreaming, and realized how much it reflected my personal issues, real and imagined. Then I drew out my cash and realized that I was wealthy.

That’s how it ended.

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A Writing Dream

It’s a disheveled dream, with a complicated cast and strange twists. I start out in a parking lot, a young man. My wife drives up in her gray Honda Civic, the one driven in yesteryears. I tell her to park and to make sure she locks the car. I point out a parking slot and she drives away.

Others are met. I tell them I’m waiting for my wife to park, but I’ll see them inside. I’m by my car of yesteryear, my first RX-7, a light blue vehicle that we bought brand new. My wife comes up. I ask her to park the RX-7 for me and tell her where. As she gets into the car, closes the door and drives away, I walk off toward a building. I pass her car; she’s left the door open. I’m dismayed, asking myself, what’s wrong with her? Her seatbelt is hanging out of the door, so I theorize that its position prevented her from closing the door and she didn’t notice. I fix all that, and then head on to building, a multi-story, long, white modern edifice with black windows, one of those places seen in business parks across the U.S. As I walk the loaded parking lot, I see my parked Mazda. Its door is open. What is wrong with my wife that she’s left doors open and unlocked in two cars?

In the building, I enter an apartment. Mom is there, along with her boyfriend, Frank. She waves hello to me. I find my wife in the kitchen preparing food and tell her that she left the doors open and unlocked on both cars. She mutters something defensive back. I answer, “That’d be fine if it was one car, but it was two. You have a problem.” I walk off.

Someone comes by to give me the book I’m working on. It’s a big, clumsy book, totally unfamiliar. When I open it, I discover nonsensical words and phrases written in a large, sloppy style using crayons. I recognize that it’s Frank’s book. I protest, “This isn’t my book. Where is my book?”

I go through the house to find my book. As I search, I find sandwiches overfilled with meat, cheese, and lettuce. No one else is there so I wonder aloud but to myself, “What’s with all of these sandwiches.” I continue going through, looking for the book, confounded, picking up a sandwich and eating it as I go. I begin noticing piles of coins on end tables, coffee tables, window sills, and the floor. Someone else is walking through the room. I turn and ask, “What’s with all these coins?” They reply, “I don’t know, you left them there.”

“I left them?” I ask back, but I’m alone. I realize that I’ve eaten my sandwich. It’s gone but there are plenty more. There’s also many more piles of money that I didn’t see before. They’re everywhere, growing taller and wider, filling with silver coins.

Dream end.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Spread the alarm. Monday has breached the walls. Save yerselves.

Dawn came in a bit before seven. Sunrise came after the way was cleared, arriving to clear blue skies at 7:42 this morning. The temperature has sprinted up to 45 degrees F and will go all the way to 62 F. The Cedar Creek fire is now in its third month but it’s 68% contained. We don’t smell the fire in our sector any longer but I’m sure others are still enduring it, and I feel for them. Sunset will be at 6:06 PM, so set your alarms. It’ll be October’s last.

We used to go trick or treating after dark when I was a child. In fact, that was one of Mom’s stipulations for when we could begin: “It’s not even dark yet.” These days, darkness is an enemy of the event. Most trick or treating is done in more controlled environments. Schools, stores, and malls have joined the Halloween proceedings. We didn’t buy any treats this year. We’ve bought in the past and generally ate it ourselves in the nights after the goblins and monsters’ cries have faded into November. So we don’t do that no more. Kind of miss it but also, c’est le vie.

After reading emails and the mail last night, The Neurons started playing “Money (That’s What I Want)” by The Flying Lizards (1979). Totally understandable. Almost every entity sending emails and missives in my direction are asking for money. Subscribe to this or that. Buy more of this. Get a new one of that, and replace that other. You need more! Donate to me — we need money to stay free. So, yeah, no surprise that Der Neurons brought up “Money (That’s What I Want)”. Les Neurons could have gone multiple directions with this. Could’ve just fired up Pink Floyd’s song, “Money.” “Money (That’s What I Want)” has been released as a Motown hit, a moneymaker by the Beatles, a cover by the Stones, and, of course, The Flying Lizards.

The Flying Lizards’ rendition is a twist against the others, throwing out a simple tune with a bald, straightforward delivery: “Give me money. That’s what I want.” They’re not truly singing it, just deadpan presenting it. That’s why it works so well for all these money requests that inundate my existence. Take Pfizer, for example. They were heroes, one of several, coming up with COVID-19 vaccines. Now they want money so shots will be over one hundred dollars each. Don’t worry, insurance will cover it. No insurance? Oh, no, that’s not good. But Prizer is a corporation. They exist to make money, right?

BTW, has anyone done a new cover of this song recently? Seems like it’s overdue.

Well, you know the routine. Holds even for Mondays, even on October’s final effort. Stay positive, test neggy, etc. Coffee is in the morning’s collection plate. I’m gonna help meself to some. That’s what I want.

Have a good one. Here’s the tune. Cheers

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