The Water Dream

So there I was…

I’d turned on the water, apparently to water the lawn, a problematic decision because snow and ice loaded the land. I realized all that when I went back and discovered that everything was flooded by a couple inches because I’d left the water on. People were looking out their windows like genuine looky lous. I could hear them commenting, telling each other, “Oh, poor Michael. Look at him. What’s wrong with him?”

The house where I turned on the water belong to Mom. So I figured I needed to turn off that water and reimburse her for what was sure to be an expensive water bill. I had a small paper bag with some money in it, but first things first: I was naked. I needed to dress. I had clothes. Most of it was very fancy. So I dressed out there in the flooded yard in front of the watching neighbors, first with undies, then with a pressed pink dress shirt, finally black dress pants.

Before I could get to my shoes, I saw Mom and accosted her. Her children, my sisters, were with her, as young children. I explained about turning the water on and leaving it on, and that I owed her, so I wanted to give her some money. Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a bundle of money, estimating it as $40,000, and gave it to Mom. She protested, “That’s too much,” but I insisted she take it.

She left and put on my shoes. As I finished that, ‘Dad’ approached. This father was a squat, chunky guy, no at all like my real father. Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and short black tie, he wore a black bowler hat. I knew he was a drunk and was dismissive and scornful of him. He knew this but still approached, asking, “Can you spare ten dollars for me?” I knew he’d use it for booze but I said, “Yes, of course,” and ended up giving him $40. He profusely thanked me. I replied, “I can spare it.”

As Dad thanked me again and again and walked away, I opened my bag to get a sandwich and eat. As I pulled the sandwich out, I realized the bag was larger than first thought, and full of newly bundled money. As I gawked at the bundles of cash, I thought, there must be four million dollars in there.

Dream end.

Saturday’s Theme Music

I haven’t read about many streakers recently. I am surprised.

As lockdowns and business shutdowns are argued and protested, I’d think that stripping off your clothes and running outside would be a natural mechanism to make your voice heard. Nothing makes people hear you more than running around with all your bits flapping. Makes more sense than shouting in police officers’ faces, or threatening others with guns.

Maybe I’m just too early on the curve, and the streaking is about to commence. Perhaps my idea will inspire someone to do it. Yeah, don’t look at me to be the spark plug. I’m a hairy fellow. Last time that I went streaking, people thought a mini Bigfoot was running around. Ended up with that nickname for years. Strangers would see me and shout, “Hey, Bigfoot, how’s it going?” Mom and my sisters started calling me that, too. I thought that showed poor taste on their part.

In honor of the idea, the song, “The Streak” by Ray Stevens (1974) is today’s theme music. Ray had the idea for the song but didn’t execute it until streakers were suddenly everywhere in the news. It’s a story-telling song that utilizes puns and double meanings to express what was going on from a reporter interviewing a witness. The witness is married to Ethel, and he’s always warning her, “Don’t look, Ethel,” and it’s always too late. The song culminates with the witness shouting, “Is that you, Ethel? You get your clothes on.”

The Leather Jacket Dream

Last night’s dreams were a crowded, cluttered mess of happenings and objects. They began with a leather jacket.

Someone gave me a black leather jacket as a gift. I was taken back. The gift wasn’t expected. Its style was not the style that I prefer (yeah, aren’t I the fashion plate (snort, right!)). It wasn’t the highest quality (indeed). But it was a gift. I was drilled by parents and wife to be gracious about accepting gifts. Don’t mock or deride them, but accept with gratitude.

Smiling, I accepted the jacket and began wearing it. The fit was better than expected, and I looked good. Within a few minutes, I find myself surprised that I genuinely liked the jacket. Going back to the one who’d given it to me, I thanked them with more enthusiasm.

You know what? I never saw anything of the person giving me the jacket. If I did, it’s wiped from memory.

Shifting in the way that my dreams frequently do — without a true transition — I found me and my wife in a new place. Guess what? Yeah, I was back in the military. I amused me in my dream that I was dreaming about the military again because it’s such a recurring pattern in my dreams. I also told myself in my dream, go with it. See where it goes.

My wife and I were sharing a large apartment with two other families. None of them were in the military. We each had a bedroom with a bathroom. The place was bedlam. My uniform was wrinkled, so I needed to press it but had to find the iron and board. A hundred things were going on, with people unpacking, sorting stuff, strewing it around, and also dressing and leaving for appointments.

With my uniform pressed, I went to shower. The largest bathroom had towels, toiletries and clothing strewn everywhere. It appalled me. I thought, even if they have so little regard for others ability to use the facilities, have they no sense of order and tidiness?

I considered tidying the bathroom but returned to my bedroom and discovered a clean but small bathroom. The problem with it was that windows allowed anyone to look in and watch me from multiple places. I discussed this with my wife. She thought only one vantage allowed others to look in, so I could shift and stay hidden. I pointed out an entire set of other windows where people could see me. But, I decided, screw them. Let them look if they wanted.

I showered and shaved without issue. Then I heard noises outside. Green towel wrapped around my waist, I went out to investigate. Somehow, I became disoriented and began wandering. Then I lost my towel.

Again, amusement struck me in my dream. We’re employing that cliché? Mais qui, bien sûr. Okay.

Now, I’m naked but still wet, and outside. Fortunately, this was the young version of me, when I was slender and fit.

Buses were arriving. Uniformed airmen were piling out. I kept walking around, trying to figure out where the hell my place was.

I wasn’t embarrassed. I knew what stripes I had, and the authority and respect they command. I’d learned how to wear them, and I was metaphorically wearing them while walking naked back to my place. Go ahead, I mentally encouraged the crowds and lines of airmen that I passed. Say something. I dare you. None did.

Without fanfare, I found my way and returned to my place, entered, and began dressing, which is where the dream ended.

 

 

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