Tag: opportunities

A Football Dream

In this dream, I was in my early teens. Our school had a football team. I was not very good but they let me be on the team. I mostly played the bench.

We’d traveled away for a game. I suddenly had a feeling, I was going to play, and I was going to score a touchdown. In fact, as I thought about it, I became convinced that I was going to score three TDs. Moreover, I knew that one of these touchdowns would be on offense. The other two would be defensive scores.

The game began and I was not playing. Both teams were lackadaisical and the game was boring. I kept waiting to get in. Then, halftime arrived. The team sat around, joking and being silly. This frustrated me. I wanted the game to get on. I wanted to be in the game.

Halftime ended. Instead of continuing the game, a disorganized and chaotic scene ensued. I kept waiting for us to get back on the field. I didn’t know why, in accordance with the game’s rules and everyone’s established expectations, this wasn’t happening. But finally, yes, word came, the teams were to take the field. And, lo, I was sent out onto the field.

Some fast, intense violence, aka football, followed. I was playing okay. Then, I was on defense when a pass was tipped. I rocketed forward and got a hand on the ball. I meant to catch it and run but I instead batted and juggled it for several intense seconds as other players closed. Finally, just as someone was about to slam into me, I got control of the ball and raced into the end zone.

Then, just a few short plays later, I was on offense as a slot wide receiver. The ball was snapped. I stepped out right and cut sharply in toward the center of the field on a slant. The quarterback hit me in stride, and I was gone, and scored my second touchdown, my first on offense. Confusion swirled among my team mates. Some were asking, “Who was that?” Others were trying to confirm if I was the one who scored on the previous fumble recovery. A few were congratulating me and complimenting me on how well I was playing that day.

I was kept in the game on the opponent’s next drive. We were behind in the score by a few points. The other team’s offense set up to drive the field. But reading the play, I intercepted a pass and ran it back for a touchdown as the game ended. Amidst the jubilation, a reporter came up for an interview and confirmed that I’d scored my team’s only three touchdowns and asking me for my bio and playing info. While still on the field, sweaty and in my yellow and black uniform, I was shown a newspaper with a photo of me making the interception.

It was all very cool.

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A White House Dream

I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.

And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.

The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.

Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.

While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.

Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.

Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.

The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.

What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.

The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.

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Invitations Dream

My wife and I were visiting a pop musician. Male, no one real but a dream personality. I didn’t know him but ended up spending time with him by his choice. He then invited me to go on tour with him.

I laughed. He told me he was serious. I protested that I didn’t know anything about touring, concerts, etc., but he didn’t care. He’d make a position for me, pay me, cover my expenses. He thought I’d contribute by talking to him and giving him feedback.

I shrugged and accepted. Nothing ventured, right. We’d be leaving next week. I was pleased.

It was a Friday. My wife and I traveled on to somewhere else as a weekend getaway. We ended up at an opulent, opulent resort. We were a little anxious about the price. I met a man, big and bluff, white, with a graying and thin short burr cut. He weighed over two hundred pounds and stood almost seven feet tall. A barrel-shaped man, he carried his weight well.

He and I began chatting. Turned out he owned the resort and was a wealthy entrepreneur. He was going away on a business trip. Wanted me to accompany him. He thought I’d add a lot to his attendance at the event. I disagreed, citing all the practical reasons why I shouldn’t go. He suggested that I think about it for a while and talk it over with my wife, taking us to a room.

Golden walls and golden pillows dominated this room. We knew it was specially designed for resting, with filtered air and heavy soundproofing. Despite large windows, which showed verdant valley and mountain scenery, outside sounds weren’t heard.

We sat on the pillows to talk but then I needed to pee. I jumped up to find a bathroom but started peeing without control. My pee was weirdly golden. I peed so much that we soon had a two pools with a lively little stream connecting them.

I panicked. “What am I going to do? My pee is everywhere. It’s ruining everything.” As I spoke, the golden pillows absorbed my pee.

My wife and I were a little freaked. What if that’s why the pillows were golden?

We left the room. The entrepreneur asked if I’d made a decision. I told him I’d love to go but I had a previous commitment next week. He replied that he’d have me back for the other trip and that wasn’t a problem.

Dream end

Note: Yes, I did get up and pee after I awoke – cat wanted in or out, you know…

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Where

People were already out of work due to COVID-19. Without revenue coming in, they were going through their savings, cutting corners where they could, selling things as necessary, going to friends or the governments for help.

Then the fires struck. In a day, everything except that which they had when they fled was gone.

Time to rebuild, but where are they going to go? The costs of housing and living is discussed, politics, and the chance for employment. Gazing across the American landscape, from the fires on the west coast to the hurricanes in the southeast and the cost of living and politics everywhere, options seem bleak.

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Recognition

Looking up from his phone screen (where he was flipping through social media) (and nothing was catching fire), thinking about what he wanted to do for lunch (and what friends might be available today), he considered the skies outside the windows. (Well, where else would skies be?)

Classes were out. He didn’t go to college (he’d graduated years ago) but somehow, most of his friends were younger than him and students, and had gone home for the holidays. He didn’t, because Mom and her boyfriend went to Mexico for the holidays, and Dad was already in Europe with his second wife and that family. His sisters each had invited him to their homes but they were their homes. He’d done that before, going to Kendra’s home for the holidays once, but he’d felt like a stranger, and didn’t want to do it again.

(Plus, of course, was the sadder part that he didn’t want to dwell on, that he and his partner of four years had broken up the day after Thanksgiving. He’d been planning the holidays with her. Most of the people outside of the young people that he knew were her friends, because he was the transplant to his valley. Not thinking about all of that made it easier to manage.)

Winter had clearly arrived in the valley. Light rain was falling but cold air was drilling through his clothing (he should’ve dressed warmer but he thought it would be a nicer day). It could snow, he thought, even though the forecast didn’t say anything about snow. Forecasts can be wrong, his father used to say, but that was back when he (and Dad) (and weather modelling) were younger. They knew a lot more about weather modelling and forecasting than they did twenty or thirty years ago.

A woman entered the coffee shop. Recognition flashing through him, he stared, unable to stop himself. She glanced his way but kept going toward a table. She looked just like Ilya. He’d worked with Ilya down in California in a past life. It’d been, what, ten years?

Wow, ten years. They’d been in relationships, so they hadn’t dated. It clearly wasn’t Ilya (because the woman didn’t recognize him) (and she was too young) but everything from the strange, fuzzy auburn hair to the athletic (but hippy) figure to her height, weight, the way she carried herself…wow, it was Ilya down to every detail.

The woman glanced his way (probably because she felt his stare’s weight).

He looked away (because he thought it rude to stare at others) (and only did that when he was drinking heavy, which he no longer did). Yet, he couldn’t help but look at her again when her back was turned. Walking across the coffee shop to the counter, it was just like watching Ilya.

His cappuccino finished and his stomach rumbling, he decided to venture into the day to find food. Passing the woman as she left the counter to go back to her table, he said with a small smile, “I’m sorry that I was staring at you.” They stopped, she with a leery glance. He said, “You just look exactly like a woman I know, except you’re about twenty years younger. But you could be her daughter.”

That would be wild, he thought, and laughed to himself. Then, he said impulsively, “You’re not Ilya’s daughter, are you?” He guffawed at his silly joke.

Her eyes widened. “No, but Ilya is my name.”

“No way. Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. It’s just…wow. Well, you look just like my friend, Ilya. You could be her clone.”

Ilya smiled at him. “Maybe I am.”

Was it him or was something happening with them? “Are you in a relationship, Ilya?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Let me give you my number. Maybe we could get coffee.”

“I’d like that,” he answered. “I’ll give you my number, too.”

“Okay, I’d like that, too.”

Outside, afterward, he couldn’t help grinning up at the sky as flurries swirled around his head. Looks like the forecast had changed. Then, although it felt like the temperature had dropped, he took his time as he walked up the sidewalk, smiling at himself, recognizing, something had changed.

Whatever it was felt really good.

 

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