A Dream Hodgepodge
This dream had quite a jumbled collection.
It starts with me returning. I was off to the military; now I was back. People had been staying in my place while I was away, but that was done with my permission. Things were a little out of hand because they’d treated it like a party crib. I had a stern conversation with them; yes, they were welcome to stay there. Sure, it was okay to have people over, but they’d start trashing things, and that wasn’t appreciated. They were very understanding in return.
Then I was tidying. I had shelves of old electronics, mostly stereos, cassette and 8-track tape players, CD players, and VHS players. The dust on some were thick. As I resettled back into life, I exclaimed to myself, “Man, I have a lot of gear here. How the hell did I get it all?”
A young boy came up. He didn’t pay any attention to me. He seemed to be looking for something so I asked, “What’s up?”
The boy answered, “I’m looking for a music player for my friend. He wants one for his bicycle.”
I said, “I think I can help him.” I pulled out a small black box and dusted it off. “This has a radio and tape player. It’s small and he can mount it on his handlebars.” I looked more closely at the black box. “It also has record player on it so I don’t know if he would want it.”
“That’s okay,” the boy said. Taking it, he went away.
In a weird dream shift, my place was both outside and inside. I worried about my cats. I had two, and they were a plush gray with golden eyes. Both were young. I looked around for them. They were busy investigating things just outside and playing. When I called their names, they hastened to me, which mitigated my worries.
Then, I worried about my schedule. I needed to call and find out where and when I needed to be for work. Going through my cluttered place, I picked up the phone and dialed 633 while going to my desk to find what the final four numbers were. A woman answered the phone, “Operator intersect.”
I laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t expect that,” I said. “What’s an operator intersect?”
The operator explained, “The call is diverted to the operator whenever the call is not completed but the line is open in case someone has an emergency but can’t finish dialing.”
I answered, “Sorry, I just don’t know where I’m calling. My bad.”
Next, I thought, oh, I should call Mom. So I did. Answering before a ring finished, she said, “About time.” No hello or anything else.
Irritation jumped through me. “Wait, are you pissed because I didn’t immediately call you when I got home? Is that what’s going on here?” She did not answer. I said, “You’re being childish. I’m going to count down from five. If you don’t start talking before I’m done with the countdown, I’m hanging up. Understand?”
No answer.
I began the countdown. When I said, “Three,” I went on, “Oh, forget this. This is stupid. You’re an adult, Mom, and you’re behaving like a child.”
Then I hung up on my mother.
Dream end.
Saturda’s Wandering Thoughts
I’m addicted to people watching. People fascinate me. The way they move, talk, walk. Too often I only know their surface. So, I love it when they share me.
Today, one of my favorite baristas informed me that Monday is her final day. That surprised me; she’s been here for a while and went through the training to become a Starbucks manager. Now she’s moving on to the Medford Police Department as a community liaison officer.
Since she engaged me and made the revelation, I pecked at her with questions. She willingly volunteered that her family is part of the law enforcement community. Mom is a homicide detective with twenty-seven years of experience. Dad is the chief of police. Like, wow. Her ultimate goal is to be a forensic psychology. She’s in a master’s program to that end, although it is an online course. She ultimately wants to help people traumatized by crime and testify as an expert witness.
I’ll miss her, yes, but it’s wonderful to learn more about people and witness them reaching for their dreams.
The House Dream
I dreamed my wife and I were setting up a business. But we needed a place for that. Someone overheard us and said that they have such a place available: their house.
So, we, with the couple who owned their house and several of their friends, went to the people’s house. My wife and I walked around it. Beautiful place. Several levels. Large, off-white, a modern design, resembling something Frank Lloyd Wright may have designed in the way it used light, space, and materials, it was well-appointed with expensive furniture, appliances, and paintings.
My wife and I were impressed. The owners showed us a central rectangular room where they’d set up a small factory. My wife and I agreed, “This would be perfect for us.” Yes, others agreed. The way they said it cause some suspicions. Realizing that, the others tried reassuring me. My suspicions remained but I inquired about buying the house. It was agreed that we could buy it right then and move in.
The original owners had another house on their property. We were now neighbors. People had to go through our property on foot to reach the other house. My wife and I invited friends over for a small gathering. Our cat was with us, exploring the new home and giving its approval. We sat with our friends in the living room, talking, having drinks.
A man burst in through a door. Large, middle-aged, he was armed with several knives. He was also drunk. I grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his side. Then I wrangled him onto a sofa and shouted to my wife to grab the knives while I held him. She came over but did nothing. I repeated what I’d told her but she barely responded. Finally, exasperation seizing me, I held the man’s wrists and pried the knives way.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked my wife. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
She moved away and sat. It seemed like she was in shock.
I held onto the man’s shoulders and told him, “Don’t even think about running away.” Drunkenly grinning, he agreed. I told others to call the police.
The man looked familiar. A friend said, “Don’t you recognize him?”
I asked the man, “What’s your name?”
He said it, and my friend said, “He was an NFL quarterback.” I asked for confirmation. Beaming, the drunk guy replied, “That’s me.” Then he jumped up and ran out of the house. I started giving chase but stopped, thinking, WTF?
A large number of people were outside, moving like ants toward the other house. They were expensively dressed. I asked one, “What’s going on?” She explained that they were all invited to a party.
They were a quiet crowd. I guess several hundred were there. I organized them into a line along the path, although I don’t know why I did that. The bottleneck was the front door of the other house.
Dream end.
Sunda’s Theme Music
Another Sunda has come upon us, and it’s landed on 3/9/2025. We set our clocks ahead today in most of the continental U.S., part of our human struggle to make the best use of time and light and be productive. Arguments abound about the productivity of changing time and I’m not going there. It’s 48 F in Ashland, mostly sunny. A soft zephyr hisses around trees. Thin clouds skirt the area and sunshine peeks through, giving us a springy winter pastiche.
I don’t know why one song dominates the morning mental music stream. The Neurons have shuffled a 1983 Michael Jackson song in. “Human Nature” is a soft pop ballad written by Steve Porcaro…originally Porcaro had success with a band called “Toto” that he helped found. Meanwhile, he played keyboards or synthesizers on Michael Jackson songs. The Toto song, “Rosanna”, was said to be based on Porcaro’s girlfriend for a while, Rosanna Arquette, which was denied and then acknowledged. Porcaro played on so many albums with other artists in the late 1970s through the 1980s, if you listened to pop and rock during that period, you were exposed time and again.
Michael Jackson, of course, was the King of Pop for a long reign. This song was from the Thriller album, which was the #1 album for 37 weeks. “Human Nature” was one of seven hit songs from the album, with all of those songs reaching the top 10. The biggest hits from that album would be “Billie Jean”, “Beat It”, and “Thriller”. With all of those songs on that album, the album became the best-selling album of all time, selling over 70 million copies. Staggering.
Meanwhile, “Human Nature” was written originally by Steve Porcaro. Quincy Jones was producing Thriller. He heard a demo of “Human Nature” and liked the sound but he had the lyrics re-written by John Bettis, a songwriter who wrote over 1600 songs for pop and country music performers. His songs and music was often featured in hit films of that era, like Cocktail, Say Anything, Vision Quest, Curly Sue, and a whole chunk more. What a business it all is.
The chorus of “Human Nature” is well-known:
If they say why (why?), why (why?)
Tell them that it’s human nature
Why (why?), why (why?), does he do me that way?
If they say why (why?), why (why?)
Tell them that it’s human nature
Why (why?), why (why?), does he do me that way?
h/t to AZLyrics.com
That phrase, “tell them that it’s human nature,” is often used to explain the unexplainable about people’s actions.
Coffee has overtaken me again. Hope you have a most excellent Sunda to repurpose an old phrase. Here we go. Cheers
Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts
I watched a woman enter the coffee shop. She’s familiar to me as a semi-regular. Like me, in her late sixties, I think, she walks with direct, no-nonsense style. Her hair is short but neat, and her clothing matches that no-nonsense, low maintenance image. I wonder if that’s how she is — no nonsense, direct, practical. Or is this a facade? Does she walk like that because that’s how she wants to be, and not how she is?
Fun to imagine such a character like that. Reminds me of friends I’ve had. Intelligent and capable in one arena, they were disasters in other areas of their life. Yet others were methodical, practical, and organized in all facets of life.
Memory of a co-worker’s comment to me once springs up: “Your level of organization must drive your wife nuts.” They said that while I was organizing software packages.
No, my wife has never commented on it. But when I put something away, I can tell you exactly where it is. Which, as I think about it, is exactly like both Mom and Dad.
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
I witnessed a coffee house conversation that threatened to escalate into violence.
It was a mildly busy day as people gathered and socialized with pleasant autumn weather outside. Many were bent over phones, laptops, or notebooks.
One table hosted an octet of chatting women not far from me. Their age hovered around my own, which is to say sixty to seventy-five years young. They were mostly laughing and talking about books. Somehow their conversation rolled into the important question everyone wants to know, “How much paste should you put on your toothbrush?”
I haven’t read any books on the subject, and I didn’t study it in school, but I agreed with one brunette woman. She said, “Oh, I read that you just need a dab. Especially with an electric toothbrush.”
“No, no, no,” a red-haired woman erupted. “That is wrong. You need to cover the bristles from end to end with paste.”
Coffee shop conversations dropped off a cliff. Focus went to the table of women.
Other women at the table started disagreeing with paste woman. You’d think they were assaulting her grand toddler from her reaction. Voice rising into a screech, she declared, “No! No!” It was like she was channeling Khruschev addressing the United Nations. “The paste must be on all of the bristles! Anything else is wrong!”
I expected a duel to erupt. Pistols at twenty feet on the sunlit sidewalk outside.
Maybe she’d had too much caffeine. Maybe she didn’t have enough. The other women, wide-eyed with alarm, were backing down fast, trying to placate the redhead before she whipped out a sword to defend her toothpaste position.
Thank God they weren’t discussing politics.
Michael Seidel, writer 