Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

Among the many differences between him and his wife were how the butter knives were put in the dishwasher. She always put the He figured that since the dishwasher utensil basket’s design dictated that the spoons and forks had to go in handle down, putting the knives’ handles down made sense. All handles down. Uniform, standardized, and probably the ay to get them clean, since that’s how it was set up for the other utensils to be cleaned.

She always put the butter knives in with the handles up. He pointed out his reasoning. She responded, “It doesn’t matter.”

Probably didn’t, but he remained mildly annoyed.

Just mildly.

The Cheating Dream

What a dream, I’m telling you. Began with my wife and I on a spiritual pilgrimage. We stopped at a small place that seemed to be built inside a cave. They were studying odd phenomena. Included were a series of three holes in the cave’s walls. The holes were square. They didn’t know how they got there. People studied them to see if they were changing or static. My wife suggested I should study them because she thought me good at analyzing things. At the group’s insistence, I gave it a shot.

The holes were very dusty. When I looked into them, I could see that they slanted down and to the left. They seemed to have a flap door on the right side which could cover them. That was part of the controversy. Discussions were revolving whether those flap had always been there, and if the holes were now dustier than they used to be.

I’d glanced at each of the holes when I approached them, then went to the first one on the left. The group provided me sketches which the group had made, so I could look for differences. The first two were examined and no changes were seen. But I immediately saw changes on the third hole, on the right. I pointed it out in excitement, asking a member of the group if he saw the change. This hole was also lit from below. I was intensely interested in climbing into the hole and going down into it, but was also afraid of what was there. I kept leaning in, listening while watching for differences.

My wife had been behind me to my left while this was going on. Now she said, “I’m going to look around. Remember that we need to make a decision before 8:30, and then we’ll go.” Then she walked off.

I kept studying the hole. Suddenly I realized that it was 3 AM. Time had flown past. I was alone. I asked, “Where is my wife?” I walked around looking for her, complaining to myself but aloud, “We were supposed to make a decision hours ago, and leave. Where did she go?”

Opening a door, I discovered my wife in bed with a young white man with short blonde hair. He was very skinny, no one I know from real life.

When the door opened, they separated. Realizing it was me, the man was whimpering and trying to get out of bed and run.

He fell onto the floor. I stormed across the room and grabbed him by his head. He screamed and started crying. A small, round, white table was beside the bed. I prepared to slam his head against the table.

I stopped myself as I bent to do it. He was part of this but what would hurting or killing him do? I paused, thinking about that.

My wife grabbed my arm. “Michael, stop. Please don’t hurt him.”

I turned my head toward her and snapped, “Don’t touch me.”

She pulled her head away and stepped back. I let go of the man and turned toward her. “You did this,” I said. “You started this.”

Dream end.

It took me over an hour to go back to sleep.

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

Mom was always home, the location which held his heart. Though she moved several times since he left home when he was fifteen and ended up living with his father, just returned from military service in Germany.

Keeping up with Mom was a challenge. New locations, new husbands, boyfriends, new jobs. She went back to school, got her GED. It’d been her secret that she hadn’t graduated high school. Then, nursing school, and the nursing profession, which she loved. By then she was in her late forties. She finally gained the independence sought, and bought a home for herself.

Keeping up for many years was cards, letters, phone calls. He only heard from her on holidays and birthdays. He initiated all else. Then email became popular. Now it’s text messages. Through it all she was the same but changed.

As was he.

Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

He was hot. She was, she said, “Freezing.”

This wasn’t new.

But her fingers were white and waxy, like bloodless white candles. Their appearance stunned him into silence. She said they ached.

He merely sweated. So it was not the same thing. For her, it was pain. For him, it was comfort.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Spring showers slap Ashlandia. Sunshine forfeits the day to rain and clouds. Though it’s mid-morning, lights are turned on. A train’s horn haunts the quiet wet streets as a train glides through town on its metal path. It’s Tuesday, May 2, 2023. 47 degrees F now, the mid fifties is possible, the weather wranglers tell me.

Rain doesn’t please the cats. Tucker wanders, singing for sunshine to return. Papi showers me, questioning noises, alerting when he sees another cat walking toward him. “Hark! Who goes there?” Papi challenges. Tucker issues a lazy glance. Papi mutters, “Oh, it’s you,” and scurries off.

Today’s theme music comes from Jill Dennison’s post about a Chicago song called “You’re the Inspiration”. Hearing it reminded Der Neurons of another Chicago song. Maybe because it’s May. My wife and I went to the same high school. She was a year behind me. In May of her senior year, 1975, I was in the military and we were engaged. She was our school’s May Queen that year. Stationed just a few hundred miles from her, I came ‘back home’ for the event. One of the first slow dances we shared together was to a song called “Colour My World” by Chicago from 1970. Hearing it, I can smell and feel her. Then she asks, “What are you doing? Are you sniffing me?”

“Yes, I was sniffing you,” I reply with a sarcastic snort. “You’re so full of yourself. Why would I be sniffing you?”

“Why are you sniffing me?” she answers. “Do I need a bath?”

We’re still together despite lots of turbulence. I think we’re just too damn obstinate to walk away, although we’ve tried twice.

Coffee’s rich smell is calling from the other run. Stay pos and own the day. I’m just renting it, myself. Here’s the music. “Make Me Smile” is included in the video. Cheers

Monday’s Wandering Thought

He always bought her earrings when he traveled. He thought she would like some dangling seaglass ones with a smalls silver hoop. Arriving home, he carefully added it to the collection. Someday he’d meet her, and he’d watch her eyes when he gave her the earrings.

He was certain she’d have beautiful eyes.

Friday’s Wandering Thought

He ended up eavesdropping again. One young woman was speaking with another. God and religion were her primary topics. Then she spoke about her boyfriend for a long time.

What drew his attention was the realization that she was crying. She said, “I love him. I know people think I’m stupid. I’m trying really hard. I think we can work it out.”

It’s a trope as old as humanity.

Three Dream Shorts

Three dreams recalled from last night.

Bottle of whiskey.

The stone-lined path.


Bottle of whiskey. I was with dreams friends — folks known in a dream but not in RL. My dream wife was with me, and we were visiting in one of their homes. It was the collection point, for we were going out to dinner and then have some drinks and fun somewhere. It was a small group, just six or seven people, and the place where we met was a tidy but small, modern apartment.

We were sitting around a table with a white cloth covering it. The host entered. Opening a package, he said, “I got this in the mail today. It’s a prize I won.” He unboxed a crystal bottle of whiskey.

All were impressed. He poured his each a tumbler of his prize for us to sample. I drank mine and thought was amazing. So smooth, and slightly sweet. He offered more, which I accepted. Then, time to go. We walked down to a restaurant with my buddy taking his prize whiskey along. When he reached the restaurant, he poured other fluid into his whiskey bottle, appalling me. I wanted no more after that. Then, the, the bottle changed, with the bottle’s bottom growing rounder, until it would no longer stand upright, but tipped over. After the bottle was straightened three times, it fell over and broke.

The end.

The stone-lined path. I was out with my father, who was with others. I saw him and decided I wanted to avoid him. I could do this because we were outside, under an Interstate bridge. Huge pylons were holding it up. I kept hiding behind them.

Dad was busy doing something. Curiosity bettering me, I craned out to see. He had made a three-foot wide path in the dirt. Now he was lining it with rocks which he found. Seeing me, he called out, “Come help me, Michael. You’ll be good at this.” I went and began helping him lay the stones. While I was doing that, he took me and held me close to him. I felt embarrassed. He said, “I know that you avoid me but I want you to know how much I love you and how proud you make me feel.”

Dream end.


My wife and I were living in a small and cluttered apartment. We delivered a disagreement about how things should be arranged, so I said, I’m going to live in another place.

I left and went down a broad staircase, looking for another place. Women began approaching me, appealing to me to have sex. Some became very aggressive, shoving themselves against me, grabbing me, or passionately trying to kiss me. I kept telling them, “No, this is not going to happen.” They would give up and others would show up.

I went back up to my apartment with my wife. She was happily going about, doing something, dressed in her sweat clothes. I remained irritated with her and asked why she was acting as she was. She didn’t answer, so I left in exasperation. Another woman, in a white sundress with auburn curls highlighted blonde, told me that she wanted to take my clothes off and suggested with go back to her place. I told her, “No. Just leave me alone.”

Dream end

The Communication

She and her hubby used to use “143” on the pager to say “I love you” as many people did. The numbers relate to the number of letters in the three words and had been around for over a century, from when a lighthouse in the Boston area of the US used the sequence for its light in the late 1800s.

She had not thought of the number for years after her spouse passed away in 2015. But then a friend called and said, “I’m sending you a photo.”

The photo was of a car odometer. It was reading 143143. The friend related, “I was driving on the highway, looked down and saw that on the odometer. I knew what it meant for you so I wanted to pull over, take a photo and send it to you. But I couldn’t pull over then. I kept going a bit and finally pulled over, sure that it was going to be ruined. I was surprised that it still said 143143. As I snapped the photo, I heard your husband said, ‘Tell her that she’s going to be alright.'”

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