She would have been called a troubled teenager. Drinking too much, dropping out of school, becoming pregnant, marrying before she was seventeen, her life had taken turns that we didn’t expect from such an intelligent and charming person.
Two divorces, two children, and forty-five years later, she acquired her GED, graduated college with a B.S., runs a family business, is a grandmother of three, and is also a professional. She’s the one we turn to for help. She’s strong, stable, and reliable, the person we thought she would be before she became a troubled teen.
These seem like a sequence of scenes from one long but fragmented dream.
I began with two young people, twentyish, male and female. Seated at a long folding table in a smallish room, definitely a temporary set up, the kind encountered at conventions and conferences for registration, they were going through papers I’d provided them about my visions, values, and dreams. Pens in hands, talking — and sometimes snickering — they made checkmarks and wrote notes. They seemed to be evaluating the for entrance somewhere, part of a process that I expected. I was the only one in there. I had other places to go and things to do.
A mother with her young children entered from a back door. Setting down a model of a dragon, she complained to me about the assignment’s difficulty. I loved her dragon, though, praising it for its blue and purple colors, telling her that she’d done a great job. As she departed, another mother — who turned out to be one of my younger sisters, G — entered with several children, She also had a dragon model, green and blue, and complained about the assignment’s level of difficulty. I complimented her on the model and her skill and imagination. As she was unmoved, I gave a pep talk, telling her that it was a stretch assignment to unleash her potential because I knew how creative, imaginative, and intelligent she was.
Next, I was out the door, walking with my wife, heading toward some sort of gathering. We were walking on a large asphalt area and our destination was a long way off. Scattered knots and small groups of other people were seen making their way, too. I roughly knew the way and told my wife that we needed to hurry. A coal-skinned squat man, very broad, walking with a cane, approached with a wide grin. Wearing a pork pie hat, he was dressed in black pants and coat, a green vest, and a white tee shirt, and was several inches shorter than me.
He asked if we were going to the event. I replied yes and he told me that he knew shortcuts which he would show us. That sounded fine. he took us on a diagonal course. My wife and I struggled to keep up with him. We had to go over a fence which was about knee high. Our guide went without problem, leaving me to wonder how he’d done it as I slowed, hopped the fence, and caught my pants cuff. As I finally freed myself, I saw a chain across an entry which was lower and realized he must have used that.
Another dream flash took over. I needed to change clothes. Uncertain about what to where, I had a wide selection of choices hanging on hangers on racks available. I tried and removed several. Everything looked good on me but was worried about being dressed not just for the event, where I was being honored, but also the weather. My wife joined me to hurry me along.
I moved into another dream segment. I was in a busy room. People filled tiers of desks and tables. Many consulted one another or spoke on phones.
I was standing toward the center. I realized that I knew something which they didn’t and began trying to explain. A large projection of a Google map sprawled across the room’s front. Taking an air mouse, I began scrolling up the map, telling everyone that what they needed was further north. The mouse and scrolling proved sensitive and difficult to manage. I kept scrolling up too far and then overcorrecting. People stopped paying attention as I worked the map and tried to find the place I wanted. I knew that it was far up north. I saw the Arctic Circle and told myself, it’s not that far, but then I saw an entire new land projected.
As I took in mountains, rivers, seas, and lakes, astonishment filled me. How did I never know about that area? I thought, too, it must be freezing cold up there, given how cold it could become in the northern continental United States. These places I was seeing were hundreds, maybe thousands of miles further north. But using the mouse, I found I could click on places and revealed information such as latitude and longitude. Displayed in negative numbers, they didn’t make sense. I began to guess that they were imaginary numbers, and thought, maybe it’s an imaginary land. Clicking more, I discovered the temperatures. Some said 20, 25, 30, and then I realized that these temperatures in Centigrade. They were warm places.
Wasn’t sure what to call this dream but the sister aspect spoke to me more in reflection.
First, it was me as a younger man with a car I once owned, a silver 1985 Mazda RX-7 SE that I bought used in California in 1991. I had parked it at a familiar convenience store in West Virginia, where I was visiting. Dream perspective changed: I looked at the parking lot with the car parked and me walking away from it, toward the store, as it could be viewed from the store’s security camera.
Another car drove up and parked on top of my car. This car was an old maroon Datsun sedan. Beater was an apt description. A young woman drove with another young woman as passenger. Both were white. They were laughing, laughing at her parking effort, laughing at being on top of my car, laughing at wrecking my car.
I stormed over there and shouted at her in my coldest, angriest voice. I told her that I owned her. I would see her in jail. Contempt crackled through every syllable. The driver sat in the car, holding the steering wheel, and crying. Her friend tried to talk me into being more compassionate, but I remained relentless. I called the police.
Scene change. I was driving the same car. A young white man drove an old white car into the side of my car.
I was livid and incredulous, thinking, the same car has been hit twice. I stalked to the offending white car, yelling at the driver. My brother-in-law showed up. He told me he’d take care of it because the driver was his son.
I was stunned. That was his son? I didn’t recognize him. My BIL went on, “Your sister just inherited some money. It should cover the damage. I’ll sign the check over to you.” He took out yellowed parchment paper and showed me the check. It was for $950. “Will that cover it?” he asked. Yes, I replied.
My BIL signed the check and then used scissor and cut it away from the rest of the document. As this happened, I wondered, who die? Who did my sister inherit this from? I saw that the document was an itemized list of household objects in large letters.
I took the check and began crying. I stood in my dream crying my eyes out. Then I decided to go see my sister.
I found my sister at home. She told me she needed a ride to get somewhere. I told her that I would give her the ride. I took her someplace. A party seemed to be going on. After dropping her off, I returned home. I awoke later in a panic because I thought I’d overslept and needed to pick up my sister and bring her home. As I rushed about, scrambling to leave, another sister asked where I was going. I told her I was going to pick up S. She replied, “She’s already home. Someone else gave her a ride.” I went to find my sister and confirm she was there. On the way, I stopped and peed in the bathroom. Then I looked in a bedroom and saw my sister asleep in a bed.
I enjoy watching “Would I Lie to You?” Hosted by Rob Brydon, Lee Mack and David Mitchell lead two teams. Two guest celebrities appear on each team every show, people like Bob Mortimer (who shares hilarious tales), Jo Brandt, Richard Osmen, and Greg Davis. The team members then tell a story about something that happened to them. The other team then guesses whether it’s a lie or true. Points are awarded. Yes, it’s British. My favorite episode involved Germane Greer and cannibalism. I love how the panels and Rob really get into the premise.
I stream it on Britbox via Amazon. I’ve watched many episodes more than once, tests to see how well my memory works as I try to recall if they’re lying or telling the truth. I’m usually wrong. I don’t think that bodes well for me doing my taxes in the future.
Whenever I watch the show, I think, what tales could I share? I’ve come up with one. First, the opening statement. That’s what’s used to launch the premise and cross-examination.
I once passed out three times trying to give blood just so I could have a doughnut.
They would ask the usual questions. When did this happen? Where? How old were you?
I’d answer, “I was in my early twenties, working at a bank in Pittsburgh, PA. The American Red Cross was having a blood drive in the lobby. If you give blood, you’re given a free doughnut. I really wanted a doughnut, so I took my place in line. Then, well, as I approached, I fainted.”
For some reason, as I write this, I imagine it being spoken in David Mitchell’s voice.
You fainted, will be repeated. I’ll nod, affirming that’s what happened.
Then?
“They put me on one of the little beds they had set up and gave me some orange juice. I returned to my desk, but I really wanted a doughnut. I got back in line and fainted again.”
They would ask me, “Was this your first time giving blood? Have you ever fainted before? Do you have a history of fainting?”
It was my first time giving blood. I’d never fainted before.
The ARC again put me on one of their little beds with orange juice. After I felt better, I returned to my desk. But…
I really wanted a doughnut.
I returned to the line, worked my way forward, and fainted again.
“A third time,” people exclaim. “Boy, you really wanted that doughnut.”
“Well, it was free,” I reply, “and I like doughnuts.”
“What kind of doughnuts were they? Were they special doughnuts?”
“Glazed.”
“Were you hurt whenever you fainted?” They would ask. “When you say, fainted, do you mean that — what do you mean?” (Lee Mack is questioning me; I hear his voice.)
“I swooned,” I answer. “My vision grew dim, my legs grew weak and then buckled, I lost consciousness, and found myself being helped off the floor.”
“How long were you out?” Lee asks.
“Not long, a few seconds, maybe ten seconds, I guess.”
“Did you ever get a doughnut?”
“No.”
Rob asks, “Well, Lee, it’s time to decide if he’s telling a lie or telling the truth.”
He’s lying, they agree. Nobody would get in line three times just for a doughnut. Or the ARC would give him a doughnut after the second time, to reward him for his efforts.
“It is a lie,” I tell them when the time comes. “The truth is, it wasn’t me; it was my sister.”
This dream held so many elements. They happened in parallel but I broke them out to think about each nugget.
I was preparing to travel and return home. I was visiting Mom and other my sisters in the east. Throughout, I was trying to determine what time I needed to leave. I was driving and flying. As I thought about when I was leaving, I thought in terms of minutes and had a stack of dimes. Each dime represented one minute. Did I have enough dimes? Stacking them, I had more than enough.
My youngest sister (often referred to as my ‘littlest’ century, though she’s been alive for over half a century and have two sons in their teens) and her friend were missing. They’d gone on a walk. A storm was coming in and hours had gone by. As time passed and our worries increased, I tried calling her on her phone and sending her text messages. By the end, the messages were, “Call when you get this. We’re worried.”
I’d bought land on top of cliffs. Located on the coast, growing ocean waves were pummeling it. I was thinking about building a seawall on top of it to protect it. I had a view out my window of the cliffs and the waves, which were about a half mile away.
My car was located in a parking garage with others’ cars. At one point, heavy machinery came by and started tearing the parking structure down. Accosting the foreman, I said with some outrage, “My car is parked in that structure in a lower level, along with others.” The others had come out and were nodding and agreeing. The foreman mocked and laughed us while talking about how strong the structure was, that nothing would happen to our cars on the lower decks, but he stopped further activity and walked off looking concerned.
Mom kept finding clothing and items left behind from other visits, such as a gray leather wallet, a black belt, and a pale gray sports coat. The coat was so pale, it was almost white. As I collected these things, I was trying to fit them into my luggage. Remembering the jacket, I decided that I would wear it on my travels home. The gray wallet was in excellent shape, but was empty. I knew it was mine, however, recalling when I bought it in Korea.
A high school friend was present. He kept making suggestions about things to do. When he came up with something, he wrote it down and dated it so it’d be documented when he’d came up with the ideas, so he’d get credit. One of the ideas he’d come up with was building a sea wall on the cliff. I’d already come up with that idea, I explained to him, but it slide off like soft butter on a hotter knife. I started writing things down, too, backdating some of them, so I had proof that I’d thought of them first.
As I packed, I kept trying to decide where to put things and what I wanted to have on me while traveling. While I did that, I found that I had three wallets. How’d I get three wallets? What should I do with them? Having three amused me but I wasn’t surprised.
I dreamed I was to deliver four pies to people living in the woods. A young person was assisting me. I don’t know what flavors the pies were, but part of it was that I heat the pies and cut each into six equal slices, and then deliver them. The entire time that this is going on, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is playing. I don’t know the source of that.
Being a dream where things don’t always make sense, the pies were in a car, a light blue little machine of unknown name. Also in a car was a young white child. The child was a threat, others told me; don’t let him bite you, and don’t let him out of the car.
But I also heat the pies in the car, and could see them through two large side glass windows. I’d already cut them before heating them. Now they were ready.
My young assistant and I slide the windows down preparatory to opening the doors to get the pies. Here comes the kid! Oh, no! I was talking to him in a soothing voice, asking him if he’d like a piece of pie. He rushed forward. “He’s going to bite us,” my young assistant yelled. “Put the windows up,” I shouted. We slid them up.
Round two. “This is ridiculous,” I said, laughing. “Let’s try again.” We reheated the pies. How? I don’t know. It’s something I said in the dream, then waited for seconds, if that, and they were done. We slid down the windows. I talked to the child as I did. The child stayed back. We opened the doors and started taking out the pies. The child rushed us. We returned the pies, closed the doors, and shut the windows before he could reach us.
Others were concerned; that’d been close. He almost reached us. “Third times a charm,” I announced. “Let’s try again.” All progressed as before. We were able to get the pies out. I gave the child in the car a piece of pie. I think that was southern pecan. He sat down and started eating.
Success achieved.
Bonus dream: I was with my youngest sister, L. We were in her car, a blue Mustang convertible. The car was about ten years old. She was driving and I was a passenger. We’d stopped for her to talk with a friend. In the course of that, I got out to stretch my legs and was standing a few feet behind the car. The passenger door was open. My sister announced to the other that she was going to back the car up. I called out to her, warning her that her door was open, that she was going to remove the door.
She ignored me or didn’t hear…whatever, she backed the car up. The open door hit a brick wall and was torn away. Reacting with horrified dismay, she stopped the car. As I told her that I’d been telling her about the open door, we hurried to assess the damage. I expected the door to be gone but instead, the top layer of paint had been peeled off like it was molded part that fit over it, leaving the door intact — and still attached to the car — but a flat black color.
As I tried to understand how that had transpired while sympathizing with my sister, she mentioned that it bugged her because she was going to get a new car, and now her trade-in value would be lower. The whole thing left me subdued, wondering what’d happening, how it happening, and at her muted reaction.
The dream ended.
I could go on with the other dreams — oh, what a night — but those two were the prominent ones.
Another night of crazy dreams. In many scenes, I was engaged in traversing muddy water. Sometimes I was in a car, other times I was swimming, but there were times when I was also walking. The water was consistently muddy, but was creeks, rivers, or floods. Past the water, the dream settings varied from streets to fields, but were mostly streets. I never felt threatened or disturbed, although I sometimes became lost and had to backtrack. My attitude was more of, “Oh, here I go again, well, let’s get this done with.” In fact, I seemed buoyant. (Yeah, sorry for that word choice. Clearly I’m not, right?)
I was mostly alone during these scenes. My youngest sister showed up twice, a cousin showed up once, and friends showed up a few times. Between coping with the fast-moving and often rising water, I would do other things: eat, buy a new car, look at a new house, and visit with people, talking about their jobs or their love lives. A strange mix. If you take the position that everyone and everything in the dream represents some aspect of me, then me mind was trying to address everything! After yesterday’s events in Washington, D.C., it’s not really a surprising flow of dreams. The water is muddy and it’s rising, but I’m okay, I’m telling myself.
Hope the rest of you are okay, too, though I have my doubts about the people invested in the Trump reality. They don’t seem okay.
To begin in the dream, my older sister and I were in a walk-in closet. No reason ever became clear as to why we were there. She was chattering, as she’ll sometimes do, which irritated me. A song was playing. The song was muffled, as though it was being heard through walls. I knew the song but I couldn’t place it because of her chattering.
Then I was in a car, driving. My car was fourth in line. We were on a street with a double-yellow line. The three cars ahead of me were on the left side — the wrong side — of the road. I didn’t know why. They were going very slowly. The road was in excellent shape but the fact that we were on road’s wrong side annoyed me. No signs were visible to account for that. I wanted to change over to the right side but not knowing why they were on the left side – what did they know? – kept me behind them, following. I was hugely irked.
Music played then, something about going straight. Then the song, “Amber” by 311 played. I thought amber is all about warning, as in amber flashing lights. “Amber” didn’t end, but “Forty Days and Forty Nights” began. That song, covered by Steppenwolf, was what I’d heard in the closet with my sister.
It was still streaming in my head when I awoke, so here it is, today’s theme music, the Muddy Waters classic as Steppenwolf did it in 1970. Enjoy a little bluesy rock.
Don’t know why I’m streaming today’s music. Are you surprised? Shocked, I am, totally shocked.
Anyway, today’s theme music was a pop hit that came to be part of my life music stream via my sister. I was nine when this song was a hit. Two years older, my sister was a popster and a big fan of the forty-fives. The Dave Clark Five were a Brit invasion pop group. Sis loved them. No surprise, then, that their 1965 hit “Over and Over”, has escaped my brain’s shields and entered my stream.
What’s perhaps more surprising is how little I hear this song on the radio. After remembering it, I looked the group up on that Internet. There, through Wikipedia, I discovered the Dave Clark Five had a run of hits, disbanded in 1970, and were inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame in 2008.
Love the video’s dancing display. Ah, those were the days, hey?
Michael Seidel, writer 