Tag: sisters

The Parents Dream

I dreamed of my mother and father last night. Both are still alive. They ceased being a couple by 1961. Both have gone on to several other marriages and long-term relationships.

I’m not surprised that I dreamed about them. It’s Memorial Day weekend. Mom loves the holidays. If little else often worked out right, the holidays usually did. The food was sensational. Mom’s speciaities above everything else is fried chicken and potato salad. These foods figured prominently in the warm weather holidays of Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. These were always large family affairs featuring picnics or cook-outs.

On the flip side, I only recall one Christmas with Dad. None of the rest. He and I get along pretty well. That’s not the issue. The issue was once he was away, I had to chose between Mom and Dad, and Mom had better food.

Back to the dream. In it, I was an adult. My two sisters who shared Mom and Dad as their biological parents were present, along with Mom and Dad. I was an adult, and Mom and Dad were the standard parents familiar to me from when I was eighteen to when I was sixty. Then they changed, bodies breaking down, in the old people they now are, restricted in their activities, dealing with medical issues, like, all the time.

But in the dream, we five were together as adults. Something had happened, some disaster, that forced us together. The dream didn’t give that info. So Mom and my sisters were moving into the place that I had shared with Dad in the dream, but not in real life. This was a small, wood-paneled dump. Tiny, cramped kitchen with dim lights. Old white refrigerator. Microwave on a fake wood stand. Tiny formica gray and silver table with four chairs. One of the ‘old-fashioned’ answering machines with microtapes.

And there were notes. This was part of some complex, which had a pool and a clubhouse. Dad had a stack of notes. This was familiar to me in the dream but not anything he’d ever done in real life. It was his handwriting, though. These were codes and bank account numbers, phone numbers for different people and organizations. I’d glanced through them on arrival.

In the dream, Mom, walking around in a fake fur coat, said, “Jim, we need the access code. Can you give it to us?”

I took some digs at Mom. I’d seen her snooping; Mom was always and forever a secret, furtive snoop, a trait which my oldest sister developed. After that dream, I saw that connection very clearly. Mom used to do things in secret and tell us children, “Don’t tell anyone.”

So, in the dream, I chuckled and asked Mom, “You didn’t find it when you were snooping around.”

Mom issued the standard warning with her eyes and mouth that said, ‘Quiet, don’t talk about that.’ Dad was his typical tight-lipped and silent individual, dismayed by what transpired around him.

I went on to Mom, “Oh, come on, Mom. We all know how you snoop and I say you doing it while Dad was in the other room.” Then I went on to Dad, “What’s the code, Dad? Is it 03? I saw that written down over there. I also saw 258. Is it one of them?”

Dad eventually revealed the code, which I don’t remember. That’s when the dream fades out on me. But it opened my eyes about my parents as I reviewed the dream later.

3

Dream Repeat: A Running Dream

My dream seasons amuse me. There was a period of episodic adventure dreams that didn’t seem to have me as a character. There are dystopian dreams where I’m part of a cadre of survivors. Military dreams are common in which I arrive at a new assignment and something goes wrong. Then there’s the running dream.

The running dream was had again last night. In them, as in others, I’m running. Yes, that is why it’s called a running dream. This running was being done on a timed closed course full of hills and curves, really like a sports-car or Formula 1 circuit. No purpose was given. All I know is that I arrived to run. My sisters are present to cheer me on. Stripping down to the basics of shoes, trunks, and shirt, I take off on a timed practice run.

I finish and my time is announced. People are astonished by my speed.

But I’m not pleased. I think, I can do better. So I set out again, again, and again. My time improves every time. I’m getting faster and faster. Moreover, I’m noting where I’m slow. Certain curves and hills slow me down. I systematically develop ways to overcome those issues.

Fans are now lining the start/finish line and most of the track. They cheer me on, along with my sisters. My sisters also brag about me. I hear them telling others, “I knew he’d be fast.” Other contestants are dropping out because they don’t think they can beat me. I’m try to encourage them to remain in the race, telling them, it’ll be a good learning experience, and I might not win. They might find more speed in themselves; I might hurt myself. I could fall and fail to finish the race.

But on race day, I’m alone as the sole competitor.

Dream end.

2

Munda’s Theme Music

Mood: Timeflective

G’ mornin’, peeps of the online written word. It’s 2024’s final Monday, December 20, 2024. To celebrate, my other and I will go out for brekkie after she returns from her exercise class. Then we’ll do some groc shopping. Breakfast will be had at Crackin & Stackin in downtown Medford, I think.

It’s 33 F outside. Sunshine and clouds war again. Blue sky wins as the sun prevails. The ground is wet but drying for the moment after a few days of rain on a heavier scale and flooding in other parts of the county. No rain is forecast for the next two days. Today’s high will be 43 F.

I experienced vigorous, positive dreams last night and that’s put me in a solidly upbeat mood. Seeing sunshine reinforced it. Also contributing is that my foot/ankle are happier, and I had a lengthy solid if interesting writing outing yesterday.

Spoke with Mom on the phone last night. Says she’s feelin’ tired. Not surprising. Holidays always sap. Like many, it pushes her out of her comfortable returns. Now at 89, with several major health issues as part of her history, her energy is low, and every day is a new exploration of something in her body contending for attention. Her other, Frank, is doing great, she said. He’ll be 95 next month.

However, one of my younger sisters now has the flu. She is the Trumper who has had COVID three times. Believe she vaccinated before but she reportedly has underlying lung issues. She won’t tell anyone deets so we rumble about what it is. Her husband, a year younger than moi, went through open heart surgery a few years ago and is now dealing with kidney stones.

One of my other younger sister’s boyfriend lost his brother. But 66 years old, the man had a stroke and then a heart attack. Home alone while his wife was away visiting family in another state for the holidays, he was found on the kitchen floor after a day. Rushed to the hospital, he was pronounced dead and was removed from life support. He passed away yesterday morning.

Meanwhile, the boyfriend himself went into the hospital Friday for some scans after he complained about feeling ill and not breathing right. Turns out that he was experiencing congestive heart failure a 56 years old, astonishing us all. He’s 56 and is a regular runner. Those who saw him on Christmas thought he looked healthy and fit. It’s the way of life, I guess.

All that news and subsequent thinking gave permissions to The Neurons to introduce Joni Mitchell into the morning mental music stream (Trademark aging) with “The Circle Game”. A simple song, very poetic.

Coffee downed, here we go, putting another Monday into the books. Have the best you can, right? Don’t know how the next day will change your expectations.

Here’s the music. Cheers

4

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Freshcoffeesion

Oh, it’s Friday. October 25, 2024.

Fall is bracketing our valley. Clouds sprawl across the sky at different altitudes. Several cloud styles are in evidence, and they wear fifty shades of gray and blue. Sunlight finds cracks and rushes down in bold pools of bright light but the air is chilly. 62 with a sullen wind, we expect 72 to define today’s high temperature.

Empty Bowls to raise money for our local food banks is tonight. My wife is busy setting creating the centerpieces for the tables. I used to be involved with it, but she gently moved me aside and replaced me with Barb. Barb just celebrated her 96 birthday, but she loves making centerpieces. It all works out.

I have daughters in my mind today. First my current novel in progress deals with mothers and daughters. And sisters. Those are important and complex aspects of the story told. Second, I have four sisters, and several of them deal with Mom as my proxy. Mom can be challenging and often frustrates my sisters. Frustrates me, too, but my sisters reach out to me to vent.

Third, I have another friend who was talking about her daughter. Her daughter irritates and annoys her; they clash in multiple arenas of thoughts. It surprises me. I know both women. They’re intelligent and good-humored individuals. Yet, they exasperate each other. I struggle to understand how and why that happens. But I’ve witnessed their interactions. Just an oil and water thing.

Thinking of daughters prompted Der Neurons to fire up Pearl Jam’s 1993 song, “Daughter”, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark streaming). It’s a song about a misunderstood child. It’s ending refrain is “The shades go down”, which reinforces the idea that something is going on that is hidden from the rest of us. The song always hooks my thoughts about the things which happen to children.

On that cheery high, I’ll press on to find my way through another day. Coffee has come onboard my effort and will help guide my energies. Stay positive, be strong, and vote blue. Here’s the music video.

Cheers

0

Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: Confloofeed

The world has dropped a Sunday bomb on Ashlandia, emphasis on sun. Little wind stir the heat. We’ll travel from our current relative pleasant found in 69 degrees to the upper eighties. Cooler than yesterday, not as hot as that endured by those under the skillet lid in the eastern U.S. Today is June 23, 2024. Next Sunday will be June’s final day. This means that almost half of 2024 has slipped by the surly calendar.

In bad news, a friend sent me stats on COVID-19, showing that it’s risin’ agin’. He saved me some time. I’d planned to look into it because eight friends reported they had it in June. Their experience was a few days with mild cold symptoms followed by two to three weeks of poor energy of any kind. One reported, she sit down with a book and go right to sleep.

I spent the morning texting with sisters. One is teaching her sixteen-year-old to drive as her newly adult high school grad takes on adulting as he preps for college this fall. She’s going down to Georgia to vacation with our oldest sister tomorrow. Meanwhile, texting me, the older sister tells me she’s had a couple strokes without elaborating on what kind. She’s always had back problems and now there’s stenosis and they want to fuse five of her vertebrae together. She’s also diabetic and has chronic kidney failure, a byproduct of her meds, she tells me.

Then there’s my middle younger sister. She and her family drove down to the Carolina coast yesterday. They’ve rented a beach house with a pool. They’re all hard workers and mo’ def’ deserve and need a vacay. Hope they’re able to relax and chill.

Meanwhile, my mind is floating around calling Dad to get an update on him and calling Mom to get an update on her and pass the update along about Dad. I’m not quite up to that yet. More coffee and some writing, first.

We had a net outage the other night. Actually, two nights in a row. This frequently happens when the heat jumps into the upper nineties. I mean degrees, not years, decade, or period.

With the net out, we read but then I surfed the television offerings. Since I cut the cable back in 2010, we survive on over-the-air digital broadcasts. We receive the big four networks, along with PBS, and the networks’ sub channels. Like NBC is channel 5.1, then there are three other networks broadcasting old shows or documentaries on channels 5.2, 5.3, and 5.4. X-Files, Two and a Half Men, Seinfeld, along with Green Acres and Hogan’s Heros, and several police/hospital/fire department-based dramas from past decades.

Watching Hogan’s Heros and its silliness, my wife and tried remembering what happened to Bob Crane. Was it suicide or murder? Bludgeoned to death, we rather later recalled, and then conneted it. (Yes, conneted is my word for ‘confirmed on the net’.)

My wife follows a tangent, recalling that Naomi Judd ended her own life. It’d shocked her and me; Naomi Judd, a lovely and talented person, seemed to have it all together, resulting in a life of artistic and commercial success. Naomi Judd, though, coped with many mental and physical health issues and decided, enough. Never know what’s happening in another’s skin and what’s passing through minds.

The final piece that evening was a sort of celebration of the Judds’ music, with my wife enthusing about their songs, like “Mama He’s Crazy” and “Girls Night Out”. But the one she particularly relished was “Turn It Loose” from 1988. She played it a few times once the net returned, heavily accenting her favorite lines by loudly singing along to them.

I love the slide of a steel guitar
I love the moan of an old blues harp
I love the shake of a tambourine
I love the bass when it’s low and mean
So put on your shoutin’ shoes
And turn it loose

h/t to Lyrics.com

It may surprise you that The Neurons in my head then loaded it up and sprang it on me this morning in my morning mental music stream (Trademark loose) as I was wandering around the kitchen, just minding my own business. So that’s today’s theme music.

Stay positive, be strong, and make what you can of the day. Needn’t be perfect. Just tryin’ can help. I’ve downed some coffee — the last gulp was cold as stone. Time to go write and roll.

Here’s the music. Cheers

2

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Cuspsized

Fog and a cool 58 F greeted Churchill Valley on Wednesday, May 29, 2024. Today’s high will be lucky to break 66 F. Thunderstorms are possible.

Thunderstorms hit us again last night. I was out at my sister’s house for dinner. My BIL was grilling some serious beef, shrimp, and chicken. The smell of rain lingered in the air. Chonky gray clouds cruised overhead.

Rain broke, soft at first, warning shots, but the serious stuff arrive about an hour later. Weather warnings lit the phones. An hour later, the storm had significantly decayed, but I encountered chunks of it while driving home.

I’m on the cusp of heading home. Flight is early tomorrow morning.

My feelings are on a trampoline of reactions. I look forward to being with my wife and fur buds. I look forward to taking on some adulting needs and getting to work on stalled projects.

But I’ll miss Mom and my sisters and BILs, and all the children. Sharing a time zone with them has been very satisfying.

I feel like the nation, even the world, is also on a cusp. Donald Trump’s criminal trial has reached the jury deliberations stage. Analysts, pundits, lawyers, and relatives are all given opinions about the outcome, and why. And then, regardless of the verdict, what’ll happen? We’re on the cusp of finding out.

We’re on summer’s cusp in the northern latitudes. Violent storms have been striking the U.S. Destruction is rising. Travel is disrupted. So are supply chains. 23 are dead in the U.S. People’s power has been cut off. Is this an aberration or the new climate change norm? We’re on cusp of learning.

Israel attacked Rafah on Sunday. ‘All eyes are on Rafah.’ What will happen there next? I’m not arguing the right of Israel to defend itself, the role of the U.S. and other nations, nor the reasons why Hamas launched their attack last October, triggering this latest season of death and destruction. I’m like many, wondering if we’re on the cusp of a greater conflagration.

While we’re at it, Russia continues its assault on Ukraine, and Ukraine fights back. The deaths mount. More NATO resources might get involved. Are we on the cusp of world war? Could this be the cusp of a long-feared nuclear war?

And we’re on the cusp in the U.S. of finding out how extreme the GOP will be to keep people from voting. We’re on the cusp of finding how much of democracy they’re willing to destroy to keep the voters silenced and stay in power.

Looks like we’re on the cusp of a long, historic summer.

Being on the cusp of so many possibilities incited The Neurons to fill the morning mental music (Trademark almost ready) with “Enter Sandman” by Metallic. I can see The Neurons’ reasoning: this summer could be a nightmare, and that’s what the 1991 sound is all ’bout.

Hey, ho, here we go. Be strong, stay safe, be well, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music video. My coffee tank has already been filled.

Cheers

0

Monday’s Theme Music

Mood: Coffee’dup.

It’s Monday morning on Ma 27, 2024.

Like many on the east coast of the U.S., it’s a wet one here in the Churchill Valley. Blue sky has retreated as gray clouds carpet out most of the sun. 66 degrees F at this point, 79 F might be the temperatures’ upside.

I’m staying in one of the suburban areas east of Pittsburgh. Many parts of the city lost power due to storms this past weekend. We’ve been fortunate, knock wood.

Awoke today feeling little rested after a night of scarcely remembered fractious dreams. One dream piece recalled featured police officers. One turned into a human sized cat. The other cop became a frog and hopped away. I awoke wondering what their names were. I usually remember dreams pretty vividly so not remembering them causes me to ask, “Damn, what’s wrong with me that I’m not remembering my dreams?”

Had a satisfying and comfortable Memorial Day visit with my sister’s family. This is again one of the young sisters. I have three of them, all smart, who always throw open their doors and welcome me to their home and their table. None of them will let me pay for anything, which, while I appreciate, also vexes me. I love them and their families.

Satisfying and delicious food was on the table yesterday, of course. Pasta salad. Calico beans without the bacon. Corn souffle. Rice and cheese with broccoli, meatballs, and hamburgers with or without cheese. Hard to resist my stomach’s urgers to “Eat more, eat more,” even though I was quite full. Desserts included cakes, fruit with angel food cat, and key lime and apple pies. Yeah, we’re a fortunate family in regards of having food and shelter security, and a family that gets along reasonably well.

Mom is doing okay. She was down a bit yesterday, with a cranky overlay. I suspect this came around from getting up early to dress and leave for the cookout. It was starting at 1, so the timing forced her out of her returns and comfort zones.

When I wrote a previous phrase, ‘It’s a wet one,’ Der Neurons pushed “Smooth” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark flooded). “Smooth” is a ’99 collaboration between Carlos Santana and Rob Thomas, and was written by Itaal Shur and Thomas. It’s a smooth rock offering, with strong lyrics, wonderful percussion, and some soaring Santana licks.

Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is already fueling me and sunshine has overcome some of the clouds. Hey, ho, here we go, slinking toward the May’s finish. Here’s the music.

Cheers

0

Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood:

It was a night of interesting dreams.

Now it’s day. May 5, 2024. Rain. 56 F. Sea of clouds. High in the low sixties. A week until Mother’s Day. Jostling about what to do for Mom for Mom’s Day will begin this week.

Mom is doing well. Energy levels seem up. I had to harangue her to do her physical therapy exercises yesterday. Following her obsessive compulsive behavior, she wanted to clean. The day before, it was to clean the kitchen. Yesterday, it was vacuum. I took that over from her after failing to talk her out of it. Wonder what cleaning she’ll insist on today. Bet it’s the laundry. The entire time she’s doing these cleaning tasks, she complains about her back pain and cries out in pain, talks about how hot and tired she feels, and how she needs to sit down. Yet she cleans on. It’s a lifetime of habit and conditioning driving her. Hard to break that.

Little sister L is scheduled to visit. She’s bringing over vegetable soup. It’s good vegetable soup weather. I am looking forward to it.

Meanwhile, I went to little sister G’s house last night, visiting with her gang. Had dinner of turkey meat loaf with mashed potatoes and roasted carrots with onions. All so delicious. Dessert was then bakery three berry pie, also excellent. Her hubby bought some excellent beer and I two of those. We watched the Derby, an exciting race with a surprising outcome.

The Neurons loaded “All I Need Is A Miracle” into the morning mental music stream (Trademark dizzying). The Mike +The Mechanics song was released in 1986 and was from another CD that saw a lot of play as I drove around the southeastern U.S. on military assignments.

I am absolutely certain that a dream inspired The Neurons’ offering to the stream. One of the dream’s acts included meeting a woman who was really attractive to me. But I’m married, as she was, and I didn’t want to indulge in affairs. But noticing my interest in her, she decided to come after me. Flattered, I remained true to my fidelity and rejected her. This went back and forth throughout the dream. She eventually told me that all she needs is a miracle. And there we are.

As for the song, it’s classic 1980s techno-rock, with that beat, bass line, and keyboards. Harbors lots of memories and good times for moi, as we said in those days.

Stay positive and strong, be sharp and ready, and Vote Blue in 2024. I’m at the coffee shop and we’ve had sip off. Here’s the video. Cheers

5

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: crackly

We’re back onto Tuesday. Seems like it was Tuesday just last week.

Today is December 5, 2023 in Ashlandia, where the sidewalks are becoming above average but the roads are getting below average. It’s a solid flat white sheet of clouds lording the sky. Breezes are blowing and rain is coming but it’s 52 F now and we’ll see 61 before orbital mechanics drops darkness on us again.

It’s my little sister’s birthday. That would be little sister #1, who is a three-time granny. When she has 20 great-great-grandchildren, she’ll remain my little sister. Happy birthday, sistah. She didn’t have the best of times when she was a child and then teenager. It’s a story often told about some things going wrong in modern America. But she pulled out of it and is now the family’s solid center, the responsible one who looks after the rest.

Her birthday was celebrated last week because little sister #2 goes in for her ileostomy reversal surgery today, did in fact go in for it several hours ago — different time zones. She’s in the east and I’m in the west. This is the next stage for her cancer treatment, which has gone well, knock on wood, as Mom always said, something we children all carry forward.

Today’s song is by The Pogues, and The Neurons and I came up with it together. The song came out in Europe in 1988. Stationed there at the time, I first heard it at a friend’s house one Christmas a year later. He loaned me his CD because I wanted to learn the lyrics.

The song is “Fairtale of New York”. I sing along with it as best as I can as it circulates the morning mental music stream (Trademark fried). A duet, it’s a sad, bitter tale about a life between a man and a woman, and how it went from being one thing of love, hope, and dreams, to a weary edition of drinking, drugs, and hanging on. Sung with jaunty sarcasm, it’s also a brief remark on the differences on those who make it and those who don’t. ‘Faggot’ is in the lyrics, which was a verboten term by the time I was in high school in the early 1970s, so its inclusion was conroversial. The songwriter insisted it fit and needed to be there because of who the woman was singing the word; the word’s use shows her desultory character and was part of the times.

The male vocalist, Shane MacGowan, died last month from pneumonia, and was just a few months younger than my wife. With a lifelong problem of alcohol and drugs, he suffered from lingering maladies brought on by falls and was confined to a wheelchair before he was fifty because of a broken pelvis.

His female counterpart, Kristy MacColl, died when she was 41, over twenty years past. She was on vacation with her sons, diving in Cozumel, when she saw a speedboat coming at them. One son was out of the boat’s path and safe, but the other was in danger. She saved him, but was killed in the effort. The boat involved was owned by a millionaire so justice was a facade.

Lean forward, be strong, and stay positive. Keep working on it. I’m working on this cup of coffee, myself. Then I’ll work on the rest. Here’s the video. Cheers

0

Driving With Dad Dream

Another slice of the nocturnal mind’s workings to share.

To begin, I’m with my father. Each of us are similar to our real life appearances but I think we both were a little younger.

I’m getting an award. I don’t know what it’s for. Dad wants to attend. He tells me, “We’ll go together. We’ll drive there.”

He gestures toward a car. A silver behemoth, it may have been manufactured in the 1930s and features a long wheelbase — think of a large SUV here — running boards, an upright radiator, and spindly, narrow wheels and tires. Its condition is show-car perfect.

“What is that?” I ask. I see from looking around that he has other, more modern cars but still several decades old. All are well cared for. A graceful, polished gray model’s dazzling shine catches my eye from one.

In answer, he says, “You drive. We better get going. It doesn’t have a high top speed.”

I am floored. At that moment, two sisters arrive. They want to go with us.

Dad is against that. Telling them so, he finishes, “But I want you there. Take one of my other cars.”

A large steel garage door which was previously unnoticed grinds open. Behind it are modern sports and luxury cars. “Take one of those cars,” Dad says.

My sisters are already clamboring into a new red Mazda Miata. I say, “Why can’t we take one of those?”

Dad responds with non-sequitors. I interrupt him. “If you want to ride with me, why don’t we take one of those cars?” I see a BMW in the garage. “Like that blue BMW. Why don’t we take it?”

Evasive as before, Dad basically declares, “I want to take this car.”

We climb into his old car. I ask, “Is this a Bugatti?”

Dad doesn’t respond. Firing up the old machine, I keep looking for clues about what it is.

That’s where the dream ends.

I tote this dream down as another manifestation of unspoken worries and doubts about my life and where it’s at. Pretty standard stuff. Retired from corporate and military careers, I’ve staked a lot of time and hope on writing fiction. I’m driven to write, but will it go anywhere beyond my computer? Or, as the dream suggests to me, am I interested in trying another vehicle?

As I pass over the post again, though, the driving theme raises new questions. Writing = driving. Whether I want to or not, I need to go on. Some of my choices seem taken away from me by some deeper driving force within me.

Looking at it another way, though, I can point out, it’s a silver car I’m being forced into, a classic which is in good condition, and I’m driving off to collect an award. Looking at it that way, my subconscious is encouraging me to go with what I’m doing.

It’s amusing how these dream elements can be addressed. Even if I find success beyond writing for myself, I think that I’ll always be wrestling with the drive and need to write, and my doubts. Just part of my imposter syndrome surfacing again.

2

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑