The Refugee Dream

Dreamland has been a busy place for me, but life has been busy, keeping my deeper ruminations about my dreams to minimal levels. Last night’s dream about being a refugee had a sharper feel to it, though.

I was a prisoner along with many others and had been for some time. The dream really began at the end of that incarceration, when we finally found a way past the gates and walls keeping us in captivity. After we came out, blinking because we were seeing the sun for the first time in weeks, we were told by someone anonymous that we were free, and that ‘our side’ had won.

We’d been falsely imprisoned, though, and wanted justice for that. The people who were responsible were eight men. We wanted them found and brought to trial. I was given the task of drawing wanted posters for them.

I protested, I don’t even know how they look. Well, it needed to be done, and I needed to do it, because I was the one who could, I was told.

I found paper, charcoal, and pencils, and began doing sketches, working off other people’s descriptions of the eight. Someone told me about an office where a cache of information was. Going there and rooting around, I found that someone else had already created rudimentary sketches of the eight. I began improving these, shaping and sharpening features, adding details. It all came sharper into mind as I worked.

The people in charge came by to see how I was progressing and were impressed by my work. Looking out, we then saw a bearded man walking past who resembled the number one wanted person on my poster. As word spread that it was him, I held up my poster and looked at him in profile, amazed at how well I’d captured his image.

Dream end

April 26, 2022 0

March 27, 2022 2

Another DIY Success

We have a single handle Moen faucet. We bought the house new back in 2006. This week, the handle began going wonky on us. It was growing stiffer to turn and then added a squeaking noise. A little net sleuthing and I identified our model, homed in on the problem, found a step-by-step video, and ordered the “Moen 93980 Replacement Handle Mechanism Kit for One-Handle Kitchen Faucet Repairs” kit from Amazon for just less than $23. It was supposed to arrive Monday but came today.

I’m not a DIYer by nature. Poor mechanical skills, you know? Other than fixing cars and computers (and painting the house rooms), I have little to no DIY experience except what I’ve gleaned from learning how do to things in this house. That includes installing a new central vac unit to replace the dead unit a decade ago, swapping out control modules on the air conditioner about four years ago, replacing the garbage disposal a few years ago, fixing the microwave a few months ago, and then replacing the master sink drain stem in December. I don’t think I could have done any of these things except for the first two without the net. For the air conditioner repair, the repair guy showed me how he fixed it a few years before. I took notes so that when the time came, because he warned me that it would fail, and it was a common, recurring failure, I knew what to do. For the central vac unit, it was straightforward as replacing a car battery. So I watched the Moen repair video again, sucked in a deep breath, and went at it.

Success! I’ll drink to that. The question is, coffee, beer, or wine?

February 20, 2022 2

February 13, 2022 3

February 5, 2022 0

January 24, 2022 0

A Flying Car Dream

To begin, I was a detective. Didn’t look much like RL me. Only commonalities were white and male. My dream detective had a florid face – pink as a carnation – on a square head with receding blonde hair. I seemed to be in my forties. Clean shaved, a nose bent by fights finished my facial ensemble.

I’d just solved a couple big cases. After receiving accolades, I headed to my flying car to go home. The flying car was a BMW and some sleek sedan or SUV variation – wasn’t given a good look at it. No need to because a flying car is normal and common, and this was my regular ride.

A few people needed a lift. I was heading generally their way so said I’d provide taxi service. They sat in the back. We headed out.

Even though it was a flying car, we followed surface roads and the same road rules now in effect. Traffic was end-of-workday heavy. Stopped at one traffic light leading to an Interstate maze, I was in the wrong lane. Knew I needed to get into the left-hand land for my destination. So I had to outrace the other three lanes of cars — which I did. But then, I found the car wasn’t following the road but drifting right. I took manual control of the car to combat it, then found it a greater problem than first thought. I announced to my passengers that I was having a little car trouble. I pushed buttons in, trying to make the car work right. The buttons were square and silver. They wouldn’t hold in as expected.

I talked to the car, telling it to fix itself. The problem was given a temporary solution after a few minutes (according to the car). That’d eaten into my time and mood, so I had a change of plans. I pulled over and got out. Taking a control, I told the car to take my companions to their destination, go get itself fixed, and then come back and pick me up. I then gently tossed the control into the air, and the car took off. I turned and began walking.

That segment ended. A young man, closely resembling my RL self, I was in an airport when I stopped to check email on my computer and play games to kill time. The computer didn’t work right. I sat down and took some of the computer apart. These were hollow brass cylinders, about one and a quarter inch in diameter and an inch tall, unlike anything I’d seen in a RL computer. They were threaded and reminded me of faucet components.

Putting the computer back together, I decided to leave them off, in case I needed to address the problem again, then packed up and headed for my flight. I went through turnstiles with others, then overheard a younger man talking about a computer game he’d enjoyed. I knew the game and asked him if he’d ever played another game.

I couldn’t recall the game’s name. It stumped me for a few. I remembered playing it when it was big in the late eighties to early nineties, and described it to him. Then the name came home: “Empire” by Interstellar.

The guy thanked me and went on. I found that my flight was delayed. I began wandering the airport. While doing that, I went back to where I’d fixed my computer. I discovered that I’d left the two brass pieces behind. Horrified at my oversight, I stuffed them into my bag, thankful that nobody had picked them up while wondering what others thought they were if they’d seen them.

The dream ended.

January 16, 2022 0

January 14, 2022 0

A Facilitating Dream

The commander, a colonel, was walking in, talking on his cell as he came. I knew he was speaking with his wife. I overheard him: “Seidel? Yes, he’s here. He’s always here. He’s everywhere.”

A blush of pride bloomed in me in the dream. That was toward the end. It’d been another military dream, a chaotic one. Whereas most of my military dreams after my service ended has been about my chosen career field, command and control, or about traveling, this one was about facilitating. I’d spent the last three years of my career facilitating special project teams. This dream took off from there.

People were arriving for the session. I knew them and was prepared for them — or so I thought. Things started going wrong. Like Mom showed up. What was Mom doing there? I saw her but then she wasn’t there, so maybe I’d imagined her.

It threw me off my game. A squadon commander, black and and light colonel, arrived. I was pleased to see him, greeting him by name, showing him in, asking him if he’d like something to drink. Coffee, water, juice, tea? “Tea,” he agreed. Excellent, we have multiple kinds. What would you like? He selected (can’t remember what it was) and I went off to get it.

But I couldn’t immediately find the tea. Interruptions hampered the search. Sisters are arrived. I didn’t know what they were doing there. The phone kept ringing. Other team members were arriving. Someone knocked over one of the white boards. And the cookies weren’t put out.

I was scrambling, racing back to the light colonel to tell him that I’d not forgotten his tea, that it would be right out. He was taking it well, smiling and nodding, relatively unconcerned. I was also trying to be a good host with other arrivals and trying to corner one of my sisters to inquire about why she was there.

Someone suggested we play a game. They found something sort of roundish and suggested volleyball. Cheers met the suggestion. Although I first resisted because I had an agenda, I acquiesced. Be flexible, right? “Okay, why not,” I agreed.

We went out. There were five on one side and one, a female, on the other. They were going to play volleyball but there wasn’t a net. The lumpy thing being used as a volleyball turned into an actual volleyball. I told the one woman that I’d be her teammate. We’d take on the rest. Some volleying was done. I was told to serve. Everyone tensed because they thought I’d have a power serve but I kept missing the ball completely.

I finally served the ball and a volley ensued, then we lost the ball. Someone came up with some misshaped black thing, smaller than a volleyball, to use. I argued against it, demonstrating that I couldn’t even hit it right. Nobody else had yet tried. They all encouraged me to keep trying. I did, and suddenly began hitting it spectacularly well.

Others arrived so we quit playing. I hurried back to facilitate because some were up asking about the talking points posted to a white board. I rushed to explain. That’s when the commander arrived talking on the phone, and the dream ended.