Tag: white car

Another Randy Dream

Naw, this isn’t a sexually randy dream. This is about my late buddy, Randy. He was with me in a dream last night.

Starting out, though, I was at work, a busy, productive, well-lit office. Things were humming. I was tasked with creating a model of a business park for a client. I ordered the model. It was delivered to me in as twenty blocks. Each block was a four inch square. Set them up on the table in order (they were numbered on their bottoms) and there is your model. The client, a blonde woman, accepted them without comment and departed.

A while later, my boss, John H, (who was my boss in RL when I was a product manager with Tyco) (that’s another story), came to me and asked me to provide the client with a model again, but this time, could I put it on something for them? Okay, of course. I guess the client wasn’t pleased, I thought.

I went to a friendly co-worker for help. He brought out a scale model of the Eiffel Tower that he was building. The model, made of scaled down struts, was six inches tall and exquisitely detailed. Lit in a golden light, it was in a small plastic cube. I gathered that he was going to remove that gorgeous model, his project, from the cube, to give me for my client’s model. Before he could begin that, I hastily clarified that this wasn’t big enough and that I didn’t want him to take apart his model for my sake.

I then had an idea of what to use, made some calls, or had that arranged. The model would be ready in the morning and I’d deliver it to the client. Meanwhile, I needed to go down the road to another location. Randy came in. That’s where he was going. Did I want to ride with him?

Sounded good, right? We hoped into his the little white Chevy econo-box that he used to drive and took off. Part way there, Randy announced that he just had to make a quick stop someplace. We stopped at a huge factory in the middle of a city. Factory and city had both declined in use and condition. He and I went in. Dressed in a business suit but with the shirt open and no tie, and no shoes, I just followed him. Finding someone working there, he made inquiries about another person who used to work there, then followed instructions to go to another station. I followed along behind him, watching where I stepped because I was barefoot. Randy then learned where he needed to go; it was outside of the factory. I’d gathered by his questions that he was looking for an old female friend…maybe an ex-wife or a sister…

He told me that it would be just a little longer. We left the factory and started through the city. “It’s just a couple blocks,” he said. I stopped and said, “Randy, I’m barefoot. How ’bout if I just stay here and wait for you? I’ll be at the car when you get back.”

That sounded good and became the plan. Randy strode off. I loitered, walking around, killing time. A shift of truck drivers came on. Suddenly, I was in everyone’s way as trucks were jockeyed around and loaded. I decided that the best thing to do was to leave the factory and wait outside.

Randy had been gone a while. I wandered in the direction that I’d seen him go. I ended up with others at a crosswalk. A glass door kept us from going until it was our time. When the light changed, the doors opened and we all started out.

The road funneled toward a short white bridge spanning a deep chasm. The bridge had two spans, one for each direction of two-lane highway. On the other side was a grassy hill with a road going up it.

Young Latino boys were playing some game that I didn’t recognize. Their device, which looked like a long black tube sock, tied and weighted, flew out of their playing field, landing not far from me. I realized they would need to cross all the traffic and the bridge to retrieve it, so I picked it up to throw back. After a moment of examination about the best way to handle it, and leery of throwing it short — because then it might go into one of the chasms — I hurled it back. It cleared everything with no problem. The boys thanked me and resumed their game.

I decided that it’d be best to go back and wait for Randy at his car. As I approached the car, I saw Randy standing there, waiting for me.

The dream ended.

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A Vindication Dream

Had another night of uplifting and validating dreams. One stood out for me.

I was in Germany. To begin, I was racing down to get somewhere in my old white BMW 2002, but was forced to slow down abruptly, which I did. A divided road in a modern business area, it seemed strikingly familiar. After parking, I went in and found a friend, Jim. We were there to take classes. Not many people were in class, both men and women, of my age. Held outside, it was being taught in English. I don’t know the subject. Sessions flashed by, and then it was time for lunch. Jim and I walked down to a place together, following a general stream of people going as we did, just chatting along the way. Reaching a place we thought a restaurant, we entered and ascended different levels. At first, I searched for food. Then I needed a water closet. I thought I found one on the top floor, but when I opened it and entered, I found three children occupying it.

Backing out and away, I discovered that I didn’t know where Jim was, so I headed back to the class location. Few were around, but I encountered a pieced of masonry falling off a wall. As I tried to put it back, others told me, no, they want that removed because they’re replacing it. I didn’t think that would work because the wall beneath it was crumbling, but I figured the workmen and masons would know what they were doing.

Having time to kill, I found a place to nap on a heavy brown blanket in a low shelter where others were sitting. When I awoke, I discovered a man and a girl pantomiming around me. I guessed that I was on their blanket. The girl was upset that I was in her space, but the man was gesturing, ‘what could I do?’ Getting the message, I moved away.

Class was re-commencing anyway. We were directed to stand in a squad ranked by our height. I didn’t hear the directions being given but others helped me. A woman to my right called for our attention. We were to sing and harmonize. She spoke some words. A woman to my right in class sang them in a clear, high voice. I chose to counter it with a flat bass. We repeated that twice, and then the female director told us all to step. She had the woman and I repeat what we’d done. We did. The director announced, “Perfect. That’s exactly what we’re looking for. Stay right there.” Then she went off.

I felt flattered and vindicated, but also embarrassed as everyone started talking to me about what I was doing. I replied, I just did what I felt was right.

The dream ended.

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The Wealthy Friend Dream

I dreamed I had a wealthy friend. We were both young men. He came from a wealthy family, and I was lower middle class.

But he was friendly and generous, insisting that I take his car. His car was white; sleek and flat, it looked like a clam. It doesn’t relate to any car I’ve known in real life, but in the dream world, I knew it was rare and worth several million dollars. Dangling the white square on a chain that that was the key, he kept telling me, “Take my car, use it.” I was reluctant because of its price but because I also knew it was his father’s car.

Eventually, though, I accepted. The doors were gullwing type (as seen on the MB 300 SL coupe back in the 50s and early 60s, or the later Bricklin or Delorean). I entered. The luxurious, tech-loaded interior entranced me. Driving it was amazing. Silent and powerful, everything was effortless — and it literally flew. A press of the button took it over the traffic. Amazing.

I returned to his home. He insisted that I use the car. His mother, too, who told me, “Use it whenever you want.” Okay.

Meanwhile, they wanted to feed me. Not wanting to be seen as a moocher, I declined.

Spin the dream world. I’m now in school in a creative writing class. It’s packed. I’m new to the class and a bit withdrawn and introspective, as I tend to be.

The female instructor tells us some rules, then announces that someone has died. We all react with surprise and grief. A collection for flowers is being taken up. I go up to make a donation.

I plan to donate twenty dollars. Second thoughts strike because it’s almost all I have. The twenty-dollar bill is in my hand. The collection jar is on another male student’s desk, as it was passed over to him. He and a female student are collecting and coordinating the donations. I realize, though, that the male student seems to be pocketing some of the money. I’m not sure. decide, though, to just give ten dollars, as I’ve seen others do. Seeing a ten in the pile of money beside the jar, I attempt to surreptitiously get it and put my twenty in. The woman does something, though, and knocks the jar over. It doesn’t break, but the money is a mess and it draws unwanted attention.

Dream ends.

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A Movin’ On Dream

I was visiting a wealthy male friend for some holiday. It was a stop during my travels. In the dream, we were in our late twenties. He was putting me up for a day and night. Had a big, fancy place with alabaster walls high above everything else on a mountainside overlooking the ocean, window walls with fantastic views. He lived there alone.

We visited, nothing special, had a good time. The next day, he went off to work while leaving me with things that I should do before going, if I could, as it would help him out, undoing things that he’d done for my visit. I planned to do them but kept getting distracted. Then, curious, I walked down a winding path to where he worked, to see what he did. He met me as I left the path and told me, “I just manage things.”

It was growing close to my time to depart. I had flights to catch. He told me to take one of his cars. A short and confused discussion followed because I thought I had my own car. I did, but it apparently wasn’t available, I discovered, because he’d taken it off to be worked on, cleaned up, and detailed. That took me aback, but I was grateful and pleased, too.

Something about a container followed. He had this container that he used to do things. He did it surreptitiously. I got hold of one. It was a light green square. My impression was that it was a box for getting a burger from takeout. I opened the box and verified that it was empty. Residue inside it was from a cheeseburger, showing traces of cheese, lettuce, onion, and tomato.

I was running late by then, so rushed to depart. As I did, driving away in his fancy car — don’t know what it was, except it was white and luxurious — I saw that I’d forgotten to do something that I’d promised to do for him. I wanted to go back but realized that I couldn’t, so I went on with the intention of calling him from the airport.

Got to a busy, bustling airport. It was more like a city than an airport that I’d ever visited, with multiple highways and flyovers connecting busy commerce centers and terminals teeming with people. After a bit of confusion and disorientation, I found my way, parked his car, and called him, telling him where I’d parked and what I’d forgotten to do. He reassured me that it was okay, don’t worry about it. Disconnecting, I went on to catch my flight.

 

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A Ferrari Dream

So many of my recent dreams have been like watching adventure movies. I can’t recall seeing myself in many of them.

I starred in last night’s dream, though. The dialogue was often too fast for me to hear and capture, and there weren’t any captions or replays available. But I was happy, cheerful, and, well, unstoppable, overcoming everything.

The dream took place outside in pleasant, balmy weather, and daytime. Accompanied by my wife, I was somewhere that seemed tropical, but I — we — had to get out of there. The question was, how? Other men, in suits, were trying to keep us there.

My wife and I were armed with small black devices. About the size of a television remote control (clicker, as my wife calls it), it had no buttons. Pointing it at people immobilized them. People with stronger wills could resist it, but they could be overcome by pressing the device against them. The stronger their will, the longer we had to hold it against them, but none required more than several seconds.

It was all kind of frolicky. The men in suits would say, “There they are, get them.” They’d come after that, but there’d be no rush. It was like they were going slow, trying to be clever and unobserved. But we saw them and knew what they were doing. Laughing, we pointed and stopped them without a struggle.

A stalemate delivered. We couldn’t leave, so we’re weren’t escaping, just keeping the others at bay. Along came a man and a woman. They were older than us and well-dressed. My impressions of them were they were wealthy and powerful, but also trapped. I didn’t know them, and observing their exchanges, I thought that they weren’t together but had recently met. I think she was called the duchess.

“Take the Ferrari,” the man said. He pointed.

An older white Ferrari was there. I hadn’t noticed it before. I thought the car was from the sixties. (I confirmed this after researching and finding the model. Here it is, a 1966 California 365, except my dream car was white.)

Ferrari 365 California - 1966

“I can’t take that,” I said, laughing at the audacity of it.

The man said, “Why not?” The woman said. “Yes, you can. Take us with you. Drive us out of here. You can do it.”

So we pointed and stopped the pursuit, got into the Ferrari, and I drove us up through some forest. We couldn’t get all the way out, though. “We need to stop and rest,” I said.

We did that. The dream showed us stopping and then awakening the next morning. Pursuit had caught up to us by then, but they weren’t energetic, and we had our remotes. After doing our point and incapacitate thing on those closest to us, we all got in the car. I was driving and my wife was in the passenger seat, with the other two in the back. I drove us up and out of the situation.

The end. An uplifting dream, it brings a smile to my face as I remember it.

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A Manuscripts & Politics Dream

It began with my little sister presenting me with a manuscript. Handing over a large stack of paper, she explained that she’d written a novel and wanted me to read it and give my opinion. I agreed, but asked her to reciprocate: read my novel and give my opinion.

Gina’s manuscripts turned out to be a humorous mystery. I thought it had a lot of merit. That’s the feedback I gave her. Did she have feedback for me? No, she hadn’t read my ms. She started but then forgot.

Her answer frustrated me. I’d lived up to my end, etc. I was called away before we could finish the conversation. Gina and I agreed to meet later.

Going on somewhere else via dreamport, I was now in a hilly city. It had been rainy. I was standing on the corner by a street. A man in a dark suit and raincoat (who looked a lot like James Noble (the actor)) approached me. We knew one another and shook hands and talked. Within a few minutes, he was telling me that they’d just come out with word about who the new POTUS was going to be. He gave me a name. It as going to be announced soon.

The name surprised me. I knew the man’s name and so on, but didn’t know him. I expressed some concerns about him.

We started walking down the hill. He was  concerned about the choice, too, and was wondering where the man was. He didn’t know if the man had heard yet. As we walked down the hill, the other man mentioned the name again, and then said, “Do you know who he is?”

I began talking about that when the other said, “No, he’s my father.”

That completely surprised me. We went through a conversation about their last names, which was something like LaFontaine. I said, “Pierre?” The other said with a smile, “No, that’s the NRA guy.”

As I was mulling that information, others arrived, and the conversation went on again about the new president. Then the new president drove up in a little old white imported economy car. While it ran without any problems, the car looked like it was forty years old, something small, with petite chrome bumpers, like a Datsun 510 (see the picture?) from the early seventies. (I’ve never owned or drove a 510, btw.)

The others all went off. I trudged back up the hill and, via dreamport, returned to my sister and the manuscripts. She’d read my manuscript and had some suggestions. As we began talking about that, a second younger sister, Sharon, arrived to give me her manuscript. I was surprised. We began talking, and as we did, I said, “I need to add more humor to my novel,” and was excited by immediate ideas that came to me about how to do that.

Then I awoke.

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