Tag: young man

Another White House Dream

This is my sixth recorded white house dream as far as I can tell. Again I’m not talking about the president’s abode.

Middle-aged, I was at my ‘dream home’, a large luxury apartment in very large building. The walls, floors, furniture were all white. It was a very serene, relaxed place. Many windows and sliding doors, several levels, great views of a busy metropolis.

Friends were waiting for me to go out. I was rushing around to get ready. But I was also concerned about calling the plumber; I had to find my phone and call the plumber.

Hurrying around my place, I also seemed to be familiarizing myself with it, even though, in a contrary way, I already knew it. I had my own suite, separate from my wife’s suite, and they were on different levels. My suite featured a large bathroom and sliders to a balcony. Steps from it led to down the building’s common plaza with tables and benches.

While I was dashing, around, one of my friends, H.E., kept texting and calling me, telling me, “Come on.” I kept telling him to just hang on.

Going through one door, I discovered a small room that I hadn’t known about before. It had a sprawling white sofa and several chairs. A few relaxing space, I was astounded to find it. I thought, I never knew this was here, and then thought, I came here to rest.

I then found two other things: a door to a room that was a nursery, and steps going down, which had been blocked off.

I knew I was the ‘original’ owner and figured they’d made those changes and wondered about them.

Back in the main living area, still looking for the phone to call the plumber, I encountered H.E.

H.E. was a large, sort of goofy young guy. I knew him in my dream but he wasn’t anyone from my real life.

I asked him, “How’d you get in here?”

Sheepishly, he replied, “I picked the lock.” Then he urged me to, “Come on.”

I told him, “You shouldn’t have done that. Go on out and wait.”

But he was looking out the window. We had a huge, deep blue community blue. An infinity pool, it took up an entire view of one wall of windows.

The pool really impressed him. I explained what it was, and he kept saying, “That’s so huge and beautiful.”

I agreed. It was very striking against the building’s white surfaces.

H.E. then stepped out to see more of the pool, going to our private patio. Other families were going down to the community plaza space and sitting down to enjoy the sunshine.

I told H.E., “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

Dream end.

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A Race Car Dream

I was a young man. And I was at some kind of car race where I was to be a participant. Several emerging factors swirled and fell and rose. Nobody was expecting me. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I then confirmed, gosh, I am in this race.

Employing strange dream logic, the race was sometimes played as a card game with a board track. Other times, it seemed like a slot car setup, but then it was sometimes full-sized race cars. I’d seamlessly skip between those motifs but the dream itself was mostly centered on race control where I’d check the time sheets, find out where I was on the track, and learn my position. The people populating race control were all tall, older, and white. Most seemed British. I never saw any of the cars so I can’t comment on their colors or livery. But I would identify them. Like I told some once that another driver was piloting a Porsche 917 and another was driving a P3 Ferrari. Someone else was wheeling the Silk Cut Jaguar XJ9.

I swapped cars. I don’t know what I was driving but I suddenly announced, grinning, “I’m driving a Ford GT.” This is a car which won LeMans and the world championship in the mid 1960s and helped seduce me as a racing fan when I was nine. I didn’t specify which variant I was driving.

I learned that I’d qualified fourth but some bureaucratic snafu shuffled me to the pack’s tail end. That didn’t bother me; I shrugged it off with a grin. I was confident that I would win, as I’d qualified fourth with minimal effort. Now, recalling, I actually did have one segment where I was in the car, on the track, during the race, passing clusters of other cars. I then left the car, blink, and was back at race control to check my standing. They didn’t know who I was. I was certain I was leading but they dismissed it. I was told that I’d done something incorrectly and my laps hadn’t been counted. I didn’t know I was supposed to do that, I protested, but that wasn’t their issue.

None of that fazed me. Grinning, I told them, “But I have all these chits.” The chits were small red paper rectangles, like the old-time ticket stubs given at movies in decades past. I received them every time I completed a lap. As I told them about the chits, I held up a fistful of them. Expressing astonishment, they counted the chits and announced that I was in the lead.

I met the news with a happy grin and readied myself to keep racing. Dream end.

I enjoyed discovering this footage of the 1966 LeMans race featuring the Ford GTs. Nice to hear the voices of Bruce McLaren, Dan Gurney, Denis Hulme, etc., and see them. Of course, the staged Ford 1-2-3 finish was made famous in the movie Ford vs. Ferrari, where Ken Miles (played by Christian Bale) was first across the finish line but was deemed not to be the winner because another car started further back, so it covered more distance.

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Friday’s Wandering Thought

Quite a sight. A young slender man, sunglasses and forest green cap, leaning forward and upright, arms working hard, speeding along in a wheelchair on the sidewalk, cigarette in mouth streaming smoke.

There’s a story there. We rarely get to know the stories behind scenes like these.

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