Tag: youth

Sunday’s Theme Music

This is Sunday. We’ve awoken to that fact. Other information filters in. May 15, 2022. Almost half of May numbered as the past. Almost half of 2022 joining the historic ranks. Sunrise, 5:50 AM, was bright and strong. There to see it, because Papi stayed up and outside to see it, and called me to come see it. Temperature is 56 F. Anticipated high is around 77 F. Sunset: 8:25 PM.

The neurons floated multiple songs through the morning mental music stream, creating, for a while, a morning mental music stream medley. Yeah, I went there. Most of these songs were from the late 1970s. Putting it together, I think they go well with the age I was in a dream and put it all down to wishful thinking about when, where, and was.

The medley eventually thinned. Linda Ronstadt rose with “Blue Bayou” from 1977 and took over the MMMS. I once won a small wager with this song. About ten years after it’d been a hit for Linda, a young guy was talking about the song. I realized that he attributed it to her as the original artist and told him that Roy Orbison had it as a hit when I was a child. He was flabbergasted. We went through several other songs that night, including, “Knocking on Heaven’s Door”, which he ascribed to Guns ‘n Roses, and “A Hazy Shade of Winter” ‘by’ the Bangles.

I love that one line from the song, “If I could only see that familiar sunrise through sleepy eyes, how happy I’d be.”

Okay, coffee time. Stay positive and test negative. Be on guard, but chill. Here’s the music. Cheers

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A Long Melancholy Dream

AKA, the Four Cars Dream

It could have been known as the Big House Dream, as well. Although I was about forty years old at the dream’s beginning, I was twenty at the end.

It began with a search for car keys.

I was looking for the keys for a car I owned when I was twenty, a signal orange Porsche 914. The drawer where I kept the keys was shallow and white. Another set of keys, for my RX-7, was in there, but where were the Porsche keys?

I began going through the house looking. The house was huge, rambling, and one story, with many low stone arches. Every room was empty except for that first one, which had a desk. This was my house; I’d newly acquired it.

Unable to find the keys, I ambled around the house until I stopped in one long and wide, all-white room. One piece of white furniture, a sort of stand turned upside down, was in it. Finding a can of black paint, I painted the stand. Finding other cans, I spray-painted the walls purple. As I finished up, a large, rotund, bald man with huge, muscular arms came in.

“There you are,” he said. “I need you to come with me.” He looked around at the painted room. “Nice job.”

I knew he was my minder and followed him. I was thirty by now. My minder told me that there was someone to see me. My minder showed me to the door.

Walking up a residential street, I encountered my old friend, Jeff. I haven’t seen or heard from him in RL in almost forty years. Jeff told me he had exciting news. He’d inherited a classic Porsche 911 from a friend. The guy had completely rebuilt it, and the car was pristine. Truly impressed, I congratulated Jeff. Jeff then said that he had a car for me and gave me the keys to a BMW. He said that he didn’t need it and he wanted me to have it.

I was flattered. I tried to turn it down. Jeff insisted. I accepted the keys to the car. The car wasn’t around. Jeff was going to have it shipped to me.

We parted. He went back up a hill, and I returned to my house.

I was now in my mid-twenties, wearing a brown leather jacket which I remember owning from RL. My minder was there, along with a girl who I knew to be sixteen. Her dark brown hair, like the color of oak, was long and shiny, framing a petite oval face. She smiled often, shyly. She wore jeans and a white button-down men’s shirt. She never said her name that I heard.

The minder left us. We chatted, with her peppering me with questions. Hearing a noise, I went out through one of the larger stone arches. It was late dusk, and the light was low. This arch opened to a path that entered the woods. I thought I heard and saw people down the path. It was my property, so I was concerned about what they were doing. As I walked, I picked up several flat stones to throw, if needed, as protection.

The girl had stayed back. After I returned, she questioned me about what was going on. I told her about the people and stood ready with the rocks. Young people came down the path, but they turned away from my house and property and kept going. Not needing my rocks, I set them down. With the BMW keys in hand from Jeff, I returned to the search for my Porsche car keys. This time I found them in the drawer where I’d first search. There was nothing else in the drawer. I thought that they must not have been there before, and someone must have placed them there after I’d searched.

I was now twenty. The minder returned. He said that Jeff wanted to see me. I went to the front door. Appearing very old, sad, and tired, Jeff told me that he’d decided to give me the Porsche which he inherited. I tried talking him out of it. He told me that he drove the car and saw himself in it, and that he looked ridiculous. The car didn’t fit him, but he believed it would suit me. Handing me the keys, he left.

I went outside of my house and sat against one of its stone walls. The girl came out and asked what was wrong. I told her that I was thinking about my friends and how I missed them. She noticed the keys and inquired after them. I told them that they were to four cars which I owned, and then described them. I could see each one. My Porsche was an orange 1974 model; the BMW was also a 1974 model. The green 911 Jeff gave me was a 1971 model year, and the blue Mazda was a 1981, which I had bought. She was most impressed when I mentioned the BMW, calling it a Bimmer. She said she really liked them. I answered, “No, you don’t understand, this is a vintage car from the 1970s, a white 2002. You’ve probably never seen one. They stopped making them before you were born.” I remembered then that I’d owned a BMW 2002 in RL and became confused: was I dreaming or remembering?

More dream followed about taking a trip with other people, but this is where I’ll stop.

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The Conversation Dream

I dreamed I was with a few men speaking with a male teenager. We were all sitting around a table. The young man was talking about a book. He said it was called Halo. He was talking about how it’d come out in 1972, and then commenting, “How can anyone remember anything from then?”

I said, “I read the book when it came out.”

He asked, “How much of it do you remember?”

“Not much. I was about sixteen and in high school. I was reading many books then, and doing sports, and taking classes.”

“That’s my point,” the teenager said. “You can’t remember things from then.”

I answered, “I remember reading Catching in the Rye a few years before that, and Catch 22, and The Hobbit, and Lord of the Rings, Fahrenheit 451, and Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series. I don’t remember Halo.”

The kid said, “I’ve never heard of those books, but I did see Foundation on TV. It was okay.”

Dream end.

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The Cow Puzzle Dream

I was a younger man. At first I saw myself from a distance, trudging over green rolling hills under a cloudy sky, but then I dreamed zoomed in and only saw myself from the waist up, following as I walked.

I was walking among grazing black and white cows. Most ignored me. I wasn’t concerned, and it seemed natural that I walked among cows. Beams of sunshine would sometimes break through and dazzle me, and I’d put a hand up to shield my eyes.

The sense or awareness came over me that this was familiar. Slowing and thinking, I suddenly knew that I was in a jigsaw puzzle. I stopped. My dream camera panned out. I could clearly discern the pieces’ shape. Some were missing.

How, I asked, is that possible? Where were the pieces? I thought the puzzle was completed. Then, I realized with a greater shock, how can the cows be alive, eating, and moving, if it’s a jigsaw puzzle? How could the clouds move and the wind blow? How could I be moving and thinking if I’m in a puzzle?

Dream end, as I woke up.

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The Room Dream

I arrived home as a young man. Mom gave me a room. I was happy to see her and happy to be there. We were living on a train, and the room she gave me was an entire train car. Long and narrow, I had a bed, desk, dresser, bookcase, chair, and wardrobe. I set them up to provide separate sleeping and living areas, using the bookcase and vanity as a makeshift wall. As I set it up, my young sisters came in and visited. Sometimes they brought young neighbor boys that they were watching. Mom would also occasionally come by.

I stacked my books and organized my desk, made my narrow bed, and slid against one wall. One side of the train had windows, and I set my desk up under them so I could look outside.

Young people in a sixties era Chevy Impala convertible (after the fins were dropped) began driving by. Whenever they did, some of my things would get shifted, annoying me. This worsened; even as I cleaned and organized again, they drove by, knocking things over. They never reached in or anything, but I knew it was them, as they were laughing about it.

I decided I’d put a stop to that and devised a way by changing the room around. The new arrangement was less satisfying, but it was staying neat and still workable. However, one of the little neighbor boys my sisters were watching kept sneaking into my room and tearing things up. He was fair and blonde, giggling often, but crying whenever he was stopped or reprimanded. I kept putting him out, warning him not to do that, and warning others to keep him out, and then cleaning up again, and again, but he kept getting in there. Mom came to me and told me to be more patient and tolerant because he was a small child and had mental and emotional health issues. I complained to her but took her point and promised I would try.

The train with my room went on the move. That pleased me because I thought we’d moved away from the boy causing the problem. But he got in there again. I was bewildered. My sisters explained that he’d come with us. I felt that I had no choice but to close and lock my doors. After I did that, I discovered him sliding in under the door. It looked like he could completely flattened himself, becoming as pliable and flexible as a sheet of paper.

My exasperation and irritation spiked. How was I supposed to deal with that. I took hold of the boy to take him out of the room. He immediately screamed, writhing and crying in my grasp. Others came running in. I said that I hadn’t done anything to him, that he was overly sensitive, defending myself with the claim, I was just stopping him from ruining things again. My sisters took him out of my room.

Dream end.

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The Movie Dream

I dreamed I was in a movie. Then I realized it was a movie and not life, so I stepped out of it. But then, remembering that I’d seen the movie, I tried recalling how it went. It seemed different, so I stepped back in to follow.

The dream was about a man protecting the Pope. Dressed in a black leather trench coat, with a black hat pulled low over his head, he was in a big white Lincoln Town Car. After some changes in camera perspective and mild action, it emerged that he’d been shot. People were after him and he was after them, trying to be proactive by getting them before they got him. I was very young, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with shaggy brown hair. At one point, I was accused of being the one who’d shot him. I was ready to proclaim my innocence, but the Pope’s bodyguard identified me and said, “He’s one of the good guys.” I was flattered to be cited as a good guy.

Now, though, I felt like I had to live up to that billing. I kept my eye on the Pope’s bodyguard, and spied others trying to sneak up on him. I went to give him warning, but he’d noticed them and was on it. It was at this point in my dream when I thought, wasn’t this a movie? Stepping out, I watched on a big screen as a fine silver thread was spooled out along a winding path through a business area. The silver thread was lit.

A fuse, I realized. But isn’t that different from the movie? That’s not how I remembered it happening.

I stepped back into it. Something was going to explode. I raced forward and scuffed out the silver thread. That ignited all manner of chaos as bad guys — in white clothing, or light clothing, male and female — rushing out to re-light the fuse and the Pope’s bodyguard fighting them off.

Which is where it ended, or was interrupted, by an unnamed cat called Tucker.

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Friday’s Theme Music

The wheel keeps on turning, and the day is Friday again. February 11, 2022. It’s another stunner of a sunny day out there, already up to 55 degrees F, according to my office weather station. The earth turned us into the sun at 7:13 this morning and will turn us away at 5:38 PM. They tell us it’ll hit 76 in the valley today, which would be a new record. Maybe, but my part of the valley didn’t see the 75 they claimed yesterday. We’re now into a historic stretch of dry weather, a sad promise that the drought will probably continue and deepen this year.

I have a strange one in the morning mental music stream: “The William Tell Overture”. I’m speculating that it’s because of the horses in a dream I had. Though they were tiny horses — smaller than a cat — they triggered a memory of “The Lone Ranger”. That was a television show that played on Saturday mornings in my youth, alongside “Sky King”, “Looney Tunes” (featuring Bugs Bunny and the gang), “Mighty Mouse”, “Tom and Jerry”, “Deputy Dawg”, and “Top Cat”. What glorious morning television! Then, eat fast, dress fast, and bang, out the door, often on my bike, unless the snow was too deep. In every season except winter, my baseball mitt hung on my handlebar, so I was ready and available for any pickup baseball or softball game that I came across.

“The William Tell Overture” is associated with “The Lone Ranger” because it was used as the theme music. A teacher took note of this and used it as a teaching moment, introducing us to classical music. From “The William Tell Overture”, we ended up exploring “In the Hall of the Mountain King”, “Peter and the Wolf”, and many others. She’s the same teacher who prodded me into reading more and expanding my reading interests. I owe her a huge debt.

So, let’s return to those thrilling days of yesteryear. It’s a rousing, heroic melody, ideal for your weekend beginning, weekend, whatever. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, when needed, and get the vax and boosters when you can. Here’s the music. Hi-Yo, Silver, I’m galloping off for some coffee. Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Yep, turn the page. Start a new leaf. Begin anew, again. November is upon us, a continuation of the autumn months for those of us above the equator. We’re like a ship sailing toward winter. Clouds grow darker and heavier. Sunshine thins and fades, surrendering us to increasingly cold air. We hover around warm spots, watching the horizons for signs of snow, awaiting the next phase.

Or we shrug and press on. Or gather winter sports equipment, put on warmer coats, and head for the hills. Who cares what season it is? Well, we care, but each season brings it personality in. We can usually find things to love and admire in each season. The cats, though, are definitive summer folk. They’re already going out only to dart back in with complaints. “Where is the sun? Turn off the wind. Make it warmer.” So they go until they find a faintly suitable place and curl up, gradually replacing their mutterings with snores.

Today is Monday, November 1, 2021, the first Monday in November. So, we’ll have five Mondays in this month, along with five Tuesdays. The sunshine shifted into the valley with meager offerings at 7:44 AM. The sun will fade away at 6:05 PM. Temperatures will stay chilly with rainfall and winds contributing, giving us a high of 56 degrees F. But the air is clear and absent any signs of wildfire smoke.

For reasons that aren’t in focus for me, a 1973 Marvin Gaye song is playing in the morning mental music stream. Yes, Marvin is singing, “Let’s Get It On”, a smooth, lovely song, evocative of hopeful young love and sex. Hearing the song conjures scenes of dark houses with slow dancing, making out on furniture, quiet pairings of couples who sneak away for some privacy. All this goes with the Halloween period because growing up in the western Pennsylvania area as a teen, that early darkness in alignment with parents’ work hours afforded some unique opportunities to visit with friends in their houses. We were usually outside in the summer and spring, see, while winter brought freezing air and heavy snow that made such visiting difficult. Also, reaching into November, you were a month, almost two, into the new school year. Got to reacquaint yourself you hadn’t seen for a while, rekindling affection and interest. I guess I untied the knot about why the song is hovering around my mind this morning.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and boosters when you can. Here’s the music, there’s my coffee, and here we go, galloping on into November. Onward, he cried from the rear. Let’s go. Cheers

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