Wednesday night
Dream 1: Helping the Detective
My wife was a detective, returning to the scene of a crime. A young woman was missing, and foul play was suspected. She (the detective) walked through the girl's bedroom, looking around, and put on one of the CDs that the (possible) victim owned. She sang along, out loud, while continuing to look at everything in the room. Just then, the camera seemed to pull back to reveal a sad sight: the body of the victim, fully clothed in a dark shirt and pants, and with her back to us, was stuffed between the mattress and the box spring of her bed. The tension was great, because "we" knew where the body was, but the detective hadn't found her yet. Finally, a hand broke through the pane of the dream from our perspective and pointed it out to the detective.
Dream 2: Secret Smile
I was walking through a room, from left to right. First, I passed my dad. Next, I passed Denise, who was sitting to my left. She was a teenager again, and smiled silently at me as I walked by. We had an understanding between us... we couldn't date now, but maybe years later...
*****
Dream 1: Helping the Detective
I do think of my wife as a detective sometimes. She misses nothing; especially something that obvious. In some ways, this dream reminds me of "The Silence of the Lambs," particularly the scene in which Clarice Starling returns to the victim's bedroom to learn more about her.
Dream 2: Secret Smile
I still haven't seen or spoken to D. in 20 years. She'll be 40 next May. Hard to believe.
I thought about not including these dreams in the blog today, for various reasons, but what the hell -- they are what they are. The dreams that I've had this month depicting violence toward women bother me. And the thing about Denise; I guess she's still in the back of my mind, along with the other characters.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Making a Mess
Sunday night
I was upstairs at my parents' old house, preparing to paint a plaster wall in my one of the bedrooms. I was working with a compound, sort of a mound of primer, that I was planning to spread on the walls when the old paint was cleared away. It was white and fairly sticky, with the consistency of dough. As I scraped the old paint, the chips were falling all over, and soon I had quite a mess on my hands. I decided that the expedient thing to do would be to use the ball of primer to pick them up, or as a spot where I could stick the paint chips as I came across them, or as I pulled them from the wall. Of course, after a few minutes, I realized that I'd made a big junkball, and that it would be nearly impossible to spread the mixture on the wall later. I was standing there puzzling over what I had done when I heard the doorbell ring on the first floor. I walked downstairs, where my wife had opened the door and greeted John Seigenthaler, who had come by for a visit. They were sitting in the dining room when I got there. Mr. Seigenthaler rose from his chair when he saw me, and I said, "Hi John. I'd shake your hand, but... and showed him evidence of the paint and primer.
(At that moment I was awakened by the morning alarm.)
*****
John Seigenthaler is a pretty important guy in Nashville, and well respected. We've spoken once or twice, and he's been nice to me. He hosts a weekend show on the local PBS station called "A Word on Words." I saw one of his programs recently in which he interviewed author Bruce Barry, Professor of Management and Sociology at Vanderbilt University and president of the ACLU of Tennessee, about Barry's book "Speechless: The Erosion of Free Expression in the American Workplace." It was a very interesting show.
It seems to me that in almost every case, dreams are unique events; a mixture of sights, sounds and stories that will never occur exactly the same way again. That's why I'm always sad when one of my dreams is interrupted. I'll never know where it could have led.
By the way, I don't remember any peeling or chipping paint inside the folks' house. Mom wouldn't have put up with that.
I was upstairs at my parents' old house, preparing to paint a plaster wall in my one of the bedrooms. I was working with a compound, sort of a mound of primer, that I was planning to spread on the walls when the old paint was cleared away. It was white and fairly sticky, with the consistency of dough. As I scraped the old paint, the chips were falling all over, and soon I had quite a mess on my hands. I decided that the expedient thing to do would be to use the ball of primer to pick them up, or as a spot where I could stick the paint chips as I came across them, or as I pulled them from the wall. Of course, after a few minutes, I realized that I'd made a big junkball, and that it would be nearly impossible to spread the mixture on the wall later. I was standing there puzzling over what I had done when I heard the doorbell ring on the first floor. I walked downstairs, where my wife had opened the door and greeted John Seigenthaler, who had come by for a visit. They were sitting in the dining room when I got there. Mr. Seigenthaler rose from his chair when he saw me, and I said, "Hi John. I'd shake your hand, but... and showed him evidence of the paint and primer.
(At that moment I was awakened by the morning alarm.)
*****
John Seigenthaler is a pretty important guy in Nashville, and well respected. We've spoken once or twice, and he's been nice to me. He hosts a weekend show on the local PBS station called "A Word on Words." I saw one of his programs recently in which he interviewed author Bruce Barry, Professor of Management and Sociology at Vanderbilt University and president of the ACLU of Tennessee, about Barry's book "Speechless: The Erosion of Free Expression in the American Workplace." It was a very interesting show.
It seems to me that in almost every case, dreams are unique events; a mixture of sights, sounds and stories that will never occur exactly the same way again. That's why I'm always sad when one of my dreams is interrupted. I'll never know where it could have led.
By the way, I don't remember any peeling or chipping paint inside the folks' house. Mom wouldn't have put up with that.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Can I Get My Stuff Back?
Saturday night
I had recently moved into a new home, but many of my things remained at my old house, which had been bought by a young family with two small children. I went back there to retrieve some of my possessions, and found several of my stereo components in a new cabinet on the side porch, along with three full shelves of my L.P.'s. My speakers were out there, too, accompanied by a row of my books about rock and roll. The young wife found me there, staring at it all. She said, "Do you have to take them right now? It's such a great library, and my husband enjoys reading about the records while he listens to them."
I walked out into the backyard and found the large, red plastic tub that I used to store sports equipment. Some of my bats, balls and Frizbees were strewn about, so I began to gather them up. I stuck a few Wiffle bats into the tub, and the new owners' youngest boy popped his head up and grinned at me. He had been hiding in there.
I noticed that one of the pine trees in my old garden had died, so I decided to cut it down. But before I did that, at the very least, I could save some of the bark for the garden path. I got out my ax, and began chipping it away. Just then, one of the young woman's relatives walked out of the house, and came over to talk to me. It was Senator Ted Kennedy. He said, "I'm sorry about your tree, but I'm glad you're saving the bark for the mulch. We use it at our home down in Florider."
*****
Our nieces and nephews visited us here in Nashville for Thanksgiving, so I pulled our red plastic tub out of the shed, and we had sports equipment scattered all over the yard. Of course, those few days made every bit of work on the backyard worthwhile.
My wife and I watched "This Old House" and "Ask This Old House" on PBS yesterday afternoon. Many of the guys featured on those shows have thick Boston accents; I'm sure that's why I thought of Ted Kennedy. One of the segments of the second show featured a young family (with two children) who were spreading mulch in their backyard so that their kids would have a safe place to play. (There wasn't enough sunlight to get much grass to grow back there.)
The Kennedys owned a compound in Palm Beach, which, for a time, was known as "The Florida White House."
I had recently moved into a new home, but many of my things remained at my old house, which had been bought by a young family with two small children. I went back there to retrieve some of my possessions, and found several of my stereo components in a new cabinet on the side porch, along with three full shelves of my L.P.'s. My speakers were out there, too, accompanied by a row of my books about rock and roll. The young wife found me there, staring at it all. She said, "Do you have to take them right now? It's such a great library, and my husband enjoys reading about the records while he listens to them."
I walked out into the backyard and found the large, red plastic tub that I used to store sports equipment. Some of my bats, balls and Frizbees were strewn about, so I began to gather them up. I stuck a few Wiffle bats into the tub, and the new owners' youngest boy popped his head up and grinned at me. He had been hiding in there.
I noticed that one of the pine trees in my old garden had died, so I decided to cut it down. But before I did that, at the very least, I could save some of the bark for the garden path. I got out my ax, and began chipping it away. Just then, one of the young woman's relatives walked out of the house, and came over to talk to me. It was Senator Ted Kennedy. He said, "I'm sorry about your tree, but I'm glad you're saving the bark for the mulch. We use it at our home down in Florider."
*****
Our nieces and nephews visited us here in Nashville for Thanksgiving, so I pulled our red plastic tub out of the shed, and we had sports equipment scattered all over the yard. Of course, those few days made every bit of work on the backyard worthwhile.
My wife and I watched "This Old House" and "Ask This Old House" on PBS yesterday afternoon. Many of the guys featured on those shows have thick Boston accents; I'm sure that's why I thought of Ted Kennedy. One of the segments of the second show featured a young family (with two children) who were spreading mulch in their backyard so that their kids would have a safe place to play. (There wasn't enough sunlight to get much grass to grow back there.)
The Kennedys owned a compound in Palm Beach, which, for a time, was known as "The Florida White House."
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Border War
Friday night
I was one of three Confederates (or Confederate sympathizers) in a border state, such as Missouri or Kansas, and we were preparing for a battle. All three of us were wearing civilian shirts and pants; most likely, we were farmers. We had the higher ground, but the enemy was approaching from below, and we were hopelessly outnumbered. The leader of our group climbed a hill behind us to have a look around, and we scrambled after him. He walked to the edge of a town, looked around a bit, and came back with his instructions. Basically, we were to disperse in three different directions.
I was given an additional job, too. The commander asked me to go and buy him a fancy dress uniform. I said, "But how will I pay for it?" The other citizen-soldier said, "Here." That's when I noticed that he had a solid gold fingernail. He proceeded to trim the edge of it, and handed the clipping to me. He said that would be more than enough to cover the cost.
Even though I had escaped imminent danger, I still had to be wary in town. I'd have to be extra sure of the tailor's sympathies before asking him to do the job.
*****
I've recently decided to opt out of my employer's 401(K) plan, for various reasons, and will probably choose to go with a Roth IRA to "grow my money." In lieu of a golden fingernail, that is. I think that might be what this dream is about. I mentioned this theory to my wife a few minutes ago. She thought a moment and said, "That freaks me out, man. I don't like it."
I was one of three Confederates (or Confederate sympathizers) in a border state, such as Missouri or Kansas, and we were preparing for a battle. All three of us were wearing civilian shirts and pants; most likely, we were farmers. We had the higher ground, but the enemy was approaching from below, and we were hopelessly outnumbered. The leader of our group climbed a hill behind us to have a look around, and we scrambled after him. He walked to the edge of a town, looked around a bit, and came back with his instructions. Basically, we were to disperse in three different directions.
I was given an additional job, too. The commander asked me to go and buy him a fancy dress uniform. I said, "But how will I pay for it?" The other citizen-soldier said, "Here." That's when I noticed that he had a solid gold fingernail. He proceeded to trim the edge of it, and handed the clipping to me. He said that would be more than enough to cover the cost.
Even though I had escaped imminent danger, I still had to be wary in town. I'd have to be extra sure of the tailor's sympathies before asking him to do the job.
*****
I've recently decided to opt out of my employer's 401(K) plan, for various reasons, and will probably choose to go with a Roth IRA to "grow my money." In lieu of a golden fingernail, that is. I think that might be what this dream is about. I mentioned this theory to my wife a few minutes ago. She thought a moment and said, "That freaks me out, man. I don't like it."
Friday, November 23, 2007
Mail Bonding / A Shot at Fame
Thursday night
Dream 1: Mail Bonding
My brother Andrew was a reporter again, and I was visiting with him as he attempted to make arrangements for a forthcoming trip to China. He was trying to arrange passage of some type between two remote cities, and had hit upon the idea of hitching a ride between the two towns in a mail carrier's truck. I stood near him as he negotiated this plan with one of the Chinese Post Offices via telephone. The good news was that the manager of the post office spoke English, and seemed to be an American. The bad news was that he wasn't going for it, and Drew was getting pretty exasperated. The manager said, "We're not bonded for a trip like that." Andrew said, "I know that! I'm not either!"
Dream 2: A Shot at Fame
My wife and I had gone with a few friends to a large theme park, and decided to catch the variety show in a big outdoor amphitheater. We lucked into some pretty good seats, about three rows from the front, at stage left (to the right of the stage, from our perspective). I was wearing a canvas fisherman's cap; it was white on top, with a blue lip, and it had several breathing holes in it, surrounded by metal grommets. (It was probably pretty similar to the hat Gilligan wears on "Gilligan's Island," except for the blue color on the bottom portion, and the holes around the sides.) Anyway, on this day I had decided to unfold the hat and wear it so that it practically covered my eyes. I was wearing shades, too, to complete the look.
I must have looked pretty distinctive to the folks who ran the show, because one of their employees, an Asian man, spotted me from the stage, pointed at me, and said, "You! Do you want to be part of the show today?" I said, "OK," and climbed up there. He led me backstage, to prepare for my bit. I planned to make the most of it; I knew that the star of the show had dated Cher once upon a time, so I was going to startle him by getting in front of a mike and saying, "So, how are you and Cher getting along these days?" (I was snarky that way.)
It was a gigantic complex, just for the stage production, and it was easy to get turned around back there. I found myself wandering between several sound stages, trying to figure out where I should be. Finally, I came across three young producers, in matching black polo shirts. I asked them what I should do, and they led me to the makeup table, where two young women with black hair were going through the motions getting people ready. My makeup artist had black-rimmed glassed. The whole thing seemed exciting to me. I said, "Do you like your job?" She hesitated, then frowned, and shook her head. Someone walked by and called out, "50 minutes," meaning that I had that much time till my skit began. Just then, someone else joined us at the makeup table; Max C. had shown up to see if he could have his 15 minutes of fame, too. He wasn't chosen by the staff; he was filling out a "stand-by" form, on the off chance that he could be an extra. I said to no one, and everyone, "If Gilbert Godfried can be a successful comedian, so can Max!" Suddenly, Max leaped atop the table and shouted, "THAT'S RIGHT!"
*****
Dream 1: Mail Bonding
My brother Andrew was a reporter for a long time. He still works for a newspaper, but he's in management now. My dad worked on the government side of the U.S. Postal Service for about 25 years.
Dream 2: A Shot at Fame
I did indeed have that canvas hat, and liked it a lot. I think I got it during a beach vacation, years ago.
Max is an interesting guy that I knew at the foundation where I used to work, in Virginia. He was, and is, a radio reporter. He was always friendly to me. Nowadays he can still be heard reporting on D.C. government matters on National Public Radio. Sometimes we even hear his reports on Nashville's public radio station.
Dream 1: Mail Bonding
My brother Andrew was a reporter again, and I was visiting with him as he attempted to make arrangements for a forthcoming trip to China. He was trying to arrange passage of some type between two remote cities, and had hit upon the idea of hitching a ride between the two towns in a mail carrier's truck. I stood near him as he negotiated this plan with one of the Chinese Post Offices via telephone. The good news was that the manager of the post office spoke English, and seemed to be an American. The bad news was that he wasn't going for it, and Drew was getting pretty exasperated. The manager said, "We're not bonded for a trip like that." Andrew said, "I know that! I'm not either!"
Dream 2: A Shot at Fame
My wife and I had gone with a few friends to a large theme park, and decided to catch the variety show in a big outdoor amphitheater. We lucked into some pretty good seats, about three rows from the front, at stage left (to the right of the stage, from our perspective). I was wearing a canvas fisherman's cap; it was white on top, with a blue lip, and it had several breathing holes in it, surrounded by metal grommets. (It was probably pretty similar to the hat Gilligan wears on "Gilligan's Island," except for the blue color on the bottom portion, and the holes around the sides.) Anyway, on this day I had decided to unfold the hat and wear it so that it practically covered my eyes. I was wearing shades, too, to complete the look.
I must have looked pretty distinctive to the folks who ran the show, because one of their employees, an Asian man, spotted me from the stage, pointed at me, and said, "You! Do you want to be part of the show today?" I said, "OK," and climbed up there. He led me backstage, to prepare for my bit. I planned to make the most of it; I knew that the star of the show had dated Cher once upon a time, so I was going to startle him by getting in front of a mike and saying, "So, how are you and Cher getting along these days?" (I was snarky that way.)
It was a gigantic complex, just for the stage production, and it was easy to get turned around back there. I found myself wandering between several sound stages, trying to figure out where I should be. Finally, I came across three young producers, in matching black polo shirts. I asked them what I should do, and they led me to the makeup table, where two young women with black hair were going through the motions getting people ready. My makeup artist had black-rimmed glassed. The whole thing seemed exciting to me. I said, "Do you like your job?" She hesitated, then frowned, and shook her head. Someone walked by and called out, "50 minutes," meaning that I had that much time till my skit began. Just then, someone else joined us at the makeup table; Max C. had shown up to see if he could have his 15 minutes of fame, too. He wasn't chosen by the staff; he was filling out a "stand-by" form, on the off chance that he could be an extra. I said to no one, and everyone, "If Gilbert Godfried can be a successful comedian, so can Max!" Suddenly, Max leaped atop the table and shouted, "THAT'S RIGHT!"
*****
Dream 1: Mail Bonding
My brother Andrew was a reporter for a long time. He still works for a newspaper, but he's in management now. My dad worked on the government side of the U.S. Postal Service for about 25 years.
Dream 2: A Shot at Fame
I did indeed have that canvas hat, and liked it a lot. I think I got it during a beach vacation, years ago.
Max is an interesting guy that I knew at the foundation where I used to work, in Virginia. He was, and is, a radio reporter. He was always friendly to me. Nowadays he can still be heard reporting on D.C. government matters on National Public Radio. Sometimes we even hear his reports on Nashville's public radio station.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Good Luck, Dasha
Tuesday night
Dasha, the photographer in our department, was leaving, so she threw a big party at the townhouse that she shared with several other employees. The next morning, I was lying on the floor under a table. I hadn't been drinking, but had decided to leave some words of encouragement along her wall, just above the baseboard. These words would be left with a permanent Sharpie marker. I began to write, "Don't sell yourself short, or your work -- you can do things that a lot of other people can't do." Unfortunately, I ran out of room, and tried to continue my sentence on the carpet. I made a few mistakes, and was making some blobs on the rug with White Out when one of our fellow workers, Erik B., walked in, and opened a closet door. He didn't see me; he was looking for a tie to wear to work that morning. As soon as he left, another coworker, Darryl B., came in. He's a very tall guy. He didn't see me either. Unfortunately, he tripped over my feet and cursed.
*****
Today really is Dasha's last day here. She just walked through to make her final rounds, and I said, "Hey -- I had a dream about you last night!" She stepped back and said, "Well, that's a pretty creepy way to say goodbye!" She smiled, but she kinda meant it, too. I went on to describe the party, and she said, "Man, that's a detailed dream!" If she only knew about the really detailed ones. Anyway, mental note made: maybe it's not so cool to mention the dreams to the coworkers after all. Incidentally, the part about the townhouse is made up. I don't have any idea if she has a townhouse, roomates, etc.
I hate graffiti, but I would be remiss if I didn't own up to my penchant for signing the interior spaces of some of my former workplaces when I was about to quit. I used to work at a record store called Penguin Feather, in a building which at one time contained a bank. The manager's office was in the back room with the big safe. Just before I left, I stood on top of the desk and drew a very detailed logo for Bruce Springsteen's album "The River" at the top of one wall, and on part of the ceiling. Later, when I was leaving Crown Books, I inscribed part of lyrics of Springsteen's song "Ramrod" along the top of their back room wall, mainly to piss off my then-manager, Joe S.: "Say you'll be mine, little girl, I'll put my foot to the floor / Give me the word, now, Sugar, we'll go ramroddin' forever more..." Always liked that one.
Dasha, the photographer in our department, was leaving, so she threw a big party at the townhouse that she shared with several other employees. The next morning, I was lying on the floor under a table. I hadn't been drinking, but had decided to leave some words of encouragement along her wall, just above the baseboard. These words would be left with a permanent Sharpie marker. I began to write, "Don't sell yourself short, or your work -- you can do things that a lot of other people can't do." Unfortunately, I ran out of room, and tried to continue my sentence on the carpet. I made a few mistakes, and was making some blobs on the rug with White Out when one of our fellow workers, Erik B., walked in, and opened a closet door. He didn't see me; he was looking for a tie to wear to work that morning. As soon as he left, another coworker, Darryl B., came in. He's a very tall guy. He didn't see me either. Unfortunately, he tripped over my feet and cursed.
*****
Today really is Dasha's last day here. She just walked through to make her final rounds, and I said, "Hey -- I had a dream about you last night!" She stepped back and said, "Well, that's a pretty creepy way to say goodbye!" She smiled, but she kinda meant it, too. I went on to describe the party, and she said, "Man, that's a detailed dream!" If she only knew about the really detailed ones. Anyway, mental note made: maybe it's not so cool to mention the dreams to the coworkers after all. Incidentally, the part about the townhouse is made up. I don't have any idea if she has a townhouse, roomates, etc.
I hate graffiti, but I would be remiss if I didn't own up to my penchant for signing the interior spaces of some of my former workplaces when I was about to quit. I used to work at a record store called Penguin Feather, in a building which at one time contained a bank. The manager's office was in the back room with the big safe. Just before I left, I stood on top of the desk and drew a very detailed logo for Bruce Springsteen's album "The River" at the top of one wall, and on part of the ceiling. Later, when I was leaving Crown Books, I inscribed part of lyrics of Springsteen's song "Ramrod" along the top of their back room wall, mainly to piss off my then-manager, Joe S.: "Say you'll be mine, little girl, I'll put my foot to the floor / Give me the word, now, Sugar, we'll go ramroddin' forever more..." Always liked that one.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Pharmacist's Daughter
Monday night
Ed B. and I were visiting our friend Gordon at his parents' house. Gordy still lived there, so this dream probably took place about 20 years ago. The three of us were sitting in the kitchen, reminiscing about an acquaintance of ours that had recently died. She was a nice young woman, the daughter of Gordon's pharmacist. We had all liked her. I said to Gordy, "It's hard enough for me, but it's got to be particularly tough for you. You knew her a lot better than I did, and you still see her dad whenever you need to have a prescription filled."
Changing the mood (and the subject), I said, "Damn, I forgot to bring over that DVD I made for you." Gordon said, "That's O.K. Let's go upstairs and watch a movie. You can bring it over next time." We went up to Gordon's room, and sat on his bed. We climbed under the bedspread, as if it was a slumber party, and Gordy turned on the TV. As the movie began, he passed the DVD cover around. It was a 1930s flick featuring child star Jackie Cooper. I said, "I have two of his films in my collection at home, but I've never seen this one." I pulled the covers up to my chin and got ready to enjoy the show.
*****
I probably saw several Jackie Cooper movies on Sunday morning TV when I was a kid, but the one I remember most is "Treasure Island," from 1934.
I did see a movie in Gordy's room once -- it was The Beatles in "A Hard Day's Night." Ed was there. We sat on top of the covers.
Ed B. and I were visiting our friend Gordon at his parents' house. Gordy still lived there, so this dream probably took place about 20 years ago. The three of us were sitting in the kitchen, reminiscing about an acquaintance of ours that had recently died. She was a nice young woman, the daughter of Gordon's pharmacist. We had all liked her. I said to Gordy, "It's hard enough for me, but it's got to be particularly tough for you. You knew her a lot better than I did, and you still see her dad whenever you need to have a prescription filled."
Changing the mood (and the subject), I said, "Damn, I forgot to bring over that DVD I made for you." Gordon said, "That's O.K. Let's go upstairs and watch a movie. You can bring it over next time." We went up to Gordon's room, and sat on his bed. We climbed under the bedspread, as if it was a slumber party, and Gordy turned on the TV. As the movie began, he passed the DVD cover around. It was a 1930s flick featuring child star Jackie Cooper. I said, "I have two of his films in my collection at home, but I've never seen this one." I pulled the covers up to my chin and got ready to enjoy the show.
*****
I probably saw several Jackie Cooper movies on Sunday morning TV when I was a kid, but the one I remember most is "Treasure Island," from 1934.
I did see a movie in Gordy's room once -- it was The Beatles in "A Hard Day's Night." Ed was there. We sat on top of the covers.
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