Tuesday, August 1, 2017


It's a misty, early morning. I'm sitting, alone, at a small table which itself sits on the veranda of a very large old house. Though I haven't explored the place fully, I know that the veranda wraps around the entire house. Though I don't recall having gone inside, I somehow know that the house is large, very large and has many comfortable and spacious rooms. One might call it a palace if it wasn't for the very down home feel of the place.

The house sits beside a lake, at least I think it's a lake as I can dimly perceive the other side. Whether that dimness is because of the mist or the size of this body of water, I don't know.

I'm wearing a light jacket, to ward off the morning's chill, and I'm enjoying a cup of coffee, gazing out at the lake, which is calm, nearly as still as a mill pond. I can hear the water lapping at the shoreline, but that is the only sound I hear.

Suddenly there is this fellow standing beside me, wearing running kit and from the look of him, just back from a brisk run, he's sweating and puffing slightly. Somehow I sense that I know this man, but I've never met him. With a grin and a nod, he's off again, jogging down the veranda then off into the mist.

I awaken with a palpable sense of loss. I've glimpsed something profound and I don't fully understand what it is I think I've experienced. I know it's a dream, yet, somehow not a dream. I knew that man though I'd never met him in real life. It was the sense of loss though that stayed with me the rest of the day.

It lingers still.

I dream a lot. Every night? I don't know. There are nights when my sleep is so fitful that come morning, I don't know if I slept, dreamt of sleep, or simply tossed and turned in a semi-conscious state most of the night. When I mention this to The Missus Herself, she usually remarks that "for a guy who didn't sleep at all, you sure snored a lot."

(As an aside, she once recorded my snoring, thinking, I guess, to show me just how annoying it was. I thought it sounded rhythmic and soothing, almost like white noise. Yes, she told me that I was, most certainly, an idiot. I cannot confirm, nor deny, that statement. Seems there might be enough evidence there to support her contention. But I digress.)

Are my dreams in color? Or in black and white? Truthfully I don't know. Some seem vivid and perhaps in color. Others are misty and somewhat unclear. Surreal describes it nicely. Or as Patton put it, "as through a glass, and darkly..."

When I was young I had dreams about falling. Very vivid and absolutely terrifying. Then I learned to fly. One night, when I had fallen off a cliff in a dream (how the heck did I get up there?) I took control. Soon I was soaring through the air, down valleys, up and over hills. I could fly.

I kind of miss those dreams. (I read somewhere that dreaming about falling is something that happens when you are still growing. I'm not growing anymore, but I am expanding. Which is something I need to get under control before I create my own gravitational field...)

I have dreamt of war. Extreme violence where I have been so enraged that I would kill an enemy over and over again. Always a faceless foe, never someone I could recognize as even being human. How did I know it was war and not something else? Well, artillery was involved. In the near distance, didn't sound like thunder, sounded like cannon. (I've heard both, I know the difference.)

When I would relate those dreams of violence to The Missus Herself, she asked me if there was blood in the dream. Seems that in Korea, a dream involving violence with blood means one thing, without blood another. Oddly enough the former is considered better than the latter. No, I don't know why. Neither did she. (It's like asking why a black cat crossing one's path is bad luck. Or going under a ladder, or breaking a mirror. Superstition? Folk wisdom? I don't know.)

What are dreams, really? I know what some have said, perhaps they are just a method the subconscious uses to organize random bits of memory so that they can be categorized, and perhaps discarded. Then there is Freud's interpretation -
Freud (1900) considered dreams to be the royal road to the unconscious as it is in dreams that the ego's defenses are lowered so that some of the repressed material comes through to awareness, albeit in distorted form. Dreams perform important functions for the unconscious mind and serve as valuable clues to how the unconscious mind operates. (Source)
I get the feeling that my "royal road" is potholed, semi-paved, and in need of some repair.

I know who it was I met on that veranda, some of you know too. It's not the first time I've encountered this fellow in dreams. He knows something that he's not telling.

It's something good, that much I know.

While writing this post I had a memory pop into my head. Involves learning to fly, sort of.

We'd just had a pleasant lunch in Virginia Beach, at Chick's, a place the Florida Flyer knows well. It was a beautiful day, the food was great, the company better. The Missus Herself, The WSO, The WSO's best friend, and (of course) Your Humble Scribe.

On the way back to Chez LUSH, this song came on the radio. Oddly enough, these guys were on Letterman that very same night. This song evokes some very good memories. Very good indeed. And Dave Grohl bears a faint resemblance to the guy in the dream.

I wonder what it all means.


  1. Guess my dreams weren't particularly esoteric but I vividly recall some dreams about Diana Rigg as Mrs. Peel.

    1. Who needs esoteric when you've got Emma Peel?

    2. I think the word you two are searching for is very similar in spelling to esoteric but having the r replace the s and dropping the second e.

    3. Ah wait, I see what you did there. There is no new "R" but the existing "R" simply moved.


    4. It takes me a while. I get there, it just takes a while.

  2. Don't know if it's a good thing or not but I can never remember my dreams. Even dreams that wake me up and I think "wow, that was bizarre and just that quickly they are gone. Kendy will quite often tell me that I talk most of the night in a dream and she'll want to know what it was all about and I got nothing! My mind is a strange and devious place and probably better left unexplored!

    1. There are times that I wished I remembered a dream, other times when I wished I could forget.

      There are folks, like you, who never remember. Odd that.

  3. Fun to think about. We can't even begin to wrap our understanding around that thing between our ears. It's by far the most complicated thing that we deal with, and for all of our whiz-bang science and technology we can still only guess at what consciousness is.

    Mix dreams with music and my spinning wheel stops on this one. Perhaps because it contains my favorite misheard lyric of all time: "When Lorraine washes your thing you'll know. You'll know."


    1. Can't go wrong with Stevie and Fleetwood Mac now can you.

      Misheard lyrics are an amusing topic.

      The brain, uncharted territory for sure!

  4. Maybe once or twice a month I will remember parts of a dream.
    But I can go for weeks at a time without sensing anything like a dream.
    OTOH, MB dreams enough for both of us.

    1. I can't go that long, there are good and bad aspects to that.

  5. Seen this one? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JozAmXo2bDE

    1. I had not! Pretty awesome if you ask me.

      Which you did.


  6. I am usually lost on a ramp of some new airport. Always looking for the gate and airplane I'm to fly to complete my assigned sequence. And of course CARRYING my brain bag and suitcase. I am before wheels. Hence my carpal tunnel.

    1. Sounds like a classic recurring nightmare for a professional pilot!

    2. Mine is very similar, I'm on the schedule for a flight, but I'm out of landing currency and can't find an IP, or even weirder, I can't find my boots.

    3. I can see the lack of boots being a problem.

  7. Dear Chanters:

    Please excuse the highjack, but I feel the need to address ( not necessarily your ) Uncle Skip.

    ( nny ) Uncle Skip: I just visited your site and wanted to leave a greeting and comment about your trip in Chicago. However, your site is not as friendly as this one to anonymous commenters. This saddens me as I found your site enjoyable and, as you may have noticed, I like to run off at the keyboard. One thing that I really wanted to write to you is to visit the Museum of Science and Industry if your time permits.

    Thank all of y'all for your indulgence.

    Paul L. Quandt

    1. Skip is a frequent visitor so he'll see this, probably.

      One problem with Anonymous comments is that we get a lot of them, most are spammers, they tend to comment on really old posts, which makes no sense to me but there it is. My point is that a lot of bloggers won't allow Anonymous comments so the spammers can't get through the door.

      Though I've been tempted to turn off Anonymous comments I've decided it's not worth the effort. Besides which there are a few Chanters who prefer to not sign up for Google accounts and the like and Anonymous works for them.

      So Skip probably has that turned off.

    2. OAFS:

      Thank you for the explanation. I deeply appreciate you going the extra mile to allow people such as I am the privilege of commenting here. This blog is a bright spot in my day. Thank you.



Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

NOTE: Comments on posts over 5 days old go into moderation, automatically.