Sunday Cultivation

It’s Sunday night and I’ve done little blog activity today. That was not how relationships were supposed to work. Relationships needed cultivation–just like gardens. Maybe that’s why my gardens ended up as patches of weeds.

What “they” didn’t want you to know. Why was this still a popular headline? Maybe there were more conspiracy theorists than I realized?

Sonic drive-in restaurant franchises are offering dill pickle slushies. For those tired of the usual sweet-syrupy offerings. I happened to like Kosher dills–the crunchier the better. I’ve heard that drinking dill pickle juice, after perspiring from heavy exercise, replaced lost body salts.

Recurring dreams: Last night, I experienced a varied version of a recurring dream. I was back at college–in Marston Hall. I looked for a seat, most were filled. None of the students were familiar to me. I found a seat, left my books. Went up front to talk to the professor. When I returned, my things were gone. Nobody fessed up to anything. Just like that–in a finger snap, the dream ended.

Recurring dream #2:  My car was left parallel parked on a city street.  It was a small town with lots of free parking spots.  I returned later, from some non-specific activity, and couldn’t find my car.  I doubted myself.  Where had I parked?  Had it been two blocks in the other direction?  Cars owned in the past were also featured.  My black 4 door Ford sedan, or the blue, two-door sporty, compact sedan, with mag wheels.

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What You Needed To Know (Stream of Consciousness)

Curtain rose, then fell

Magazine covers

Wrinkled, torn

Inside passages

“I’m Joe’s Liver”

“Why can’t Johnny read?”

Asked, then answered

For those that believed

Cautioned, stern warnings

Kudzu clan was on the loose

Worst earthquakes

Were yet to come

Best to plan ahead

Dream queens, dream screams

Worst mistakes, “they” ever made

Why we dreamed–what dreams meant

Baby bumps, career bump-ups

Deflated balloons departed

Decorated trees in festive mylar

Get well, good luck!

Don’t give up–too soon!

Uncanny caring

Unconscious staring

Big sales, slips and flops

Ubiquitous, unorthodox shops

Favorable phases of the moon

Back to basics, think smaller

How to look taller

Luck, lack of luck?

Hidden gold mines

Could work this time?

You didn’t know

How lucky you were

 

 

 

Reports Of My Demise #dreams #death #humor

The family sat at a round table in a restaurant’s banquet hall.  Conversations were polite, but subdued.  Appropriate laughter was allowed, if it engaged the guest of honor.

Wait staff worked the table efficiently.  More chairs were brought in for the stragglers.

There was no awkwardness in discussions about the reason for the family gathering.

There was no fear at the thought of my demise.  In my dream I was critically ill.  Death would come in a matter of weeks or months.

The weirdest part of this dream came this morning after breakfast at a local restaurant.

“Honey, last night I dreamed that the family gathered at a restaurant to honor me–because I had a terminal illness,” I said.  “I knew death would soon come, and was at peace with it.”

She hesitated–deep in thought.  “Oh, my gosh–that’s very odd.  Because, two nights ago, I dreamed you died.  I was stunned.  Didn’t know what to do.  I was reluctant to tell you about it.”

What did this mean?  An obvious reference to my own mortality.  We’ve been married for thirty-five years this month.  Sharing similar dreams is something I’ve never experienced.

Were dream reports of my demise greatly exaggerated?  Time will tell.  So far today–I’m feeling fine.

I’ve been summoned to rearrange furniture.  My demise could be sooner rather than later.

Death stay away–don’t shadow my door today.  It’s only muscle aches, nothing more.

VERILY, I SAY–DON’T BE DISTRACTED

The example given was a good one.  Handel’s “Messiah” is one of the most beautiful compositions ever written.

Rev. Larry continued, “Every year, Bob the tympani player, looked forward to performing with the community orchestra.  Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he tuned his instrument for exactly the right moment.  Nothing but perfection would do.  Even though the audience wouldn’t know the difference if the drum skins were tuned a bit flat or sharp–Bob would know.”

“That’s because Bob refused to be distracted from the task at hand.”

“Are you distracted from the important things in life?”  Rev. Larry asked in my dream this morning.

Rev. Larry resembled the pastor of a large local church from television commercials.  The good reverend wore a toupee.  Not being an expert on hair replacement products–it appeared to be a good one.

How did Rev. Larry know that I’m easily distracted?  It was uncanny.