An uplifting dream

Is that the mailman?

This is a picture from the last time we doggy-sat Macon. He is staring out of the picture window, trying to decide if what he sees is bark worthy. It was.


I had a strange dream late last night, or perhaps it was early this morning. It’s hard to tell what time it flickered in my mind. I just know that it was unlike any other dream that I can remember having. This is the way it went:

I was part of a crew working in a high school setting up a computer lab. Not only were we working on the computers, we were also painting the room black. Definitely a bold color choice. Our work crew was mostly young Hispanic immigrants. Being an old white guy, I’m not sure how I was able to get the job. But I enjoyed working as part of the team.

While we were working the door burst open and a Kiss tribute band came into the room. Here is an unbelievable part: The band was not only in full makeup, but they were also on stilts. They struck a wild chord and shouted, “YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!” They went on, “OUR LORD, JESUS, DOESN’T WANT YOU HERE!” They advanced menacingly.

While most of our crew cowered in fear, a Hispanic girl in her teens stepped forward and kicked the stilts out from under one of the band. She was inspiring.

I found the courage to step forward and start preaching to the band about how un-Christ like they were being. I don’t remember any of my exact language, but it must have been a moving oration because the band was humbled and deeply ashamed. It was like the ending of many movies where the townspeople slink away, chagrined, when they realize how wrong they have been about…well, somebody. 

Now, I am not a religious person, nor do I have any spiritual leanings; but I know it is usually pretty easy to lay a guilt trip on another person. My mother taught me.

A strange dream and an announcement


This is a picture I took of my grandson, Mason, at a track meet a couple of weeks ago. He was waiting to be called to compete in the shot put event. He had finished his competition in the hammer throw event, where he had thrown for a new personal best and made it into the finals competition.


Chalk up another strange dream for me. I had this one a few mornings ago. I should have written notes when I first woke up, because I’m sure that I’ve forgotten some details. But I’ll do my best to remember.

In my dream I was once again working for the State Employment Service, though I seemed to be in Texas rather than Indiana. I had just transferred into an office where I had never been before. The office was strange in that the building had no rear wall, and behind that was the employee parking lot. A row of staff desks separated the main work area from the parking lot. Nobody seemed to think this was strange.

This was my first day as the new office manager. My first duty that day was to mollify an upset job seeker who believed we weren’t doing enough for him. I eventually calmed the person down and he left. I turned to look out at the parking lot and saw three men dressed in jeans, blue work shirts, cowboy boots and Stetsons. They had just pushed my car out of the parking lot and into a ditch. Nobody seemed to care except me. And then I woke up.

I have no clue what brought the dream on. I know for sure that it wasn’t because I miss working. I haven’t missed being at work one day since I retired. I doubt that I ever shall.


And now for the announcement. I received this email the other day. If it interests you, feel free to contact Natalie.


My name is Natalie Garvois. Miss Anju and Mr. Norm asked me to host the next N-N-1. With some fear in my heart, I accepted. But because of the person I am, I want to make this one slightly different.
We have done themes before, and I like them, so this time let us do the theme “Season Changes.” The theme is voluntary, so you are not required to stick with it. Secondly, rather than be forced to take your picture on a specific date and time, or even just a specific date, you have a three day window to take the picture.
Now for the details:
Take your picture sometime between Thursday, May 2nd and midnight on Saturday, May 4th. Send your picture, a bit of writing (no more than 200 words of prose or poetry) to me at no later than midnight on Monday, May 6th. Oh! All times are local to where you are. I’ll put all of the submissions together and post them in my blog,, and send you a link so that you can reblog the post if you want to. You do not need a blog in order to participate. If you know somebody who would like to participate, please forward this email to them. You can even post this as an announcement in your blog if you want to.
Thanks for your time.

Mornings & other things

April 2017

I took this picture a couple of years ago. I believe that I took it one day while I was out driving north of Lafayette. But since my memory isn’t what it used to be, it might have been south of Lafayette.


I’ve mentioned a number of times before how I abandoned Facebook a long time ago. I got tired of the endless political debates, and the thinly veiled bigotry that was appearing for my “reading pleasure” by people who should know better, and whom I thought I knew. It got to be too much. In the past six or seven months I’ve started to feel the same way about Twitter. The Tweets have become too mean-spirited on both sides of stories. I haven’t given up on Twitter entirely, but I only check in on it once or twice a week at most. I feel like there should be more happiness in the world. I noticed how much this disheartening aspect of modern life was getting to me this morning when I realized how much I was yearning for a road trip to get away from the daily negativity. Vacation can’t come soon enough this year.

Speaking of this morning, I woke up this morning with a wisp of the dream I had evidently been having. It was a bit of a song titled My Toodleoops and I. Toodleoops seemed to be a nickname for a non-existent former girlfriend. Though, upon reflection, perhaps it was Toodle Loops, a fictional brand of boxed cereal. I’ll never know because I can’t remember anything about the dream.

And while I’m writing about waking up in the morning, what is normally your first thought upon awakening? My first thought is almost always the question “What time is it?” The second thing is usually the question “Do I need to put my pants on before I go downstairs to start the coffee.” The answer to that one depends on whether or not we have house guests. Two days ago, however, my day started in my mind with Linda Ronstadt singing I Can’t Let Go. Catchy but distracting.

That morning start was not nearly as strange as one I experienced two and a half weeks ago when I woke up thinking about the opening of the U.S. Declaration of Independence, “When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another …” and I wondered what might have I been dreaming. But before I could truly form that thought, I started remembering the novel A Hall of Mirrors which was the basis of the movie W.U.S.A. which starred Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. I must have had one heck of a dream!

Early morning thoughts. Wow.

Oh, those crazy dreams

While I was in the library

We had snow flurries Monday. They started while I was in the library. This is what I saw when I walked into the parking lot. Very little accumulation occurred, but it helped me get in the mood to start decorating for our annual holiday party. I love it when it snows.


I feels like, as I get older, I have more memorable dreams. The one I had Saturday night is the strangest I ever remember having, except maybe for one I had when I was 6 or 7. In that one I was being chased through a castle by a giant who looked like Howdy Doody. Saturday’s dream was not like that.

In Saturday’s dream Cindy and I were on vacation. We had reservations for a hotel in downtown Jackson, Mississippi. Visiting Jackson, Mississippi has never been on my wish list, so already it is getting weird. When we arrived at the hotel we found that it was pretty run down. They did advertise that there was an indoor pool, and that was what had caught Cindy’s attention. We found out while checking in that the pool was on the third floor. That was also the floor where our room was located.

I was taking our bags to the room in the elevator when I was joined by the hotel owner, a woman in her thirties who was wearing a bikini and carrying a cat. She was on her way to the pool. We chatted as the slow elevator ascended. Then her cat stretched out and bit my thumb. He didn’t want to let go of my thumb until i started choking it with my free hand. It didn’t seem to bother the owner very much. Though she did offered to make amends by offering to introduce me to the Lieutenant Governor the following day. That didn’t thrill me, but I said that I would.

The nest morning the owner gave me a pass that would allow me to get me into the Statehouse Rotunda where the Lieutenant Governor met people. In my dream the Statehouse was just across the street from our hotel. I walked over, entered the building, and climbed four flights of steps to the Rotunda. I entered the chamber and was surprised to find that everything was purple. There was purple velvet wallpaper, the chairs had purple upholstery, and there was purple carpet on the floor.

A man, dressed in a purple suit, stood up and announced the Lieutenant Governor. A door opened and a goat bounded into the room followed by a man dressed like an 18th century French nobleman. I was confused and I tried to decide if the goat or the man was the Lieutenant Governor. I decided on the man. As I was thinking, the goat skittered around the room. The man greeted those of us in the room, speaking with a French accent. And then he started walking around the room, pausing to sniff the upholstery while murmuring to himself in French.

And then I woke up.

Since my dream I took the time to Google the Mississippi Lieutenant Governor. a man named Tate Reeves. His official picture shows him in modern dress. I don’t know if he has any French ancestry. Nor do I know if he has a pet goat. I’ll go out on a limb and speculate that he may have some Gallic DNA. Further, I’ll guess that he doesn’t have a pet goat. But I could be wrong. After all, we are talking about Mississippi.

Where did this dream come from?

Rainy Main Street Lafayette

This is another photo that I took the morning of May 4th. It was dark, it was rainy, it was downtown Lafayette. There’s not anything else to say,


I had another strange dream last night. I’m glad I don’t have them very often. Let me tell you about it.

It began when Cindy had to go to LARA, the Lafayette Adult Resource Academy, to meet someone. Cindy used to be a volunteer there, and I was a part-time employee. Evidently she was still volunteering in the dream, but I had the good sense to be retired as I am in real life. Anyway, Cindy asked me to go with her and I so I did.

In my dream LARA had moved their operation into a three-story Victorian house, and had joined forces with a Buddhist community center. I know. Strange. Cindy went off to her meeting, leaving me to look around. I came to a room where three people were sitting and talking. One of them looked at me and said that I looked tired and that they could help me.

I’m not sure why I thought that I needed help, but I turned myself over into their hands. They sat me in a chair and gave me a cup of tea. Then one of them approached me and stuck a small pin into my forehead. It stung a bit, but I immediately relaxed and dozed off.

When I awoke I found myself in a bed, dressed only in a grey Henley shirt and boxer shorts. There was no one in the room and my clothes were gone. So I set out wandering around in the house, searching for my clothes. Everyone I met was sympathetic to my plight but had no idea where my clothes might be. They said nothing about my lack of proper attire, but I didn’t find that odd.

Finally I came across a person who worked for LARA. She took me by the hand and led me to the Community Center thrift shop. She pointed to a woman behind the counter and said that I should ask her for my clothes. I did. She reached under the counter and handed me a bundle of clothes. I started putting them on but realized they were not my clothes when I saw that she had given me cowboy boots rather than my shoes.

That is when I woke up. Does anyone have a theory of what the dream means? Please.

What do you do at 2 a.m.?

In downtown Linden

I took this picture a little over a month ago. I have been meaning to stop and get a picture of this building for a long time, but that day was this first when the stars were properly aligned. I had my camera, the camera batteries weren’t dead, I wasn’t in a rush to get somewhere, and there was break in the traffic so that I could get the shot.


I’ve written before about waking up in the early morning hours and being unable to return to peaceful slumber. What do you do? Unfortunately for me, I think. This morning I awoke at 2 a.m. My eyes popped open and I tried to suss out why I was awake and why it felt like I would be awake for a long time.

Had I been having a strange dream? No; not that I could remember. I had a strange dream a few days earlier about a nefarious group who had surgically implanted bombs in the stomaches of the members of a water polo team, but that had not recurred. By the way, I couldn’t remember why they had messed with the team’s collective stomaches. But it proved to have a spectacular result in the middle of their game. Red, frothy water spewing from the pool, etc. But there was no memorable dream this time.

Was I worried about finances? No more than normal. That means almost constantly. But those worries seldom keep me from sleeping. I ran the finances through my mind anyway. I’m caught up on the bills we pay on a regular basis. Taxes are due in a couple of weeks, but they seem payable. We haven’t invested heavily in any competitive water polo teams. It wasn’t finances.

Am I worrying about my health? No, that isn’t it. I saw my ophthalmologist the other day and he said the macular degeneration hadn’t gotten any worse, so no injections into the eyeball were necessary, and I didn’t need to see him for another year. I’ll be seeing the podiatrist in a couple of weeks, but I’ve had no new problems with my feet or toes. I’ll also be seeing my primary care physician that same week. There I expect to hear that my blood sugars are in order. But I may hear that I need to lose more weight (the ongoing battle). I hope that he doesn’t recommend that I take up water polo.

All of that thinking exhausted me and I was finally able to go back to sleep.

Quite a dream

Barn behind the trees
Barn behind the trees

I went for a short ride in the country yesterday and found this barn. I felt that it deserved to be seen on this blog. It was a pretty day for mid-February.


The other day I mentioned in a post that I wanted to write about a dream that I had, but didn’t feel it would be proper. Last night I had one that was so bizarre that I need to write about it. Those of you who own books on dream interpretation might want to get them out to see what this s all about. Then you can share your findings with me because I am completely stumped.

Like most of the dreams that I remember, I jumped into it with no preamble. In my dream I had infiltrated an organization of assassins. I don’t know why I had done anything so risky, but it was a dream.

The organization of assassins was knocking off the top people in a media corporation that started out making cartoons. Their best known cartoon character was a rodent with a first name that rhymed with Dickie. Why were they killing these people? That’s a fair question.

It seems that the head of the organization that I had infiltrated had decided that the entire media corporation was run by pedophiles, and he wanted to do something about it. Why did he believe they were pedophiles? That is another fair question.

He believed that while watching one of their cartoons he had heard clues about it while listening to two cockroaches who were having an argument in the cartoon. Plausible, right? Are you confused? I was, and it was my dream.

I found myself in a banquet hall where one of the killings was about to take place, and I was running towards the assassin, trying to stop him. And then I woke up. What happened?

The dream had no satisfactory beginning, and certainly nothing you could call an ending. It was just a stupid dream. If you have any ideas about a possible meaning, feel free to share them in a comment. I would love to hear your thoughts.

O it’s another dream

Roadside beauty
Roadside beauty

I took this picture while out in the country a couple of days ago. I wanted everyone to know that the signs of spring have finally come to Indiana. We are even expecting the temperatures to reach into the upper 70’s F later this week. It is good.


I was complaining to a friend the other day that I was finding no inspiration for blog posts lately. Then I had the dream that I wrote about on Sunday. Since then I came up with an idea for another post, and I’m working on the draft for it. I also had another dream. I seldom have more than one dream that I remember in such a short time. Unlike the Sunday dream, that I could explain; I have no idea if this dream has any meaning. If you can come up with an explanation, please let me know.

At the beginning of the dream I see myself walking through the corridors of a local college. I notice a young man walking in the other direction. He is wearing a cream colored shirt and pants, and is wearing sandals. I am there to sign up for a continuing education class. I am not sure if the class is a literature class, or philosophy, or symbology.

As I’m finishing the enrollment paperwork, the woman behind the counter tells me that the class has already met once, and will be meeting again in ten minutes. She gives me directions to the classroom, and I set off without any books, or notebooks, or anything to write with.

Now the dream starts getting really strange. As I enter the classroom, it turns into an adobe building with no furniture. All of the students are seated on the ground which is sandy. The instructor is the young man I had noticed in the corridor. He told me to have a seat; so I lowe myself to the sand. A student next to me was kind enough to lend me a pencil and a sheet of paper. As I looked up at the instructor I saw that tattoos were starting to appear on his neck and around his jaw line.

He was speaking so softly that I could not understand a word that he was saying. He turned around to speak to a student seated behind him, and when he turned back, the outline of a geometric tattoo had appeared on his face.

As he was finishing his lecture, which I hadn’t heard a word of, the fellow who had loaned me the pencil and paper leaned in and said, “Watch out for your shoes; he tends to walk off with them.” I looked at my feet and was amazed to see that my shoes were not on my feet. I looked at the instructor who was exiting the adobe building. He was wearing my shoes and was walking swiftly between two sand dunes, carrying his sandals.

That is when I woke up. Any ideas on what it means?

O what a dream

Farmhouse on a clear day
Farmhouse on a clear day

This is another picture that I took before the leaves were fully formed on the trees. It was a beautiful spring day though, and I wanted to capture how good it seemed after the long cold winter.


I woke up around 6 a.m. this morning, remembering a dream that I had in the early morning hours. Rather than let it slip from my memory, I grabbed a pen and book from the bedside an jotted down as many salient points as I could remember. I decided to share this dream so that you can see what goes on in my mind when my guard is down.

When the dream begins I am in jail. I don’t know why I am there, but I know it is only for a few days. Yes, I’m sure this is some kind of throwback to ten years ago. Check out my post April 19, 2015 for details. My dream jail wasn’t as nice as the real jail. The cell was empty except for a cot. Everything, including the walls, ceiling and floor was beige. The door was iron, painted beige. I wasn’t wearing stripes or orange, just beige pants, shirt, shoes and socks. It was pretty drab.

Evidently I was able to leave the cell when it was time to eat, because I heard a buzzing noise and the cell clicked open. So I walked into the hallway which was beige, turned left and started walking. I must have turned in the wrong direction because after going down the hallway that had no doors or windows, and after making a few turns, I came to a dead end. I turned around and tried to retrace my steps. I could not find my way back to my cell and I knew that it was a bad thing. So I kept on walking through the beige halls trying to find something that looked familiar. When everything is beige, nothing looks familiar.

Eventually I came to a beige escalator that was going up. I knew that I had not gone down any steps, but I decided to see where it went. How much more trouble could I get into? I rode the escalator up one flight and got off where I found a stairwell. I went up the stairs another flight where it ended at a glass door. I went through the door and found myself in a shopping mall. Nothing was beige. My clothes had even taken on some color. I thought it was odd that there was a mall above the jail, or rather that there was a jail below the mall, but I wandered around looking for a deputy to whom I could turn myself in. I didn’t want them to think that I was trying to escape. There were no deputies in sight.

Since it was a high-end mall and I had no money, I found an exit and walked into the street. I didn’t recognize where I was. It seemed like it might be on the near north side of Lafayette but nothing looked familiar. So I walked around looking for a landmark that would tell me where I was. It was a bright, sunny, warm day and it felt good to be outside. There were lots of people out and about, and they all seemed to be dressed in very colorful clothing. I walked through a park-like area and saw people having picnics and playing on the grass. There were a few people laying down, taking naps, on what appeared to be an old abandoned railway spur.

As I reached the edge of the park I saw some distinctive buildings that I thought would be good subjects for photographs. I knew that I would want to return with a camera after I got my jail time out of the way. I decided to find a street sign so I would know where to come back to. I walked to the corner and checked the street signs. I was on the corner of Park and Species. Species? That sounded like an address on an old episode of The Twilight Zone. That’s when I woke up.

So I’m guessing that writing about my ten-year anniversary spurred this dream. Everything being beige was probably a symbol of my life and being lost in the jail was my job. The mall, the people in bright colors having fun in the park, the interesting buildings were all manifestations of life after incarceration. I have no idea what being on the corner of Park and Species meant.


Abandoned school house
Abandoned school house

I came across this place on my drive back from northern Indiana last week. I was sticking to county roads as much as I could. I’m not even sure what county I was in when I took this picture out of my car window. I think it might have been in Newton County, but I couldn’t say for sure. I’ll have to try to find this building again because I’m afraid that it won’t be around for very long.

This picture will be my submission to Leanne Cole’s Monochrome Madness post this week. I enjoy seeing all of the submissions to the weekly challenge. I believe that you would as well.


When I was young, fifty plus years ago, I used to daydream about becoming a folk singer on the scale of the Kingston Trio, Pete Seeger or Peter, Paul & Mary (Believe me, they were big!). In my daydreams I was always on stage in a large auditorium, probably at a large university, singing and playing my guitar to great applause.

Sometimes I was alone on stage, and sometimes I was part of a group. Sometimes, when I was part of a group, I envied the banjo player because I knew I would never master that instrument. Sometimes I was part of a group because the other voices would mask my inadequate vocals. It seems that reality even crept into my daydreams.

My only true talent seemed to lie in picking the songs that we would perform. It was sort of like daydreaming that you are the manager of a baseball team rather than a player. Does that make me humble, or rather, filled with fear of inadequacy?

That was one of my staple daydreams for a number of years. I remember that I stopped daydreaming about being a folk music star around the same time that disco (I can’t bear to call it music) ruined the world…along with double knit polyester clothing for men.

I’m ready to pop in a Best of Hootenanny DVD and transport myself back to a sweeter time; if you don’t count Viet Nam.