Fishy

        Next to flying dreams, my favorite are swimming dreams. In this case I was sitting in the hot tub at the end of a long pool. There was a large screen TV at one end and I had flipped through the channels until I had found something with attractive women in it. Three couples were sitting around sipping wine after some sort of dinner party.  I couldn’t hear any dialog as I was mostly submerged, letting the jets play across the back of my neck.

        A tall brunette woman in a one-piece swimsuit appeared at the end of the tub next to the TV. I sat up to hear her.

        She asked what I was watching. I explained that I didn’t know, I had just zipped through the channels until I found someone pretty to look at. That made her laugh. “The guys are pretty hot, too.”

        The action on the TV got hot, the couples had started to talk about pubic hair and suddenly the blonde was showing hers, and everything else.

        “I didn’t know you got this sort of channel.”

        “Oh, yeah….” The woman blushed and reached for the remote, but not before the scene shifted to a bed full of naked preppies spraying precious bodily fluids around. “Oops,” she said.

        I laughed and dove out of the tub into the pool, swimming out across the length of it, shedding the red corduroy cape-like item that was around my shoulders. I swam up the stair on the other side and out into my parents flooded back yard.

        That’s a good trick, I thought. I swam all the way up to the window of my old room, where brightly colored fish swam. The water was only a couple of feet deep, so I stood up to watch the red-tailed sharks, snakeskin gourami, Jeweled cichlids and angelfish of several different varieties swim in the light through the window.

        I thought for a moment that these were fish swimming in the air (a common enough theme for my dreams) when I saw a small fish tank full of frolicking guppies on a dresser across the room. I looked up and could see the water line in the doorway, though, the room was full of water up to about six inches from the ceiling. I stepped through the wall into the room, swimming with the fish, some of which were nipping at me and some just circling around my hands, playing.

        I swam over to the door and stepped out into the hallway of my parent’s house, trying not to drip too much on their carpet I leaped over to the bathroom to borrow a towel.

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FF

Wanderings

        I started my dreaming this morning by helping my dad usher at the old church (the one that burned down the year after N and my wedding.) He gave me some small golf pencils and a few pads of paper. As I walked back through the hallway I moved to be in the sun as it came through the windows.  I noticed that one of the pads had writing on it, so as I walked I pulled off the sheets that were all ready written on. I couldn’t make out what they said, as it seemed to be in Greek or Russian. I went around to the other side of the church, but found my way blocked by a load of office furniture. I had to make my way through it, and over some of it to get to the hallway that lead around the back. I left the written sheets on one of the desks, figuring I could come back later to pick them up and put them in the trashcan, if I could find one.

When I arrived at the choir side of the church I handed the usher there the pads and pencils. He said they didn’t need help as they’d double booked this mass and forgot to get anyone for the earlier mass. I smiled and, remembering the office furniture I would have to climb through, slipped out the side door to walk around to the front entrance.

There was one slight problem with that. I found myself in the middle of a shopping mall walkway. I turned back, and the church was gone, replaced by a row of white painted cement bollards and a huge partly full parking lot. I walked towards the parking lot, scanning it for my car. It was not in sight. I decided to get out of the heat and headed for a nearby café.

Something struck my back and I stumbled forward catching my wet still beating heart as it burst from my chest. I wondered why I was still standing. N walked up and offered to rip her own out and put it in my chest. “But then you wouldn’t have one,” I looked at mine and it wasn’t bleeding or anything, I carefully placed it back into my ruined chest. “I think mine is going to be good to go, bruised it a bit but it’s okay.”

Before I got my ribcage closed up around my heart, it stopped beating, but I didn’t tell N because I didn’t want her to worry about it. But then again, I guess I didn’t need to worry, she was busy severing her spine by swallowing a broadsword. “So we can both be undead,” she explained.

I had to turn away, I could deal with my own blood, but not hers. “Why would you do that?” I asked, shocked. N would never do that, she’s a complete pain wimp. That was when I realized that this person wasn’t really N.

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FF

Different Boots

        I was attending some sort of outdoor event and bent over to re-lace my boots before climbing up the short hill overlooking the park. I noticed that I had put on two different boots. They were both combat boots, but were slightly different construction and one was much older and worn than the other. The color and style are nearly identical, though so it wasn’t really obvious.

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Douglas Nicoll

LAN Administrator

IT Helpdesk 8801 2260

 

Summary of Dreamed Indignities

              During the last week of my dreams I have: had my pens stolen by a red-haired mop-topped skate punk, my car squashed by a large Humvee, dodged swings from an irate pizza party attendee, narrowly avoided being killed in a fusilade of gunfire from some sort of private paramilitary group, and been tossed from the deck of a research vessel into the dark cold waters of the arctic where I was pulling myself up onto an ice sheet and trying not to look like an injured seal in the process.
              All of these events in full surround-sound-technicolor-feel-o-vision. The arctic dream was so severe that I got up, told N about the dream, and then turned on the heating blanket. She suggested that if I put the blanket into pre-heat I would warm up faster. I told her "I don't want to melt the ice that fast, or I'll be sleeping in a puddle, level 2 will warm up fast enough." When I woke a few hours later, the blanket wasn't actually on, so I then realized that the telling N and turning on the blanket part was just another part of the dream.
              I think I dream that I wake up when the first dream is turning into a night terror, but it is still frustrating because I'm so sure that I talked to N and expect that she should remember.

The Lightning Caller

        I was performing a sort of puppet show with paper cutouts and “found” props for a couple of busloads of elementary school students. The venue was the front lawn of a local high school, so there were also some teens around watching the show. A few of them were more interested in the mechanics of what I was doing, including the special effects of the show, which involved some simple chemistry a long iron rod and some static electricity. While I was performing the show I noticed how the little kids were absorbing it.

        I knew they would return to school and the tale I was telling would be retold many times, even acted out in mini dramas on the playground during recess. Each time the teller would be making the story their own. Details would change, characters of their own devising would enter and play in the small universe they would create. At the same time, I knew that if there were any interest amongst the teens and adults, it would be in preserving the show just the way it was.

        I found myself wondering, at what point did we as a culture feel it prudent to make the preservation of something that was living, growing and changing the important element of the story telling interaction?

        The story progressed, and the chemically enhanced metal rod, with its multi-colored lightning was a great hit, bringing the story, as presented by my collected toys and debris a big hit with my young audience.

        I came out from my wagon to meet the kids and answer questions, and to pass out the folded origami characters and props, and to give their teachers the folding instructions if they wanted to make characters of their own.

        I ended up talking with a couple of the teachers and their students as they walked to the bus. I got on with them to say good bye, and made a couple of quick origami busses and bus drivers for their drivers. I gave a pair to the bus driver of the first bus and boarded the second to express my thanks as well. That bus driver was quite the character and started to drive off with me aboard after he asked the kids “Should we take him with us?” and hearing a thundering chorus of “Yes!”

        I was laughing so hard I was almost crying.

        In a perfect world that is where the dream would have ended. But it didn’t.

        I got off the bus, and was greeted by a couple of police officers. They were concerned about my pyrotechnics. I explained the science behind them as we walked back to my wagon. I figured I would show them my setup, explain that it was static electricity and some common non-toxic chemicals to add a little bit of color and that would be the end of it.

        Unfortunately, while I was visiting the busses, a couple of teens had broken into the wagon and had brought out the eight foot iron lightning rod. While there was nothing but stage magic involved in the kids show, there was some real power in the actual props for the rainmaking show that I did for other types of fairs and events. Those shows required a pyrotechnics permit, which I had, but not for this venue, of course. The larger rod allowed for a much larger current to build up, and the arcs were large, though mostly harmless, they could pack a pretty good wallop. I kicked off my shoes and ran across the wet grass as the pair dumped nearly all of my remaining color chemicals on the rod, they’d had to open up all eight remaining packets to make such a huge batch. I could hear someone in the wagon cranking up the Wimhurst generator to high speed.

        I reached the rod just as the two teens dropped the chemicals and ran. I suspect from seeing the police officers rather than from me. I was just reaching for the rod just as the teen in the wagon hit the lightning switch. Because I didn’t have contact yet there was a huge prismatic spark and it knocked me on my back.

        The real problem was that there were now storm clouds forming, and real lightning was causing thunder overhead. “I don’t think we’re going to be happy with what’s coming,” I muttered to the police officer who helped me up.

        “So now you’re claiming to be a rainmaker?”

        I pointed up to the sky. “It’s not me, it’s nature, the kids put the lightning caller up, that’s just what happens.” I explained that I was more upset that they had used up all my color powder, so I would have to make more before the next show.

I showed them the short two foot high antenna that I used in the puppet show.   “This is a hundred times less energy,” I explained, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t get it.

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