Dreams
For the first time in a long while, I'm remembering my dreams again.
Dream of two nights ago:
I'm driving along a switchback-y road (that doesn't exist) near my childhood home and park to walk around a bit. As I'm walking, I see a dusty red pickup truck coming up the road. It parks near my car, and two guys get out. One is about 50 years old and looks like Charlie, a former co-worker of my ex-fiancee. The other I'm pretty sure is the teenage son of a guy, Butch, who works next door to my warehouse. I can't remember the son's name. I'm walking along the top of a short cliff, maybe 12-15 feet above the road below. The two guys walk to the edge of the cliff and start kicking, then throwing rocks and chunks of gravel at something below the cliff. I walk to the edge to see what they are aiming at, and see that it's 4 kids, aged about 6 to 11. I walk up to the guys and say, "Hey! What the hell are you doing? Stop that. You're going to wind up hurting those kids. You're a grown man. You're supposed to be setting an example. What's wrong with you?" The man and Butch's son look shamefaced. I continue to chew him out for about 5 minutes, giving the kids time to run away, at which point I stop my harangue and tell him, "All right, I'm done. I've said my piece. Don't let me see something like this again." They haven't said a thing, but are clearly sorry and more than a little guilty. I get in my car and drive to my Grammy's old house on Saratoga Lake. I go into the bathroom and start to brush my teeth. The older man who looks like Charlie then walks into the bathroom in his nightshirt with a toothbrush and two tubes of toothpaste. He holds his toothbrush out, so I put some of my toothpaste on it. He then says, very quietly, that the kids they were pelting with rocks were not nice kids, and had treated him meanly before. I insist that it doesn't matter, he should know better. He agrees and I step aside so he can wet his brush under the faucet. We brush our teeth. He then hands me one of the tubes of toothpaste. It's Aim, which I like, so I take it. He hands me the other tube, but it's strange. The tube is translucent, about a foot and a half long, floppy like a bag of Starbucks caramel, and brown like a frappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. (Sorry about the Starbucks references, but they're just the images that come to mind.) I refuse the second tube. Wouldn't you?
Dream of two nights ago:
I'm driving along a switchback-y road (that doesn't exist) near my childhood home and park to walk around a bit. As I'm walking, I see a dusty red pickup truck coming up the road. It parks near my car, and two guys get out. One is about 50 years old and looks like Charlie, a former co-worker of my ex-fiancee. The other I'm pretty sure is the teenage son of a guy, Butch, who works next door to my warehouse. I can't remember the son's name. I'm walking along the top of a short cliff, maybe 12-15 feet above the road below. The two guys walk to the edge of the cliff and start kicking, then throwing rocks and chunks of gravel at something below the cliff. I walk to the edge to see what they are aiming at, and see that it's 4 kids, aged about 6 to 11. I walk up to the guys and say, "Hey! What the hell are you doing? Stop that. You're going to wind up hurting those kids. You're a grown man. You're supposed to be setting an example. What's wrong with you?" The man and Butch's son look shamefaced. I continue to chew him out for about 5 minutes, giving the kids time to run away, at which point I stop my harangue and tell him, "All right, I'm done. I've said my piece. Don't let me see something like this again." They haven't said a thing, but are clearly sorry and more than a little guilty. I get in my car and drive to my Grammy's old house on Saratoga Lake. I go into the bathroom and start to brush my teeth. The older man who looks like Charlie then walks into the bathroom in his nightshirt with a toothbrush and two tubes of toothpaste. He holds his toothbrush out, so I put some of my toothpaste on it. He then says, very quietly, that the kids they were pelting with rocks were not nice kids, and had treated him meanly before. I insist that it doesn't matter, he should know better. He agrees and I step aside so he can wet his brush under the faucet. We brush our teeth. He then hands me one of the tubes of toothpaste. It's Aim, which I like, so I take it. He hands me the other tube, but it's strange. The tube is translucent, about a foot and a half long, floppy like a bag of Starbucks caramel, and brown like a frappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. (Sorry about the Starbucks references, but they're just the images that come to mind.) I refuse the second tube. Wouldn't you?