The Night Before Thanksgiving, aka Wednesday


I’m sitting here typing this, mostly forcing myself to get something down, and It will be shorter than the others. I just have a haunted feeling engulfing my mind after reading through the previous 4 installments. Sitting back with last year’s installment knowing had I made that journey I would have had at least one more night with a good friend who took his life over the summer. That is hard to reconcile. I’m not thinking that the one night would have changed anything. There were a number of other friends at the get together, but selfishly it would have been a night where stories would have been shared. Memories rekindled and shared. …..A moment that is gone, that never was…. kinda reminds me of the Springsteen line:

 Again,hard to reconcile and process. 

Oh and those Jonathan Tropper quotes still ring true:

Below the “keep reading” are the previous installments. 


thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/27/13

The night before Thanksgiving used to be one of my favorite nights of the year. Back in my hometown, it was a night when friends would gather at one of the few watering holes where said friends could share some adult beverages.

We’d usually start off at one place with dinner and beers. Note there was an s on the end of the word beer, but then we’d cross the street to a new place that had karaoke, more BEER, and more old friends. Well, truth be told a few old enemies would pop in here and there.

We’d share some memories, stretch some truths, tell some lies, and it was fun seeing old friends. Of course it was fun seeing old flames too. We’d have a ball, signing each other up for the previously mentioned karaoke and trying to find the most fucked up song or funniest song for them to sing. Oh how I wish it were modern day where every cell phone had a video, because watching an ole ball coach singing “Funky Cold Medina” or “Brickhouse” as his long hair swayed and his hairy little nubby feet attempted a bit of a drunken dance. Oh I’d pay good money to have footage of that, but of course if that were modern day, seeing a coach/teacher slightly intoxicated on youtube or some other form of social media would be grounds for his dismissal which is bullshit, since he was simply an adult having some fun with other adults. Like I said I would pay good money (if I had good money) to see that footage once again.

You’d see faces pop in of people you hadn’t seen since high school, or hadn’t seen in quite some time You’d see a bombshell walk through the door and you are like well I could always see some cuteness in that awkward teen from years ago. Of course at the end of the night you’d have the same two or three guys trying to sneak out on a bar bill. At times you’d have a group of them trying to bribe someone into trying to get on top of the bull in the corral. Yes, an actual bull in an actual corral out in front of the steakhouse. He wasn’t there long, but he was there.

An ex would walk up and whisper in your ear, “I’ve got something to show you”, and you simply respond what’s that? While she says come out here and you walk to the back side of the building and she takes your hand and slides it down her pants and you feel her freshly shaved pussy, which was definitely new. You make plans for Black Friday to spend the day fucking like you used to.

As I said, you hear some old stories, that 55 yard touchdown was up to about 63. You argue about beating a rival 43-34 when some former teammate is swearing on his Momma that it was 43-30. You simply say, look, I know what it was. That is my pin # and has been ever since. You flag down another teammate and he confirms that it was 43-34, and then he gives the other guy a hard time for forgetting it.

At this point you are 15-20 beers into the night and you know you could very well drink another dozen or so if the bar wasn’t closing. You crawl into a minivan which was basically a shuttle service. You drop the old ball coach off at his miniature mansion and tell him to cut his hair. He flips the group off with that stumpy middle finger and then he waves.

You come home, crawl into bed and think about the night. You think about the memories, you think about that freshly shaved pussy.

Oh I sure miss those days.


thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/26/2014

It’s still one of the things I miss about my hometown. I don’t miss much, but I miss my friends, the old haunts, the stories that stretch the truth from time to time.  Someone bringing up a time at party and someone trying to deny it ever happened.   As I said in the original post it was a time for friends to see friends. That is/was one of the beauties about a small town. A part of it you didn’t really respect or understand completely when you were there.

I no longer have ties to my home town other than a few friends, with my parents being gone, and having moved away quite some time ago. A small part of me regrets leaving, but the majority of me is glad that I did.

Memories don’t die, but they sure can fade away.


thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/25/2015

I wouldn’t call it writer’s block, I’d call it just not in the mood to reminisce. With that said, I’ll give it a shot, since this become some annual ritual. I do know I’ll be tracking down the Ron Green(former Charlotte Observer columnist) annual Thanksgiving article tomorrow.

Earlier tonight on the back deck while grilling some burgers I thought of some old friends, some old times. That  made me remember that I have really neglected my YD&B side blog, but that happens.

Thoughts drift back 18-20-22 years. Thoughts drift to better times, happier times. Maybe it was being more carefree, not fully understanding responsibilities. Then it reminded me of a quote from a book I read this year year. “This is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper, it was made into a movie which was decent, but the book was better as books often are.  I know I shared the quote, but here it is again.

“It’s just hard to see people from your past when your present is so cataclysmically fucked.”

The last time I saw most of my old friends was the summer of 2014 at the funeral of one their father’s. While I sit here typing this, half thankful that I’m not there at the moment, I know it would be like that July night. Wouldn’t miss a beat and it would be like old times. Telling stories, sharing memories, laughing till you are about to choke on a beer. So I’m torn. Part of me wishes I was there instead of typing this, but another part is glad that I’m not.  The dreadfully sad part of it is that is one a handful of times that I’ve actually enjoyed myself.  Past > Present, with the future yet to be in the equation. Really sucks.

It really sucks knowing that the next time I’ll likely see most of them will be at another funeral. But that is how the cookie crumbles at times.  


Thoughtsofstray: Written 11/23/2016

This is the 4th time I’ve sat here on Thanksgiving Eve slapping these keys trying to make sense. 2013, 2014, and 2015 can be found below.

Tonight, I had the opportunity to go back to my home town and hang out with some old friends, but I had to pass. I didn’t trust my car to drive the 30-35 minutes to Statesville to ride the rest of the way with another friend. I don’t trust it to go much further than the short trips that I generally take. It has two issues on it’s to-fix-list. One was quoted out at about 1k(and hopefully will be addressed shortly) the other yet to be determined. I’ve already thrown about 400 at that particular problem and that didn’t fix it. It’s frustrating. But, to be brutally honest, I could have had a 2017 whatever with 17 miles sitting in the drive way and I can’t promise that I would have gone. Well, maybe I wouldn’t be in the same mindset if the 2017 whatever was sitting outside.

This is where I could easily insert that Jonathan Tropper quote. Maybe it should just be my mantra, but it fits. If I didn’t mention it last year, I would quote it again, but if you read this whole jumbled cluster of letters you’ll see it, or you can click here.

It would have been nice to see them. In this little snippet from last year, I also wrote about the last time I saw them. I could quote that again since that hasn’t changed either. But it would have been nice to sit around with a cold beer or four and catch up, and spend some time with them.

Maybe I’ll wake up one day soon and shake myself out of this funk. I’m picturing a 75lb puppy coming out of a river and drying himself off. Maybe that would work.

I guess when I finish this I’ll sit down and read back through the previous 3 entries and I wish I could say I feel like I’m in a better place, physically, mentally, emotionally, etc, but that would be spitting lies.  

I think at one point I made a post about being thankful for having an imagination but in the end, it might be negative thing. Hard to tell.

The night before Thanksgiving used to be a part of the Holiday festivities. Now it’s just a Wednesday.


Stray Thoughts 11/22/2017

Some nights you know exactly where a dream comes from because you see something, think of something, or catch something on TV. Last night was somewhat that night for me. As I was going to bed I saw a report online about the gridlock in Los Angeles in advance of the Thanksgiving holiday. I didn’t pay it much attention,but I encountered in a dream last night.

I was stuck in the middle of the bumper to bumper traffic with music blaring and bouncing off one of the various cars I was driving. That is the strange part. At one point I was stuck in the traffic in an early 80′s 300d Mercedes Benz. My dad used to have one, so I guess that is where that came from. I kept watching the needle on the temperature gauge and it was getting hotter and hotter and there was no way to escape. The song that was playing was “Small Town” by John Mellencamp.

The 2nd car was an old late 70′s Trans-Am or Firebird. The only way I can really place that is Ferg on “Longmire” has one, and I finished the most recent of that on Netflix, and when I was in that car, I kept watching the gas needle dip as that v8 idled. The song that was playing then was “L.A. Woman” by The Doors, but half the time it sounded like Billy Idol’s cover

The 3rd and final car is more of a mystery. I have no clue of the make or model, but the radio was stuck and blaring “Make Me Lose Control” by Eric Carmen, a song I can’t say I’ve heard in 10 years. The volume was stuck on say 7 out of 10 and stuck on that song on a cd on repeat. I couldn’t eject it or turn it off, and that thundering towards the end would simply cripple the sound system. People were staring at me like it was planned.   Turn that radio up… I can’t… I can’t turn it down either. 

Stray thoughts: 10/18/2017

I had an odd nightmare last night. It was a bit all over the place, but that’s par for the course. 

It felt like I was in my hometown, on a dead end street where a friend used to live. It was night, the only real light was from a street light but that seemed brighter than normal. I wasn’t in my friend’s yard but was in his next door neighbor’s drive way, right under the street light.

I was bending down with a rubber dustpan and a hand held garden rake/cultivator type deal and was trying to sweep up what looked like broken light bulbs. A useless endeavor considering the tools that I had. 

The wind picked up and I heard the low moan of a fire truck off in the distance. I looked up the street and I saw a ghostly figure walking. It looked a bit like a human/adult male form of “Pig pen” from the Charlie Brown cartoons with dirt, leaves, stuff swirling around him. I went back to “sweeping”, and I looked up the road again and the figure was closer. It started to resemble Paul McCartney in a trench coat and hat with a tooth pick, looking a bit like Val Kilmer as  ‘Doc Holiday’ from “Tombstone”. The figure, he/it,  was still full of ghostly gray and white hues. 

I looked back over my shoulder to where my friend’s house should have been. Now I haven’t been in that house since probably around 1983/84, but to my knowledge it’s still there.  The house that was in it’s place was completely different. It was like a mash of up of Modern architecture blended with a bit of a Craftsman Bungalow. The front was rectangle with a dark brown wooden design, it had a built in alcove for the door. Minimal windows on the front, and the house was lined with a rich thicket of shrubs on each side of a stone walk way.  At the top, above the wooden wall there were rectangle windows that lined the front right below the roof, and the roof sloped backwards.It had a big “tiny house” with a twist of California vibe to it.

Inside the windows, there were flickering flames and at that point the siren that was off in the distance was moaning louder. It didn’t seem like it was my house, but I knew it, and I panicked and just ran right through the thick wooden front door knocking it down. Flames littered the interior and that was the point that I woke up, not knowing the end. I didn’t want to know the end. I got out of bed and had to occupy my mind. I remembered it was trash day so I filled the bag under the kitchen counter with all that I could and took it and the trash can out to the curb where the crisp morning air helped wake me up even more. Some dreams you don’t want to revisit. 

Stray thoughts: 7/9/2017

I had another one of those
strange cinematic dreams last night. Thankfully, I feel like I’ve got enough to
sit down and bang away on this keyboard
for a bit.

It started out, I was in my parents’
house, in the living room right as you walk in the door. I was in a big comfy
crushed velvet chair that didn’t exist in the house when it was ours. Given,
there was a dark brown crushed velvet sectional and couch in that room way back
when, but the chair that came with it was given to my grandparents for some
strange reason. This wasn’t that chair, this chair had huge arms that you sunk
down into. It was comfortable.  I was
sitting there with a book (unknown) watch a huge flat screen on the wall (that
also didn’t exist back then). I heard someone coming down the steps.

It was Sarah Hyland, from the
show “Modern Family” she walking down the steps. She’s wearing a pair of mesh
basketball shorts and an old “shimmel shirt” (the half cut off shirts worn under
shoulder pads in football). She wore it far better than I did. She walked over
and lifted the shirt, showing off her perky little breasts and all I could do
was smile not fully knowing what was going on. 

I went back to the book and
drifted. I woke up and it was the middle of the afternoon. I opened the door
and Sarah was nowhere to be seen. I get in the car, one my dad’s old ones(it was if every car my family ever owned dating from an early 70′s Toyota Corona to my ‘84 CRX to my current car was in the drive/side of the yard) and
leave. I’m driving down the road, and it’s like the road is towel or a sheet
and two people are shaking it, fluffing it like it’s fresh out of the dryer. With
each wave, the car flies forward. I pull into the high school gymnasium and I’m
instantly playing a I a 3 on 3 basketball game.

One of my high school friends is
on my team and so is the science teacher from the movie “Fast Times at
Ridgemont High”. I scan the bleachers looking for Phoebe Cates, she’s not
there. Neither is Sarah.  We are playing
against Julian Edelman, Danny Amendola and some guy I didn’t know. On the other
end of the court, Roy Williams was overseeing Tyler Hansbrough and two other
guys wearing Tar Heel gear going off on 3 guys that went to a rival high school.

I was enjoying giving Edelman a
few hip checks. Nobody was guarding Mr. Vargas so I gave him a bounce pass that
he reacted to about 8 seconds too late and I remember yelling at him and he
looked confused, why he was wearing his lab coat over his tank/shorts, I have
no clue.  Each time I got close to
Edelman I’d foul him. Foul him hard.  He
was starting to do that Patriot whine. He finally quit and walked off the court
cursing at me when he took a final elbow to the grill that knocked out two

I blink and I’m back in the old
Turbo Diesel heading home, back riding those melting waves of roads. I pull in,
park, go inside. I hear the shower running upstairs and I’m still sweaty from
the game so I go up, Open the bathroom and Sarah is showering, I step in and
she vanishes.  It wasn’t the shower from
the house but like a smaller high school shower with 3-4 shower heads instead
of the normal 8-12, but I was alone. So, I went over and the cut the other
three shower heads on as hot as they would go and let the bathroom steam up. I
shower, feel refreshed and cut the water off, dry off get dressed and the house
is still empty.

I go out looking for a bite to eat
and I run into two more Hollywood stars arguing in the parking lot at the local
hang out. Julie Bowen (also from Modern Family) and Jim O’Heir (Jerry/Garry
from Parks and Recreation) are yelling at each other about whose car hit the
other as they were both backing out.  I
shook my head like a confused puppy and walked in and ordered the Double Chef,
large fries and a banana milk shake.

I go back home and Julie Bowen is
sitting at the bar in our kitchen. She’s talking to one of my friend’s mothers.
She asked me “did you see the wreck?” and I said “no, you were both fussing
when I pulled in”.  Then she says “That
damned Jerry”, like she was on the set of “Parks and Rec” as opposed to calling
him Jim.  I laughed at the comment but
the friend’s mom looked dumbfounded. It went right over her head.

I get back in the car and the roads
are still floating a bit, but a little bit more mellow. I come up to an
intersection and it’s as if my car just vanished. One of my old football
coaches was standing there, the one with the long hair that became more of a
friend than an old football coach. He was standing there with two of my friends
and I was like “what’s going on?”.  We
walk out of the road and immediately into the auditorium at the high school. It’s
dark, but the stage is lit up. Just the four of us standing there but there is
a news crew down at the bottom below the stage. The coach said, “they want to
talk to us about what we saw on the boat”. I was like “okay whatever.”  Then I’m like what boat?  

My coach then says you don’t
remember going on a boat with Julie Bowen, the Hollywood actress?   I said, “no, I remember getting into a
shower with Sarah Hyland, her Hollywood daughter and she vanished”. One of my friends
said, “sure you did, that’s a good one.”
I gave him, “I can break you in half stare” and said “what about this

The four of us sat in the back
row of the auditorium, then, a waitress brought us four beers. The coach stared
to explain the story and I started to remember. I said “no, I wasn’t on the
boat with her, I saw her dragging this big bag on to a boat and while it took
her quite some time to accomplish, she was determined, and she sped off. I
said, “outside of seeing them argue in the Chef’s parking lot and her asking if
I saw it, I have no clue about it”.

The newscaster waves us down and
she asks, “Can I interview you about the two missing Hollywood stars?” I said, “No”
and she looked disappointed. It was like I knew her. Maybe a younger sister of
someone I once knew, but I couldn’t place her. We turned to leave walking up
the aisle and back out the door stepping into the road.  The Turbo Diesel was pulled off to the side as
were their cars.   We exchanged goodbyes, and I got in the car
and headed up 21, to take a drive in the mountains. As the road was about to
shift from 4 lanes to 2 I noticed a town Police car closing in on me.

Two lanes
and blue lights are in my rear view. I’m thinking, “I’m hoping this is Pete
with another joke”.  It wasn’t. It was
this young hot head jerk of a cop that though he was the shit way back when.  He had aged some progressed up the ranks. He
asked me for my license and registration, and I handed them to him. “Long time
no see”, he says and then “I need you to get out of the car”. As I was getting
out, I asked, “Officer what is this about?” and he’s like “First of all it’s Sargent
and you know damned well what this is about.”
You might be a witness to a crime or you might have committed a crime,
our detectives want to talk to you. I didn’t like the guy so I felt it was appropriate
to be a bit of a smart ass. I said, “you forget ‘secondly’”. He was like “What
the fuck are you talking about?”, I said, “You said ‘First of all it’s Sargent’”,
you then should have said, “Secondly, you know damned well what this is about”,
he said, “you always were a smart ass.”  

He calls in on his radio, in some
Rosco P. Coltrane jive talk to let them know I was stopped and that they were
sending back up. I asked him, “Can I drive to the station and you follow me?”
and he said, yeah but let’s wait for an escort.” A few minutes later Ole Pete
pulls up. He gets out and shakes my hand and says “Have you heard the one about
the….. it trails off all of his corny jokes were the same….  I swear he used to pull us over to tell us a
joke, or likely to keep a good eye on us. One of the small world stories,
before my parents moved to what became my hometown, their next door neighbor an
hour or  away was Pete’s brother.

Sgt. Dickhead is leading the way,
and Pete is following me. We get to the station and I see the Chief, father of
an old teammate, but he wasn’t a fan of mine, since I used to like to speed and
they never could quite catch me. We go in and sit down and they ask, “How do
you know Julie Bowen”?  I say, “she’s
Claire from “Modern Family”, I think she was on “Boston Legal”, but I don’t
recall her name on it”. “Cut the shit”, Sgt Dickhead said, we are well aware of
her filmography.  “I said, look you asked
a question, I answered. I don’t know her. I know who she is, but I don’t know
her and filmography is a big word for you, good job.”  They asked about the bump up. I explained
what I saw. They asked why she was at my house and I said that “Bertha (the
friend’s mom) was at the Chef and was talking to her and told her she knew
where I lived, and they were there when I got home”. I explained to her that I
didn’t see the actual accident, and that she was dragging this big bag onto a
boat, but I haven’t seen her since. 

I asked if I can leave and the
Chief said “no, you are being held on outstanding speeding tickets”. I got loud
in saying, “what bullshit speeding tickets”, he opened his desk drawer, pulled
out a folder and handed me 5-6 speeding tickets that were still in-tact, all
the copies were there. I flipped through them. ’88, ’88, ’89, ’89, ‘89 ’90. I
said “these are bullshit and you know it”. “We will let the DA decide that”.   “Do I get to make a call?”, I asked and he
said sure we will let you make a call. So, I called home.  The answering machine came on and I left a
message, knowing it was a waste of time.  I sit there thinking, I should just rip these
fake ass tickets up, but then I knew they’d try to charge me with “Destroying
evidence”, so I sat and waited.  Then ole
Woody came back and said “you are free to go”.

I walk out and Sarah Hyland is
standing there, dressed in jeans, a faded light blue UCLA t-shirt a pair of Wayfarers
and a Dodgers hat tucked down on her head.  We stopped at her rental in the parking lot,
grabbed three bags from the trunk and threw them in the back of the Turbo
Diesel and was driving out of town. I saw Edelman at the gas station, hit the
horn and waved good bye with a one finger salute. I was pulling on the
interstate, turned to my right and I was alone and that is when I started to
wake up.

Stray thoughts from a warped mind.

Stray thoughts: 6/16/2017

It’s has
been a little bit of time since I’ve had a strange dream that I’ve been able to
recall enough of it to form sentences around it. That’s not to say I haven’t
had some strange dreams in that time frame but many have left the scene of the
crime after cleaning up all but a few pieces of evidence. The last
“strange” one I could recall was dated 5/3/17.

If it
wasn’t for how the recall starts and ends, I would think that this could be 2
or 3 dreams that are somehow meshed together.

It opened
as I pulled into the little corner gas station that was close by my house where
I grew up. Just a simple two garage bay
service station and country store that stocked a few necessities. It was
owned by a husband and wife with a mechanic on site.

I parked
the car, and walked in and everything changed. The room was solid white. A
bright white, white chairs lined the room and it either seemed like there was a
wedding about to happen or a funeral. I saw the wife in the corner of the
building and went up and told her I needed $10.00 regular and handed her the
cash, she said thank you like everything was normal. I turned to walk away, I
acknowledged my middle school principal sitting there in chair, coat/tie and
his once fiery red hair and beard was littered with gray and white
streaks.  We shook hands, spoke about his
son who was a year ahead of me in school, said good bye and I left.

I was
going out the door and I heard a noise. Actor James Cromwell was standing
there, also dressed in a suit and tie and he was rattling off words in a
language I had never heard. It was like he was preaching to me. Pointing at me,
likely damning me to hell in some foreign tongue.  So I left. I got in my car, and pulled out,
took the right hand turn and was headed home. The store was about a mile from
our house (I know this because as a kid I had my dad measure out a mile so I
could time myself riding my bike to the store). I’d turn the corner at our yard
and go up to the neighbors driveway and take off.  

that mile, the afternoon turned to night and I flipped the head lights on. I
turned right down my street, waved at my neighbor “buck-o-five” who
had a lamp in his yard and he was attending to some yard work. I’m still amazed
that he and his wife are still married, because there is no way he paid her as
much attention as he did to his lawn.

I go
further down the road and there is a moving truck backed into the drive way.
People are carrying stuff out of the house, stuff that I didn’t recognize as
ours and none of the cars looked familiar. I pull in and start to ask what is
going on, and time blinks.

I’m in the
high school gymnasium with two guys that were two years ahead of me in school.
Guys that I haven’t seen in 25 years. They were wearing football jerseys and I
was in t-shirt and shorts. I remember telling them that “We were getting
new uniforms” and we walked down the steps past the girls locker-room and
down to the lobby of the gym where the concession stand was set up during
basketball games. In the dream that area was walled off with doors that looked
like it had 5-6 coolers that you’d find a convenience store that would hold,
beer, or drinks. They were empty.

The room opened up(very narrow in reality), and old high school coaches(aged as
they were back then) were unpacking boxes and giving the new uniforms a once
over. It was like we were teenagers again and wanting to see the new digs. They
were different from what we wore.
“Get out of here”, one of the coaches growled when the head
coach chastised him for it, while reminding him he was the same way when he was
17. The colors were right. Royal Blue and Old Gold, it looked Like Duke’s
current football uniforms with the Old Gold replacing the white. I reach to
pick one up and time blinks again.

I’m sitting at a campfire with a few people that I recognize and some I don’t
know.  It’s outside of an old tin barn.
I’m sitting on a stump and leaning against the barn wall. Actor and or singer
Kris Kristofferson is blinking between his 1985 self and the father of some
guys I used to know. The only thing they really had in common was a
mustache.  Kris and or Wally was rolling
a joint and telling the guy to his left that he wanted another to take home to
his wife.

Two guys
that I didn’t know walked up. One was carrying a bullwhip whipping it on the
ground, causing leaves and dirt to dance around. He snapped it again and it got
kinda close to me. I didn’t say anything but I stared at him.  He popped it
again and it hit my feet which were stretched out as I was leaning
against the barn.

I stood
up. He popped it again by his side.  He
was reaching his arm back like he was going to pop it again and I charged him,
putting him in some bastard form of a choke hold combined with a half nelson.
He was saying “let me go”, and others around were just watching,
waiting, trying to figure out was going on. The guy that walked up with him
pulled a gun and held it on me. The first asshole was about to go night-night
and I would deal with the second one shortly.
I dropped him and smacked at the gun and it fired as I made contact with
the bullet shooting Wally Kristofferson in the shoulder.  Two guys grabbed the guy with the gun and time
blinked again as chaos was about to take over.

I was back
in my car driving  away from my house,
night turned to afternoon and I pulled into to get gas at the corner store. I
opened the door and things were normal. Their shelves were in place. I walked over
to a cooler, got a can of Coca-Cola, a Zero bar, and 4 packs of 1981 Topps
Baseball cards.  I told Frances that I
wanted $10.00 of gas and she asked if I wanted Johnny(the mechanic) to pump it
and I said no I’ve got it. She told me the total was $12.00. I hand her a
$10.00 and two $1.00 bills and walked out to pump the gas. I was waking up as I
was plugging the nozzle into the hole to the tank.

I can’t
explain much of any of it. I passed by the little corner store a couple weeks ago
when going to a funeral, but the only name/face that was mentioned in any of this
that I saw that day was my old head football coach, but even that being nearly
two weeks later is a stretch.  I’ll never
be able to explain dreams. I’m just glad that a handful of them are clear
enough to recall.  

Stray thoughts: 5/3/2017

The calendar
turns to another month and my sleeping brain turns to another strange dream

I was in one
of the newer Dodge Challengers. Matte Black on Black, dark as coal in the
middle of the night. I was driving, well I was flying on I-40 at 3 am somewhere
west of Tennessee

I’m not quite sure where I was headed, and I don’t think i was running from
anything. Late at night, nobody on the road, I think I simply wanted to fly.
The car was climbing above 140 and felt like she had plenty left.

The Doors “L.A. Woman”, was blaring through the speakers.
“Risin’! Risin’!”. That caused
me to press down on the gas some and 150 was now behind me. I was somewhere in Oklahoma, I saw a couple of exits that would take me to Tulsa. I started to
wonder if I was closer to Barstow or Wilmington.

I spotted a blurry white streak off to my right and it looked like a woman. I
slowed down and eventually spun around. There wasn’t another car in sight. I
passed where she was sitting on a guard rail, I spun around again and pulled
off on the shoulder. I asked, “Is there anyway I can help you?”  She looked up, tears streaked down her face.
She was wearing a white cotton chemise and a pair of white panties. Mid 30’s was my
guess, her wavy brown hair looked slept in and she had a tiny gap between her
front two teeth, it was cute, she was cute. She stood up and gave something a
fling, and walked closer to the car. She leaned down on the door not realizing
her breasts were in full view. It was hard not to look, they were nice. She
said, “can you just get me out of here.”  I said “hop in”.

Since it was
middle of the summer, I had the AC on full blast and since she was barely
dressed I cut it down. I said, “if you reach back in the back seat you’ll
find a hoodie and a pair of gym shots in the duffel bag if you are chilly”,
while knowing any jeans or pants I had in the bag would have no chance of fitting
her.  She got up in the seat and reached
back and her ass was right there. Again, hard not to look but driving 70 at
this point was nothing.

She found the
shorts and slid them on up under the chemise, she then pulled it over her
head and wiggled into the sweatshirt and said “thank you”. I said,
“You’re welcome”, and asked, “where she wanted to go”. She
had her feet up in the seat and arms wrapped around them and asked, “Where
are you headed?”. I said, “I’m have no idea.” She smiled and
said, “I’ve been there, it’s nice.”

I stepped on
the gas to get up to around 100 to cruise through the Oklahoma night, which is the point that I
started to wake up.  

Stray thoughts:4/30/2017

Stray thoughts: 4/30/2017

On to part four. 

Everything started out the same except cereal was replaced by a chunky granola bar loaded with chia seeds and numerous other things.  Same view, same balcony and furniture, and I was still naked. I still moved on to the steamy hot shower, and the big ole robe that could easily engulf someone inside it with me. 

I open the door and I finally see the face. It was a woman standing there, but her image is blinking or morphing very fast. Then it finally settled and it was like the woman was a combination of Sophia Bush(Chicago PD) and Abigail Spencer(Timeless/Rectify). Sorta like everything was combined. Her hair color was in between and layered with a bit of both and was shoulder length but a untamed, her eyes were a dark hazel, her voice had Bush’s raspiness laced with a little twang that Spencer portrayed in “Rectify”. 

She asked, “Why aren’t you dressed?”, and I’m dumbfounded because I don’t know this person. All I could say was “I just had breakfast and got out of the shower, let me get dressed.”  Walking away I was remembering how she was dressed so I could have an idea of what to wear. She had on a pair jeans, black beach shoes a white top with an unbuttoned Myrtle Beach Pelicans jersey and she was holding a hat, so it looked like we were headed to the ballpark.  I walked into my bedroom and I woke up. 

Stray thoughts: 9/26/2016

I guess we could call this part three. I question why I keep having the same dream, but even more odd is why does the cereal keep changing? This time it was “Sugar Crisps” in my bowl. A cereal I haven’t had in years. Same condo, same décor, same kitchen, same balcony, everything is the same except the cereal and the new part.

Like last time, I was able to make it to the shower where the hot water pelted my body. The crisp cool air meshing with the hot water gave the room a steamy affect. I was about finished with the shower, when I heard a knock at the door. I cut the shower off, grabbed a towel, gave everything a once over and then slipped into a huge terrycloth robe. Had I been walking down a drive way for the morning paper, I would have felt like Tony Soprano. I was reaching for the door, opened it and I saw a blink of a face and the dream was gone. I was waking up. It’s almost like I saw static from an old tv set after the station cut it’s broadcasting for the night.  

I actually woke up pissed off because I couldn’t get back in to it. This was around 4:30 this am and I read a little bit and finally faded back to sleep, but I didn’t revisit the dream. Maybe it will come back to me for the fourth installment.

5/2 to 8/14 to 9/29 If the time frame keeps at the same pace, I should be having the 4th installment in about 3 weeks. Yeah, I’m #’s geek with stuff like that.

Stray thoughts: 8/14/2016

I think everyone has reoccurring dreams the same nightmare, driving a 911, at a high rate of speed through the snake on Mulholland, or the topless blonde laying on a blanket beside a river bank waiting to be a picnic, you name it.  I copied below the original mention of this dream which was the first time that I recall having it.

It was the same dream for the most part. Same ice cold condo. location, lack of being dressed, etc.  The only difference was that the cereal I was eating was Raisin Bran. The same smells, feeling the heat from outside swarm over you as you walk from a 63 degree room out on the balcony that was in its mid-day bake.

Another difference was I dropped a raisin from my spoon and it hit the table and then down between my legs. I grabbed and flicked it off into the sky knowing a gull would find the treat at some point.

Maybe this dream had a little progress, because I finished the cereal, drank what little milk was left from the bowl, put that in the sink and went back to the master bedroom and turned on the shower. I started waking up as I felt the hot water bounce off my skin.  

Who knows, yet 3 and half months later I revisit it.

Free Writing 5/2/2016

I had one of those dreams last night where part of it was crystal clear, yet part of it was like looking through a window with years of dust and decay slapped all over it. My dad used to work for/with a family/company that one of his friends/bosses/whatever had a condo at Myrtle Beach. 2 beds, 2 bath, simple concept. Master to the right, the guest off to the left, the dining/kitchen/living room all crammed in-between (I’ll look for a diagram). It was a nice, private, secure, luxurious, pools, gym, tennis courts, a lot of amenities. After a quick search they sell today anywhere from 319-475k. I didn’t compare them to others, but they are still quite expensive. We would stay a week in the summer a few times when I was 12-17.

Well, in the dream, I wake up in this unit. It’s mostly the same, the décor is less 70’s/80’s beach bamboo, but much nicer (to me) looking filled with somewhat more modern furniture. I like simplicity in most things, even though I can be a complicated person(or so it seems).  In the dream, I wake up and walk out to the balcony. It wasn’t an ocean front, but it was on the side of this Y shaped building where only the units that were on the “street” side(top of the Y) had zero view of the ocean.




Being 17/18 floors up and it being a dream, I didn’t keep the sliding glass doors locked, the smaller “master balcony” had doors that entered into the kitchen and the master bedroom, while the kitchen also had an entry to the main/larger balcony as well, which also had doors leading into the living room and the guest room.

Well, in the dream, I went from the smaller balcony into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, some Fruity Pebbles, added some milk and took it and my tablet out to the patio table that was on the balcony. Sitting there eating the cereal, with the only sound being the waves, the wind and a random gull flying bye. Feeling the warmth of the sun start to shine. Not knowing; why I was there, what I was about to do. Such an odd little dream.

I haven’t been in that building in over 22-23 years. The last time was in a different unit when a couple of friends and I were the cheap hired labor for another friend/coworker of my dad’s that had just purchased a unit there. I recall one of my friends saying. “What a cheap bastard, buy a million-dollar condo, and hire us to paint it.” (he was known to inflate the value of things, but maybe it was a million dollar condo in the early 90’s). In the end, he likely had to have it professional painted, but in the very least there were a few stories that came from that 4-5-day period. I might have documented one or two so far. Maybe not. I can’t recall.

Either way it was just an odd little dream. Fruity Pebbles, 11am, Myrtle Beach, half or fully naked on a high rise balcony. Odd indeed.