I just read an article about a woman who’s compiling a diary of her own dreams. She didn’t exactly call it a diary, but a journal instead. This lady keeps a notebook by her bedside, and right after wakening from a dream or nightmare, she jots things down.
I keep a notebook by my bed for ideas that pop into my head where new stories are concerned, but have never thought of compiling dreams. Some dreams I try and remember before going back to sleep, but rarely do I recall them the next morning, unless of course, it’s something worthy of such.
Some dreams are not imaginary. Years back, I woke up in the middle of the night believing that I was dreaming I’d left the drainplug out of a gearbox on a piece of heavy machinery. It was during winter and the snowblower was going to be used the next morning. It took several seconds to realize this wasn’t a dream.
Throwing my clothes, jacket, and hat on, I quickly drove back to the shop. Grabbing a flashlight, I crawled underneath this machine finding the drainplug sitting on top of the vehicle frame. Had some operator drove it with the plug out, thousands of dollars in damage would’ve undoubtedly occurred.
I’ve always been a dreamer and have had some doozies over the years. Most didn’t make sense and are long forgotten. These past few years I constantly dream I’m back at work. It happens quite often. Most of my dreaming is now attributed to a cholesterol lowering medication taken daily, but not all of them.
Sometimes I wake up and still remember finite details to the work dreams, telling them to my wife on occasion. She once joked that I should send in a timesheet to my old workplace and see what happens. My reply back to her was, “If I worked for the federal government they’d probably mail me a check!”
A good friend of mine once told me that if you ever see a group of senior men sitting around a table telling stories about their youthful exploits, most likely half of the conversation is made up of either dreams or tall tales. The other morning in Basha’s grocery store, I observed such a table of individuals and had to chuckle, remembering what my pal said. I wanted to say something to these fellows yet held back as they didn’t know me from Adam.
The same friend offered up even more wisdom regarding fellows getting older by saying, “There’ll come a day when a dream is as good as it gets!” Jim Brownfield didn’t elaborate on what he meant by that, so I have to assume he was talking about riding motorcycles.
A couple of recent dreams are related to when I belonged to the Lion’s Club here in Havasu. I was on the Balloon Festival trash collection crew headed by the late, John Ballard, as well as helping pick up garbage for the club along Highway 95.
In the first dream, we did such a good job of policing golf course grounds, that Balloon Festival supervisors, Marquita McKnight and Jim Day, farmed out our crew to other such events throughout the state. Before long, we were living out of motorhomes, while pulling giant trailers filled with trash behind them.
Where the other dream’s concerned, Lion’s Club volunteers were picking up rubbish near Palo Verde and 95 as a long line of cars drove by. Drivers honked their horns at workers in appreciation. John told a group of us men, “Just smile and wave boys. Smile and wave!”
This wasn’t actually imaginary because it happened each and every time we were out there, although I don’t recall John Ballard using that famous line from the popular animated movie, “Madagascar.” Sadly, Marquita McKnight and John Ballard left us way too early. I’m happy their smiling faces reappeared in my dream, believing there’s a special reason for such. It was a way to let me know that all’s okay on the other side. Thankfully, Jim Day’s still orchestrating his many talents throughout our city.
I’m not sure what the woman at the beginning of my story will do with her diary of dreams. If she plans on using them in a future manuscript, good luck selling it. A book of someone else’s dreams isn’t something I’d be interested in buying and reading.
Where some of my dreams are concerned, regarding things that actually happened—I’m happy whenever they occur to go back and reenter certain periods of time, especially my Balloon Festival days. John Ballard made picking up trash “a gas.” I never saw Marquita McKnight without a smile.
Being reunited with my late parents, grandparents, family, friends, and pets in an occasional dream is like icing on a cake to a good night’s sleep. As a believer in life after death through the saving grace of Jesus Christ, there’ll come a time when I won’t dream at all. Try putting that thought in perspective with “eternity” and it’ll definitely have you thinking.
I like to write junk... 