Today in My History

2001:  Wandering in the Desert
The Twelfth of Never
Faster Than a Speeding Bullet
Doggies vs. Death
When My Worlds Collide

Late Night Phone Calls
This Entry Should Put you to Seep   
Yes, Sheila, we're Really Home
2010:  LaCage Aux Fooles
That Which Endures

2012: A Good Day After All
Sunday Stealing
2014: Sunday Stealing

Bitter Hack
: 4/10
"Point of Departure"

Books Read in 2015
 Updated: 3/30
"Leaving Time: A Novel"
"Road Rage"

Mirror Site for RSS Feed:
Airy Persiflage

Letters from Venkanna and Samuel

The Philosophy of Juice & Crackers

The story of Delicate Pooh

The story of the Pinata Group

mail to Walt

mail to Bev


15 April 2015

I rarely dream.  Or if I do, I almost never have vivid dreams or remember them when I wake up.  So I was surprised at how complex and vivid my dream was last night and how well I remembered it when I woke up.

On Facebook recently there had a been a brief discussion of our friend Mike Kelley, who died a few years ago (Mike and his husband Bill, shown at left...Mike's the one on the right).  His friend Butch brought up the term Mike coined during discussions on Compuserve decades ago, FOCAWKI, which stands for the "fall of civilization as we know it," relating, then, to what would happen if gays get equal rights.  (How I wish he were around now to see gay couples marrying ... and religious types still crying FOCAWKI.)  So I guess it was not surprising that Mike was the star of my dream last night.

I had gone to the couch right after The Daily Show and didn't really have trouble getting to sleep, once the dogs and I had settled into our nightly positions after the ritual of Sheila needing to walk back and forth in front of me so I could pet her and Polly finding that sweet spot along my waist line where she could curl herself into a ball.

I always wake up half way through the night and it was not a surprise that I did, but I woke up with my knee aching.  My knee, the one that I hurt in my 2003 bike accident that the uninterested orthopedist told me would be fine, has never been "fine" since that time.  But other than preventing me from biking again and requiring me to use a cane especially for climbing stairs, I've learned to live with it.  But occasionally it decides to act up.

This wasn't a pain per rarely is...but just an annoying deep ache which was preventing me from getting back to sleep.

I tried reversing directions on the couch but that didn't help either.  The knee just was not going to let me get back to sleep, so I decided, as I frequently do, to move to the recliner.  But I had been having difficulties with the knee before I went to sleep and had no hope of things being better so I decided to take an Advil-PM, which is about the closest I ever get to "hard drugs." 

I also got a rice-filled neck collar, since my neck was hurting a bit and then climbed into the recliner under a quilt (and Polly, of course) and tried to go back to sleep.

I don't know if it was a psychological thing or not, but within not very long, I could feel the ache in my knee lessen and soon I was asleep.

Pretty soon, I was dreaming about Mike Kelly's funeral.  For some reason, though he had died several years ago, he hadn't been buried yet.  Mike lived in Houston, but for some reason the funeral was being held in a big synagogue in San Francisco (with a name like "Kelly," you know Mike wasn't Jewish, but perhaps it was the influence of his Jewish friend "Lemrel," though she did not appear in the dream)

I knew that there would be a big crowd at the funeral so I wanted to get there early, but it was going to start in Chinatown with a big parade and I wanted to see that too, so we drove to Chinatown and the traffic was so heavy we almost missed it, but we did see his plain wood coffin loaded onto a pick-up truck while something like a Chinese New Year parade lined up behind it, with incense and dragons and all that sort of stuff.

I don't know how we got to the synagogue, but we did get there in time for the formal funeral, which for some reason wasn't part of my dream, but I remember someone telling me that the reason tightrope walking was part of the funeral was because Mike had been  the first person to ever walk a tightrope.  Nobody knew that because he performed under some name like "The Great Gonferal" or something like that.

The after party was being held at the home of a friend of mine who never in any world would have ever met Mike, but for some reason she was hosting the party and I was amused to notice that since her two children had recently moved out to go to college, she and her husband had gotten rid of their beds and turned their bedrooms into working rooms so they could never move back home again.  I was amused because it sounded like something she and her husband would have done.

About then, our old dog, Toby, showed up.  I knew Toby was dead and knew that this was angel Toby because he was so young and healthy looking and I was happy to see him and knew he was there to let us know that he was happy that we had the three dogs that we do now.  I tried to get hold of our kids to let them know that Toby had come for a visit.

About then the garbage men showed up outside our house in Davis and the dogs started barking, so that ended my dream, but I woke up feeling so rested with no knee pain whatsoever, so I guess taking the Advil PM was a good thing.  (Is this what it's like to do drugs?) But it sure was a weird dream.



"Is anybody going to feed the dog?"


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