Daydreams of: The Nightmare

The lady sat on the edge of the table.  Her feet dangled and kicked in small circles.

The doctor entered, stone faced.  “Congratulations.  You’re pregnant.”

“No!”  The lady protested.  “That’s impossible!  I’m fifty-seven!”

This completely fictional horror story that will still get me in trouble is presented to you for the Trifecta Challenge.

Thoughts on Dreams

Do you dream?  Not at night but in and about your life.  Do you dream?

If so, you’re the lucky ones for there is evidence that some people don’t dream.  Worse yet, some are children.

On Wednesday, Sightsnbytes’Blog posted how he asked a ninth grade student body what were their dreams; what plans they had for the future; and how did they plan on attaining those dreams.  To his horror, he found out that they really didn’t have any plans for the future.  They didn’t dream.

This is horrible!  I can’t envision a worse situation.  Even a prisoner will at least dream of being free.  If you don’t dream, you don’t live.

It could be argued that ninth graders don’t really know what they want to do with their lives, but I’ll argue that the dream doesn’t have to be realistic and set it stone.  It just has to be a dream.

I can even tell you what some of my greater dreams were back in the ninth grade era.

  •  I wanted to be a rock star!  Journey was and still is my favorite band and I wanted to sing just like Steve Perry.  I played my records and tapes so loud and so often that I drove my brother to hate Journey with a passion that rivaled my love for them.

What happened to that dream?  I sang in class and in turn was introduced to madrigals.  I took that class for the next two years until cuts in the school funding killed it.

  • I wanted to travel to exotic destinations.  I was hooked on the long distance explorations that Gary and Monika of the Turtle Expedition and dreamed of going to places they wrote about in a modified four wheel drive pick-up with a slide in camper like they do.

What happened to that dream?  I took my first car, a 1983 Dodge K-wagon, from Detroit, Michigan to Binghamton, New York via the state highways and back through Canada.  I saw Niagara Falls three times in this car as well as the finger lakes and a final long trip to Florida with a stop in Nashville, Tennessee.

I took various other vehicles to other States and destinations, and I have owned two four wheel drive pick-up trucks with the dream of going to Baja one day.

  • I wanted to work for Car and Driver magazine.  What person wouldn’t want to get paid to drive beautiful fast cars in exotic parts of the world and write about the experience.  That doesn’t include the byproduct of becoming a road warrior/hero as well.

What happened to that dream?  I worked at a car wash where GM and Chrysler would send in their test mules for cleaning and to test the various door and window seals for leaks.  I was able to drive a Renault Twingo, a Cadillac Catera, and other cars before Car and Driver wrote about them in their magazine.

Later on I sold Saturns and was asked to help out at the Greenville, South Carolina auto show.  I did such a good job that the lady working the Saturn display with me offered me a job at the end of the show.  For some reason, my wife did not like the idea of me being on the road for six months with “Gorgeous” female models.  Go figure.

The point is, I had dreams and in one extent or another, I made them come true.  They may not have been exactly what I wanted but I enjoyed them.  And I haven’t stopped dreaming yet.

I dream of traveling more to the west coast of the country and overseas.

I dream of publishing that novel I wrote.

I dream of making this blog my career.

I dream of doing more, seeing more, getting paid more, and living life more.

Dreams are the beacon off in the distance that guides us to where we want to go.  Without them we are adrift on an uncertain sea, lost in the fog.

So I ask you again.  Do you dream?

Ramblings of: Florida’s wild side

I had a unique encounter today and wanted to share it with you.  While fetching supplies for the day job, landscaping, a man pulled up with an unexpected cargo in his trailer.  A wild hog.

The hog was caught because the area it inhabited is being developed and the hog was a danger to the people working there and itself.  The trapper said that this hog weighed around 200 pounds and had “eaten through” the wire on one of his  humane traps.  He also thinks this hog was responsible for bending the threshhold of another trap allowing it to life the trap door open.

Here’s some more pictures of “him”.  (I decidedly didn’t get close enough to personally determine the sex of the animal.  I figured you wouldn’t mind.)

He seems pretty calm, doesn’t he.  Almost tame.  Don’t let his looks fool you.  If anything the hog was a little tired from trying to get free from the cage and would literally tear through anything in his way if he could make a break for it.  Wild hogs will also attack a person encroaching on its territory.

It’s ironic. The Spanish brought over hogs from Europe and set them free so they would have living food stores when they revisited the New world, and now we have to deal with the results of this “Invasive Exotic” as we further change the landscape to fit our growing population.


Daydreams of: Survivors and Relics

The old man walked through the aisles of the gun show.  His steps were slowed from the assault of old age and old wounds.  People behind him would grunt their displeasure before rushing through an opening when it presented itself.  Ignoring the low protests, the old man grimly continued forward.

He limped past the pistols and revolvers; found an easier path by the shotguns; and struggled his way through the crowd gathered around the modern sporting rifles.  The old man finally stopped when he came upon a row of old rifles leaning in a soiled wooden display rack.  His slim, weathered hand pulled out one of the rifles.  It felt heavier than he remembered.  His right hand instinctively went to pull back on the bolt-action, but was stopped by the unyielding cable tie wrapped tight just behind the safety and woven through the trigger guard.

Thoughts flashed back to Stalingrad in ’42.  How at the age of eighteen he fought against the Nazis in their assault of the city.  Memories of shelling, screaming, explosions, and the low moaning of injured soldiers and civilians flooded his mind bringing along with it the phantom smells of sweat, sulfur, fire, and copper.

A hand stretching out in front of him snapped him back to awareness.

“Ninety bucks?”  Cried out a young man wearing a digital camo tank top and buzz cut.  “Why so little?”

“Because they’re cheap!”  Spat the young man’s friend.  “They are ancient, heavy, bolt-action pieces of junk that can only hold five rounds.  They’re no match for a modern AR.  Forget them.”

The young man looked at them with disdain.  “Yeah.   Cheap pieces of crap.  Let’s go.”

The old man raised his hand as the boys left.

“Can I help you?”  The middle-aged vendor asked.

“I’d like to buy this Mosin-Nagant.”  The old man replied.

The vendor glanced over at the young men ogling the ARs and said, “For you,  Sixty.”

Painfully created for the Trifecta Challenge.