Crazy Dreams

This dream was from a couple of nights ago. I was in this town just outside of Mexico. Not Mexico, Maine, but Mexico Mexico. It was to be a little bit before Jim’s wedding, so I decided I’d walk over this little bridge into Mexico,  and go have a taco–just so I could say I had a taco in Mexico. Half-way across the bridge was the boarder patrol booth.

“Where are you going,” asked the boarder agent.
“I’d like to go into Mexico,” I replied.
“What’s the purpose of your trip?”
“I’d like to have a taco.”
He looked and me quizzically. “That’s the only reason?” I explained I was from Maine, only had a few hours, that I was there for a wedding, and that I’d like to be able to tell people I’d eaten tacos in Mexico. “Well, it’s really busy in town right now. Why don’t you come back after the wedding, and we’ll put you right through.” I agreed that would be fine.

So I walked to the town hall/high school where the wedding was to take place. It was a very large, very angular, brick building. A local historian was there, and he told me all about the building.  He said:

“The high school auditorium holds 24,000 people. And, we can fill it up, especially around town meeting time.”
I said “How many people live in town?”
“About 40,000,” he replied.

The building was big, but I thought “They can’t fit 24,000 people in here, no way.” I decided to scope things out. I wandered around the building, and found the stage entrance to the auditorium. I entered. It was big, but not that big. I figured the guy misspoke. The place held 2,400, maybe, but not 24,000. And, the hall was pretty beat up. I could tell from the percussion instruments on stage they looked like your typical high-school band instruments. Beat up, unloved, and un-cared-for. Things like sousaphones were being stored up in the balcony. Many of the seats were patched with duct tape. I thought “Why would Jim get married in a place like this?”

I was trying to figure out where I was supposed to go to get ready for this shindig. Someone pointed me to the orchestra pit, on stage left. I headed down there. There, behind a curtain, was Jim and his bride. Interestingly, Jim was getting married to Jeanine (his actual wife), but to Heather Schmidt (Jeanine’s maid of honor in Jim and Jeanine’s real wedding). She was lacing up her boots, when the music started blaring. Incidentally, the music Jim and Heater marched in to was the same song (“So Nice“) Jim and Jeanine actually marched out to! And they didn’t really march. No, it was almost a Broadway musical meets parade meets Sesame Street thing. About 100 people did a song and dance routine onto the stage, along with Jim and Heather. I apparently wasn’t at the rehearsal for this masterpiece, as people were dancing and singing with choreography and the whole bit. I was running around, trying to figure out where I was. I looked out into the audience just in time to see some curtains rising from the balcony, and see about 24,000 people that had been hidden behind some curtains. I thought “Dang, this place is huge!”

I finally saw Jim and Heather standing in front of the officiant. As the best man, I figured I should stand up there by them somewhere. I found the bride’s mother, and she motioned me to come stand by her. The officiant was looking at us. She was dressed in a monk’s robe, and wore it hood down. I could see white medical tape across her neck, as well as a gauze pad, and a large scar. Apparently, she was recovering from a tracheotomy. She spoke in a very raspy voice. As she was speaking the opening lines, Heather’s mom tugged on my arm, and said something to me. I don’t remember what it was, but she stopped just in time for me to hear the preacher woman say “…will now lead us in prayer.” So I bowed. And waited. And waited. And waited. And then I thought, “Oh my heck, what if the preacher just said something like “And now the best man will lead us in prayer, and I couldn’t hear it because the bride’s mom was talking!” I looked around, anxious to see if someone was going to give me a cue or something. No one was looking. Every one was head down, eyes closed. But no one was speaking. I didn’t know what to do. Are they all waiting for me to lead the prayer?

Then I woke up.

I had a dream last night that I was in a music shop. In the shop, they also had quite a few used laserdiscs. As a guy who still has a LD player, and as a guy who likes a bargain, I was checking tem out. Most of them were “slasher” movies: scantilly clad women running away from some gruesome killer. (One of them had the tagline “Like sex and murder? This is the movie for you!”) Not being into those kinds of movies, I kept looking. There wasn’t anything really good. I did find a copy of “Splash.” It was pretty beat up. At first, I thought “No, it wasn’t THAT good a movie.” Then I thought “Well, it DOES have Tom Hanks.” I pulled the beat-up jacket out of the bin, and the price tag read “$11.00, Rare.”

I looked at the clerk, my facial expressions reading “$11, are you kidding?” She understood my look, and said “According to the guidebook, that’s what it’s worth.” I thought to myself “Good luck selling that at ‘book value'” and put it back in the bin.

The clerk then held up a very large LD box. “Here’s the Jayne Mansfield box set: 80 laserdiscs, every movie she ever made. Interested?” I wasn’t.

That’s all I remember. Well, there was a part about me buying a restored candy green Jeep, but I don’t remember how that tied in.

I can’t remember all of last night’s dream. I remember that I was going to art school, that I had some large project due, and mine wasn’t done. I remember I was going to try and pass off some quicky creation made of cotton balls, and call it “art.” I remember seeing Desirae Page sitting on a fainting couch in a courtyard area of the college. We chatted. I complimented her on her chiseled back (she was wearing some backless halter blouse), and said something to the effect of “You probably get that from roller derby.” (Desirae actually did used to skate in roller derby. She’s now retired due to injury and is training the new peeps.) She squeezed my flabby bicep and said “What’s your back like?” I said “White, spongy, and hairy!” She laughed in that “that’s TMI and gross” kinda way. As we were chatting, Lincoln McRae walked by. We asked how he was doing. He mentioned he was trying to earn some extra cash to buy his grandfather a really nice gravestone. “He’s 100 years old,” Linc said, “and I want to make sure he’s got a nice stone to be remembered by.” (Side note: I believe Linc’s grandfather is still alive, but I don’t think he’s near 100 yet.) He showed us some samples, and why there just happened to be three gravestones nearby is beyond me. (Like the rest of this dream makes any sense anyway! Why not have three sample gravestones in a common area of an art school!)

That’s all I remember.

I somehow was notified that I was requested to be a Buddy Rich’s* funeral. They needed a flag bearer, and they wanted not only a drummer, but somebody who was “religious.” My job was to stand on the side of the church/hall/synagogue (whatever it was), and hold the flag for the brotherhood of drummers. (There is no official brotherhood of drummers, and there really is no official flag, but apparently in this dream there was.)

I stood on the side. Nancy Pelosi stood behind me. It’d been a long time since I’d been a Boy Scout, so my flag etiquette was a little rusty. The American Flag led the procession. When it passed, I dipped the flag of the Brotherhood of Drummers. Next came the officiant. Next was Buddy’s coffin. As it passed, Nancy poked me and told me to dip the drummer flag in honor of Buddy. I didn’t think I was supposed to, but I did in difference to her.

After the procession was over, Nancy pulled me aside. She said “Why didn’t you make that sign of the cross thing, you know, like priests do? ” I said “Well, I’m not a priest. In fact, I’m not even Catholic! And, since Buddy was Jewish, I don’t think the arch diocese will mind that I didn’t make the sign of the cross.” And she said:

“The arch diocese is Catholic?”

Then I woke up. But then there was more! I fell back asleep, and was rewarded with this little number.

I was walking from my grandmother’s house to my mother’s house (they are next door to each other in real life). I was carrying three flats of eggs. These eggs had been in my grandmother’s fridge for many weeks, and no one was eating them.** I was taking them over to my mother’s house to eat them.

While crossing the lawn, I met Ron (one of my employees) and his wife Heather. Ron said “You’re not going to eat those eggs, are you?” I responded “I think they’ll be ok.” Then I said “Heather, you’re a farm girl; are these eggs ok?” (In real life, Heather’s family owns a farm.)

I pulled the top off the eggs. Each egg was in a little crocheted pouch. One was cracked. “That’s probably not one we should judge,” I said. “Let’s crack one open right here. You can look at it and smell it, and tell me if it’s ok.” Heather said she’d really rather not smell what might be a rotten egg.

The end.

*Buddy Rich was discussed at the office the last two days.
**We also have some eggs at the office. A customer brought them by for us. No one has touched them. They’ve been there for some time.

It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of the Devil. Heck, it’s only been a few weeks since my last one! I don’t remember all the details. Susan and I were moving (or helping someone move) out of a very old mansion. The house was possessed by, you guessed it, Satan.  My job was to keep him at bay until we could move out. I remember I had two very old pulpit Bibles I carried around with me everywhere. Satan wanted them for some particular reason. I remember a scene in the courtyard where the Devil was giving a “pep talk” to some of the locals. As he was talking, he was slowly turning from a human form into his more natural “devil” look. And, I remember having him trapped at one point in a room. He turned into a frog and escaped down a hole used for a heating pipe. I went one floor below, and found a Haitian looking woman packing. I asked who she was, and she replied she was a servant helping us pack. I said “Or perhaps you’re the devil in human form!” She said she wasn’t, but that she had noticed the smell of brimstone in the room a few moments before. I went into the next room, and found the Devil over there.  That’s all I remember.