Tag Archives: dreams

So Little Guy needed some new shoes

Like any three-year old, Little Guy seems to either outgrow or wear out shoes within a matter of weeks.  It’s getting to Christmastime, one of those times where the kids get a little spiffier, so he needed some “dress” shoes.  When we were at the mall shopping, we stopped at that essential store for parents with toddlers: Payless.  Lovely Wife was looking around and pulled down a pair of shiny black cowboy boots.  “What about these,” she asked, “they would work, wouldn’t they?”  I got a big grin on my face and nodded my affirmation.  She had Little Guy try them on, and of course he fell in love.  They were right up there with his sneakers that have Spiderman on them and light up.  It was here that I informed Lovely Wife that cowboy boots were one of the coolest things for a little boy to own.

I think she already knew this however, because there was already a little boy in the house who owned a pair of cowboy boots.  One that is 35 years old.

tiag1

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But it’s not just the boots.  Somewhere deep inside of me, I yearn to be a cowboy.  I know, it sounds silly, but hear me out.

Apparently this has been going on for a while.  I was at my mom and dad’s house a while back, and mom had packed up a box of stuff from when I was a tot.  Curious, I flipped open the flaps of the cardboard box, and there was a pair of shiny black cowboy boots.  I didn’t remember those, but I did remember the ones that I owned when I was about 7 or 8.  Gray at the feet with black shafts.  Man, did I love those boots.  I would put them on, along with my jeans and a flannel shirt and my black felt hat that had been misshapen and recreased about a thousand times.  I didn’t have a horse (real or otherwise) but I didn’t need one.  I remember owning two cap guns.  One looked like a typical clip style that you might use if you were a G-man on the trail of John Dillinger.  The other looked like a Colt Peacemaker.  You can guess which one got more use from me.  Back in the days of the early 80s, it looked real, too.  It wasn’t cast in crazy colored plastic.  It was metal.  It did have a plastic grip, but it was meant to look like ivory.  It certainly didn’t have a bright red tip at the end.

Wild Bill Hickok

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Maybe it was in my blood (pretty sure now that’s not the case).  Maybe it’s because I grew up in South Dakota.  After all, at one time or another Wild Bill Hickok, Calamity Jane, and the James brothers all passed through our great state.  Whatever it was, I wanted to be out there.

Of course as an adult reality has sunk in.   Not just the fact that the days of the Wild West were long over even before I was born.  As far as I can remember I’ve only fired two real guns in my life: my father-in-law’s shotgun (at some clay pigeons–which I was pretty good at hitting) and my brother-in-law’s brother’s AR-15 (which I shot several times at an empty bottle of Crown Royal without a successful hit.)  I have a Mustang, but she has wheels rather than hooves.  I couldn’t even be a modern-day cowboy.  Although I have ridden a horse before, just the thought of being in the saddle all day makes my ass sore.  The closest I have gotten to the cowboy experience is repeated watchings of my favorite movie: Tombstone.

Lovely Wife has helped me indulge my little fantasy since we’ve been married, though.  A few years ago for my birthday she bought me a baseball cap embroidered with “National Day of the American Cowboy July 26, 2008”.  Of course July 26 happens to be my birthday.  The real gift was still to come–later that week she escorted me to RCC Western Store where I got to pick out my own adult sized cowboy boots.  I have several belt buckles.  Never mind that some of them have things like the Batman logo on them.  This summer I purchased a cowboy hat from Cabelas.  A real fur felt job.  I’ll never be a cowboy, but I can put these items on, and strum my guitar while I sing Country music tunes.

I am sure not everyone understands.  Toby Keith does, at least according to his song.  I think Little Guy does too.

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Filed under Christmas, cowboy boots, cowboys, guitar, music, personal

Cultivating a Garden

The summer after lovely wife and I moved into our house, I decided that it would be fun to plant a vegetable garden.  We already had a pretty nice spot where the previous owners had their garden.  We borrowed a tiller from the neighbor.  We went to the store and bought an ambitious assortment of vegetables for our first go: tomatoes, onions, garlic, bell peppers, cayenne peppers, cucumbers, cantaloupe, and probably others that I am forgetting.  Since our dog was still very young, active, and curious, we got little pickets to put around the perimeter.  He could still take a running jump and get in, but it would have to be something that he wanted to do.

What a debacle that first garden was.  The garlic and the bell peppers never grew.  Our one cayenne plant gave us a total of two peppers.  The rabbits were somehow still able to get at the tomatoes and the cantaloupe.  We were too impatient for the onions.  The most frustrating thing, however, was the enormous number of weeds that infiltrated the plot.  I could spend most of a Saturday afternoon picking weeds, and it would seem like I would wake up Sunday morning and they had all replenished themselves.  It felt as if I would have to retire and make weeding my full-time profession if I wanted to make this garden a go.

Looking back, it wasn’t all bad news.  The cucumbers grew like crazy, although we did have to remember to pick them before that got too big and bitter.  Since the rabbits decimated most of the cantaloupe crop, I did rescue one that was about fist sized at the time.  It was honestly the sweetest, most delicious cantaloupe I have ever had.  After that summer, we gave up on the garden.  We did have one summer where it mysteriously became a little field of daisies, but that was OK by me.  Since then the grass has taken over, and a small indentation in our yard is the only evidence that something was once there.

My counselor said something interesting to me a few weeks ago: “Having depression is like trying to make Jell-O without a mold.”  An interesting concept.  Without support, without guidance, the Jell-O would just go everywhere as it cooled in your fridge.  Earlier I had made a goal that this summer I was going to have another garden.  This time it would be a little different, however.  I was going to try a potted garden.  It would also be on a much smaller scale, probably tomatoes, onions, and peppers. 

As I thought about it, the pots and the vegetables were good stand-ins for the Jell-O metaphor.  Keeping them off the ground would be a good way to keep them from the rabbits.  I still expect that some weeds will somehow make their way in, however there won’t be nearly as many and they will be easier to control.  I need to build some kind of defenses, some kind of pot, to keep the negative influences in my life on the outside, and to be able to better manage the ones that are able to sneak into the party.

Depression.  Tomatoes.  Onions.  Peppers.  When I get it all figured out, you are all invited to try some of my salsa.

FRIDAY FUN: WDOTW (Weird Dream of the Week)

A little back story on this one: we had a toilet in our house that needed to be replaced.  It leaked from the tank to the bowl, which is a little frustrating to think of how much water we wasted.  On top of that, somehow the bowl also leaked, even after I went through the trouble of replacing the wax ring.  Skip forward to this week, when I installed our new throne.  I got it all in, turned the valve back on and…  nothing happened.  I thought maybe the valve broke in the off position sometime in the process, but I saved it for the next day.

Enter my dream.  I am working on the john.  In my dream, there are several lines going into the tank, and I am getting confused and frustrated.  Who shows up in crazy dream world to help out?  Why, Charlie Sheen, of course.   Mr. Sheen starts tinkering with everything and sends me down to the basement to check out the situation (because in dreamland putting in a loo takes multiple floors, apparently).  I get to the basement and see an incredible mess of disconnected water lines and wires (bet you didn’t know about electric toilets).  I start furiously trying to hook everything back up, when that joker Mr. Sheen turns the valve back on which of course sprays me from every conceivable angle.  Another time when I woke up thinking OK, now what the hell did that mean?

As I side note, when I took another look at it, the reason it wasn’t filling wasn’t the valve, but that the float was stuck in the up position.  An easy, Sheen-less fix.

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Weird Dreams May Come

Since I started taking a different medication for my depression and anxiety, I have noticed that I have had some particularly vivid, odd, and memorable dreams.  I’m not sure if this is due to the increased serotonin in my brain, a side effect of the medication, or just a coincidence.  I did, however, find this link to a discussion about others that have had strange dreams that seem to have been brought on by the same medication that I have been taking (Celexa).

I have always been quite an active dreamer.  As I have become an adult, I’ve noticed that I have tended to have some recurring dreams.  The three scenarios that I can recall off the top of my head are losing teeth, discovering in public that I am completely naked, and looking at myself in the mirror and pulling my hair into a pony tail (quite an accomplishment for a man who is balding in real life).

But the dreams that I have been having recently, while not really nightmares, are kind of disturbing and vividly entertaining at the same time.  I can remember two from about a week ago quite clearly.  In the first, Lovely Wife and I are sitting in what appears to be our apartment (we’ve lived in a house for almost five years), when Tim Conway enters our abode with a cordless drill and proceeds to our bathroom and closes the door.  Apparently in dreamworld this isn’t out of the ordinary because no one questions what is going on.  Soon we hear a commotion coming from the bathroom, so I open the door, where I find Mr. Conway sitting on the john, unconscious, and apparently injured by the drill.  Interpret that one, Sigmund Freud.

The second finds me going into a convenience store to buy a pop.  The first thing I notice is Nancy Pelosi sitting outside the store on a folding chair, talking on a pay phone.  Again, dreamworld logic rules here, as I don’t think to myself “That’s odd, what is Nancy Pelosi doing in my town?” but rather, “There are places that still have a pay phone?”  As I walk into the convenience store, there are no shelves, just drink coolers going around the perimeter and a cash register near the door that I entered the store.  In the middle of the store there are several parlor type tables and chairs, with many nearly identical strippers sitting around them (at least I think they are strippers.  The are all wearing naughty-Catholic-schoolgirl type outfits and openly flirting with the store’s patrons.  I decide to get my pop and get out as quickly as I can.  As I open the cooler door, one of the ladies stands up and touches my hand with a tazer-like device.  It is not enough to knock me down, but certainly gives me a jolt.  Then she hands the tazer to me, leans over my shoulder, and invites me to administer a jolt to her backside.  Luckily I wake up before it really gets weird.  I know what you might be thinking, “No, you woke up just as it was getting interesting!” but I assure you that it was neither erotic nor exciting.

So, do these dreams mean anything?  Does anybody else have medication induced dreams?

MONDAY FUN: YouTube Music Favorites

Hayes Carll, Chances Are

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