Mother and I were at the breakfast table and Mother told me about a dream she had recently. Here is what she told me:
I was at work at the Security Police at SAFB. I am on the 5th floor and working overtime. When it came time to go home, I discover all the stairs had been removed and the elevator was broken. I spent the rest of my dream trying to find a way out.
Mom also told me in reality, she never worked overtime and never worked on the 5th floor. So what do you guys think this dream means? I have a thought. I want to hear what your thoughts are before I share mine.
Last night Mother and I took Jerry out to dinner as a thank you for all the chores he has performed around my house. We had a lovely meal and a lovely time. Toward the end, Mother began the conversation with; "This sounds a bit morbid, but..." What she proposed is that, we, I beleive she was referring to the 8 offspring, have a pool. Kinda like the one when you guess the date of a baby's birth. Except this one would be to guess the date when Mother joins the dearly departed. So, what do you guys think about this?
People who have disallowed comments and/or have made it so difficult to post a comment should not complain when one of their comments is edited.
Oh I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth.... Oops that is High Flight. Last night I drove to Spinks Airport at around dusk. I was to meet J Parker there. He was going to take me flying. In order to be legal taking a passenger, he had to accomplish three landings after sunset. Which meant he took off from the airport, circled around and landed, twice. We began our flight at around 7PM. We made our ascent into the starlit night. The lights of Fort Worth glowed all around us. It was very beautiful. But then, I started a mini-panic attack. I imagined J passing out and I thought to myself; "What would I do if? What would I do? There was an episode on Cheers where they were in a plane that the pilot became incapacitated. Sam and Diane and the rest made vows, told secrets and made their peace with each other. For a few moments, I experienced true fear. However, that was just a very brief moment in a very enjoyable experience, that I hope to repeat again---the flight, not the fear. I have a vague idea about how things work in a plane. I believe the wheel determines altitude, and the pedals controls turns. But I am not entirely sure about that. I will do some research and find out. Anyway, we flew to Weatherford and turned South toward Granbury. We flew over Horseshoe Bend, which is where J lives in a hangar so he can be close to his plane. We landed at Granbury and bought gas. The plan was to borrow the airport car and drive into Granbury and eat dinner. However, when we arrived all the loaner cars were already in use. The nice lady that works there agreed to drive us into town. She also gave us her phone number and said she would come take us back when we were ready. We assured her that we would not be calling her, it would be too much of an imposition. We ate at an Italian Restaurant. It was yummy. We asked our waiter if any of the workers wanted to earn $10 by driving us back to the airport. He checked around told us that he would drive us, but he had some after hours work to be done that would take about 20 minutes. He told us to go to the Karoke Bar next door and he would come get us. So we did that. The bar was full of small town drunks, singing very bad karoke and smoking like it was their last day on earth. We were there for about 20 minutes and I started keeping my eyes peeled for our ride. We waited 5 more minutes. We then went to the bathroom, at separete times, and still no ride to the airport. At this point it had been more than 30 minutes. We went back to the restaurant, it was dark. It seems as if we had been duped. Reluctantly, we began our walk back to the airport. It was cold. We were cold. We had a 4 mile trek ahead of us. We had gone about 5 blocks when we reached a convenience store/gas station. A guy in a pickup truck had just completed his fill-up. J suggested we offer him the $10 to take us back to the airport. So, we walked across the street and asked him. He was hispanic and spoke with a pronounced accent. In fact, he may have not understood what we were asking, because he at first said no. At that time, I said "Please! we are nice people." He eventually acquiesced and we piled into his front seat before he changed his mind. When we got to the airport, we gave him the $10, which he tried to refuse, but we insisted. His name was Carlos. Tonight, I just may say a little thank you prayer for Carlos. No panic attack on the flight back for me. I just sat back and totally enjoyed the view. I feel so lucky to be able to have these types of experiences. Also, I feel so dare-devilish when I do something like this.
Footnote: High Flight