But I’ll bet Lee Blake of Evansville, Wyo.; Rhonda Stock of Estevan, Saskatchewan; and Carol Huff of Hartwell, Ga., won’t be there either. And I can’t help but wonder why they are so worried about a fundraiser in Muscatine County. Or why they would think their opinions matter to anyone here.
There must be important issues closer to home on which they could focus their concern. But I wasn’t concerned enough to discover them by doing a Google search for those communities. And I’m sure not going to write letters to the editors of their local newspapers.
The great thing about this fundraiser is that its proceeds will help students. But now that the game is almost over, not having to read any more letters from Blake, Stock and Huff in our local newspaper is a nice perk, too.
A dream from two nights ago still has me scratching my head.
And it seems possible a story I’ve mulled over for 48 hours might be worth telling even if it’s somewhat embarrassing. Who knows? Maybe someone will read this and even offer some decent — and free — dream analysis. So here goes …
In this dream, I was at a vacation resort in Mexico with a bunch of friends from 30 years ago in high school and people I know in Muscatine. We were all having a great time lounging around the bluest swimming pool I had ever seen. Of course, we were drinking.
At this point, I should point out:
I’ve never been to Mexico.
Lounging around a pool just hanging out wouldn’t be my idea of the perfect vacation.
George Wallace
In the middle of this dream, I wondered why I was vacationing with, among others, George Wallace, a high school classmate and career Army man who is a chief warrant officer for the 38th Sustainment Brigade based in Indiana. I’m not sure when I last saw George, but it was long enough ago that we still called him by his middle name, Mike.
Up to this point, I was having a lot of fun in the dream. Everyone was.
But then it was time to leave and most everyone flew back on the same flight — on a jet that crashed somewhere in mountains.
I survived the crash, but the dream didn’t end there. Before waking up, I dreamed I was huddled in the wreckage with a Muscatine woman I don’t know well. And I’m not going to identify her even though she’d likely find this story funny. I can’t think of even one reason why she would have been in this dream.
There was nothing X-rated about any of it. We were just two people huddled there trying to keep warm and stay alive. Then, for some reason, I was hit with a world-class case of flatulence. As we huddled in the wreckage and snow atop some unknown mountain, I left it rip. A fart to end all farts.
Anyway, the absurdity of it all caused my companion to break out into convulsions of hysterical laughter and then I woke up.
In the Daily Prompt: Polite Company, the editors at WordPress said: “It’s never a good idea to discuss religion or politics with people you don’t really know. Agree or disagree?”
I don’t know about that, but I do know farting is one of those things we are taught not to do in polite company. Beyond that, I still have no idea what this dream means. So, out of curiosity, I did a Google search for “dreams about farting,” which unearthed suggestions such as:
To dream of farting means issues that are embarrassing to you if revealed around other people.
To dream that you are farting indicates that you are a bit too hostile to others, especially in a disguised manner.
I’ve become interested in the Internet search-engine words people use only to find themselves at this blog. My favorite today: Pilates positions.
Pat Church
If Pat Church happens to see this, I could be in trouble. But not to worry, I’m going to use it as inspiration to return sometime this year to her Pilates classes at the Muscatine Community Y.
I promise.
And there is a runner-up today in the search-engine derby. Someone landed at this blog after using the Google machine to look for George Cuddy, a bicycling buddy and man about Boston.
George Cuddy
Cuddy, if you happen to read this, my guess is you are being stalked by your spinning room crush. Your best route for escape is to return this year for RAGBRAI.
I’m starting to worry about what a friend jokingly calls Skynet in reference to computer intelligence as depicted in the Terminator movies.
In a blog post earlier today, I referred to the Sam Cooke song, “A Change is Gonna Come.”
So, just now, I fired up a new Spotify station, using a completely different artist and song to create the station. But what do you suppose was the first song played on this station?
