Vivid dreams.

​Last night I sat in my chair with my legs up and tilted back slightly. Louie was between my knees. I fell asleep and slipped into a vivid dream. 


I don’t know if you ever had a vivid dream, but to me it’s like a shift in reality. One moment I’m sitting in my chair petting Louie. I blink my eyes, and I am now sitting in a medieval tavern. 


I was eating a stew made of root vegetables and broth. It wasn’t great, but it was food. Elden sauntered up to the table and sat across from me. It had been several days since I’d won what little coin he’d had in a card game. He eyed my bowl of stew and flagon of mead before speaking. 


“It must be nice to buy mead and stew,” Elden said with a touch of disgust. 


“I’ll pay for a bowl of stew for you if you like,” I said. 


Elden pull a blade and pointed it at my throat. I dropped my spoon in the bowl and looked at him. 


“The bounty on your head will feed me for a month,” Elden said with a smile.  


The smile disappeared as he felt my short sword glide up his inner thigh. The point dug in just below his belt buckle. 


I smiled as he dropped…my cell phone. It hit Louie’s head and he jumped off my lap. 


It’s like the power going out during a movie I’ve been waiting to watch. The only difference is the movie in my head will never make it to DVD.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Memories

​ We all have something in common. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you believe, or what you do for a living. That one thing we all have in common are memories.  Our lives are shaped by the way we remember our past.    Sometimes the memories are good. Sometimes they are bad. How we look at those memories sets the precedent for our future. I write about good memories, but the bad memories are just below the surface.  I keep most of those to myself. Nobody needs to or wants to know about the bad things that have happened to me. I don’t define myself by bad memories. Bad memories affect us, but I decided long ago that bad things happen for reasons beyond my control. I don’t dwell on those things if I can avoid it.  I remember after getting the local newspaper every evening, my dad would tell us if someone he knew was in the obituaries. Usually there was a small bio that mentioned the deceased’s love for family and friends, where they worked, and their hobbies.  I could write one of the
Read more

Why am I here?

​        I woke up this morning with a question. “Why am I here right now?”     I’ll ask myself that question dozens of times throughout my day. Sometimes, the good Lord answers that question. Sometimes, He smiles and tells me he has given me enough clues to figure it out on my own.          He puts people in my path that change my path, or I change theirs. Twice in my life, he put a pastor of a church in my path that changed my point of view. Their honesty touched my soul. I’m a better man having walked the path with them.          Twice he’s put a pastor in my path that changed my view of religion and people in general.     They spoke in the name of God, but they acted in their own self interest. You can do anything in the name of God and consider yourself forgiven. It may not be the case, but my job is not to judge but to categorize.          What does that mean?    It means that I need to put people in their place within my space. I’m not in charge of the world, I do have some cont
Read more

The Colorado Potato Beetle

​       My grandpa and grandma always had three big garden plots. One was strictly potatoes, one was tomatoes, and the last one was green beans and a mixture of whatever odds and ends grandpa decided to try.      Canning was a big event when the tomatoes and green beans were ready, but the biggest crop was potatoes. We all had jobs when it was time to harvest potatoes. The adults dug them up with potato forks and put the biggest of the potatoes into baskets that would be deposited into the root cellar/storm shelter/cave. (That’s a whole different story on it’s own.)       That left the grandkids to gather the small baby potatoes from the dirt and the vines. If the job was done right, there’d be dirt under our nails, on our hands and faces, and our knees as we crawled from hole to hole, plucking taters from the roots of the plants, sifting through the dirt, and filling the holes.          But that was the end of the growing season. What I remember most is crawling through the garden and
Read more