"Out of my Dreams"

Pretty song from Oklahoma. Then, there's Edgar Allen Poe's poem where he muses to himself whether "Life is just a dream within a dream." As one of the Dreamers, it's hard to ferret out whether it is as we imagine it to be. I'm afraid the Modern World isn't conducive to drawing these lines ... 

Weekend of 19 July ... Reality vs. Fantasy .... 

Smoke and Mirrors. Catchy phrases seem to be the rule. I don't know how it is for other folk somewhat dazed in their treks through the Fourth Quarter of Life. Lots of things seem to get under my skin, these days. It's been a busy weekend in the USA and a busy one for Howard, too. On my side ... M and I had a really good weekend, together ... enjoying sharing space and time with each other. Kinda snuggled together -- but not just together -- in late middle-age. We were ten at dinner Friday night and Sunday. M & I, and our Oldest's and Youngest's families. Oh, and GuntherDog and PrettyGirlFreud le chat. Four of the six GrandSpawn visited ... it was particularly moving on Sunday. Maybe 35 years ago, indulging I suspect a fantasy that everything could go on just as it was forever, we had a pool built and Sunday the four girls and most of the adults were splashing about ... to be away from the heat? Yeah. But to be together. We bought this float that everybody immediately saw as an 8 foot penis. A certain embarrassed part of the 6 adults may have wanted to be all grown up about it and hide the titters; the four girls ... well, particularly the three younger girls had no hesitancy in their amusement. Gunther was a little depressed about having been thrown into the pool, once, and the Littlest One, Princess C, really didn't want to get out. 

There's is an old book by Westropp and Lake, as I recall, on Ancient Phallic Worship; FORGET THE ANCIENT! ... ... ... It was fun!

Maybe the pool doesn't really act as a binding agent to keep the family together-forever, but something real brings us together and I was near-moved to tears, yesterday, watching the water bacchanal. Everyone seemed to get the biggest kick out of the three males (me + a near-50 and a near-40) falling into the drink off-of the Ride-Em Penis. Again ... it all felt real. And Saturday night, we cooked for friends and in the afternoon a struggling friend stopped by for support. Great weekend, to my way of thinking.

That having been said, I find that I have less and less patience for the Talking Heads who deliver the NEWS and, also, report all kinds of disappointments for and from those whom I respected but who have gotten roped into one-sided political polemics and/or National Inquirer kinds of stories. And the fuss made over words is getting to me. This was the weekend that Donald Trump went after John McCaine, claiming that the real heroes were those who were never captured. Laughable that Trump can play the role of a 7th grade class clown when maybe it would be more age-appropriate for him to be advertising Geritol or Cialis. But I find it tragic that the newsfolk get all caught up in this. War heroes? they're folk who the culture recognizes suffered for them or put themselves in harm's way for the benefit of the Country ... either or both. Words! Silly arguments about words. John McCaine certainly fits the bill.

Look! There's no hiding that I live on the more Liberal Side of the Street. I'm certainly no Party-Liner but I for many years found myself in most-often agreement with MSNBC's young crew of news folk ... Rachel Maddow, Chris Hayes and others. Really smart and well-informed. I could adopt them? Hearing them covering each and every mass shooting and Bill Cosby's marital indiscretions gets to me. I know, I know. Cosby may have been involved in rape and if he's found culpable will be prosecuted if Law allows us to do so. And 30 seconds of "Bill Cosby has been accused by dozens of women of repeated non-consensual sex and serial infidelity" would be acceptable to me. But hours of rehashing details while the Middle East burns and Africa starves? C'mon.

And y'know, who the phuck cares?

And, so ... for weekend 26 July we toddled off to backwater USA ... Conservative, lots of Fundamentalists ... M, I, our ldest and his 6 year old adorable one. The beach is simpler but hard for M to get to with her bad knee. Our oldest son likes to keep things neat ... I don't mind at all if he neatens things up. I like the Sand and the Simplicity ... "Tis a Gift to be Simple." Didn't do much work ... replaced a rusted-out lamp. The salt water is unforgiving. Me and the 6 year old are kindred spirits, though she fusses food. We like singing funny made-up songs, together, and she's of the age when knock-knock jokes are funny for some reason that has nothing to do with what makes them funny on occasion to adults. We'll leave, this Morning and by tis afternoon I'll be sitting in my office with my bad back, numb feet and occasionally thinking about next time I get to go down to VA ... next time with GuntherDog ... this tme he bedded down with my youngest and her family. And Chloe, the really young Grandspawn, she doesn't care about the wars, the unfaithful celebs and has only "now" and "dreams for tomorrow" to keep her going.

"knock knock"
     "who's there?"
"shoes"
     "shoes who?"
"shoes walk to town"

Freud missed out on kids' knock-knock jokes. Figuring out the unbewusste/unconscious parts ain't easy .... The kids that age just want love and rock and roll. And she gets both from her parents, especially her middle-aged Dad. And she sings (and don't talk politics ... more like Bernie of Brooklyn and Vermont!):

Bugga-bugga-bugga, my Grandpa's m'schugga

But he don't tell no lies.

Bugga-bugga-bugga, my Grandpa's m'schugga

And he eats Pizza Pie! (Song and Lyrics by Howard and Chloe)

It's 513am ... time to go watch the sun rise.