Cheech, Chong, Kenny Rogers... and me

A few years ago I went into a bar with the idea that I would have a beer. I knew better but hey, it's only a beer... right? I mean, who's gonna know anyway? If I want to enjoy an adult beverage, who's gonna care? I was sitting at the bar waiting for my Miller Lite and minding my own business and thinking about how I'm really going to savor this beer when the door opened and in walked a rather tall man. I couldn't really see his features because the room was suddenly filled with sunlight through the open door and my eyes had already become accustomed to the darkness. When the door closed however, I knew immediately that this was someone I really didn't want to see at that moment.

He sat down right next to me at the bar and gave me a look of such disappointment. He looked as though his heart was breaking right there on the stool next to me. It was Spencer Turley, one of the missionaries that worked with Sheri and I back in Richmond. When the bartender came and set the Miller Lite in front of me, I tried to play it off like it wasn't mine and demanded to know where my club sandwich was. Turley wasn't buying it. He just sat there looking at me with such disapproval in his eyes and this guy could look extremely menacing when he wanted to, which I'm sure comes in very handy now that he's a member of Utah's law enforcement.

The sandwich (that I never really ordered) finally came and I started picking at it sheepishly and eyeing the beer just out of my reach and he never said a word. I ordered a glass of milk and he just looked at me. I would have gladly crawled into the nearest hole filled with spiders and rats and snakes just to escape that look he was giving me and I thought for a few moments that I could actually die from that stare.

Then I woke up.

Talk about relief... I wasn't gonna die or have to fight off snakes and the like. I wouldn't have to hang my head in shame every time I saw him. It never really occurred to me while I was dreaming to ask why he was in that bar anyway. I should have known something was up, huh?

Just last week I had a dream about a guy I used to work with named Rick. I was still in Richmond and he was giving me a ride to work, which in itself makes no sense because we were couriers... what exactly was I going to drive if I needed to get a ride?

Anyway we were in his van and there were about 6 kids running around in the back just having a good old time. I was talking to Rick about this and that and I it was slowly dawning on me that the more I talked to him, the more he became Kenny Rogers. Yes... THAT Kenny Rogers. You remember... know when to hold 'em know when to fold 'em, Ruby don't take your love to town, etc... Rick was really that guy.

I asked him about the young kids being in the back by saying something like "Started a little late in the having kids department, didn't you Kenny?" Oh man. My mouth was barely open before I was trying to stuff my foot in. I recovered quickly and brilliantly by adding "Well, that makes sense because you were busy when you were young writing all those great songs like Ruben James. Uh, you DID write that one didn't you?" Talk about smooth.

Then I asked him what it was really like standing in front of all those people and singing. He answered but I didn't hear him because I was already trying to figure out the best way to ask him what Dolly Parton was REALLY like.

And then I woke up.

I remember a couple of dreams vividly from when I was about 5 years old. We lived on a cul-de-sac that ran straight up hill in Austin. Our house was two or three from the top and I had a friend who lived at the bottom of the hill. I was playing with him in his yard when a really friendly dog came up to us. You would think that I'd find it odd that this dog was royal blue in color, but I was five... what did I know?

The dog growled and then turned into some kind of blue monster and chased me all the way up the hill, across the front lawn, through the front door and living room, down the hallway, past the bathroom, and into my bedroom where I woke up just as I was jumping into my bed. I don't remember if I ever mentioned this to my mom or dad, but what I do know is that all the toys that were under my bed stayed there for a very long time.

I've had a couple of dreams that were kinda recurring. There was one about a train that only moved when you rolled a toy train car across the floor. That one was from the blue dog/monster era of my life. I used to have dreams about tidal waves coming and I would climb the nearest tree I could find, usually a really tall palm tree. The wave would come in and the water would go inches beneath my feet and it would wipe out anything and everything in its path... except for my tree. The whole world was mud except for me and my tree. Weird, huh?

I used to look forward to getting a cold because I like to enhance my dreams (as if they really need any enhancing) by taking NyQuil. Man, I used to love that stuff. Take a couple of big swigs right before bedtime and then sit back and enjoy the show. It doesn't work as well anymore since they took the alcohol out. Sorry Turley.

I took a little college psychology back in the '80s and all I know is that we all dream, although some people don't remember them... that dreams take place in the very short term memory section of our brains, which is why some people don't remember them... and that there is no proven fact on why we dream, which is why there are so many theories on the topic.

There is Freud's theory that dreams carry our hidden desires. Will someone out in Utah please call Turley and tell him that I would apparently like to have a beer with him?

There is Jung's theory that dreams carry meaning, although not always of desire, and that these dreams can be interpreted by the dreamer.

After these theories, others continued such as the Cayce theory in that dreams are our body’s means of building up of the mental, spiritual and physical well-being.

Finally came the argument between Evans' theory and the Crick and Mitchinson theory. Evans states that dreaming is our body’s way of storing the vast array of information gained during the day, whereas Crick and Mitchinson say that this information is being dumped rather than stored.

Whichever theory is true, we may never know, but what I would like to know from someone... anyone... and quickly... is how Cheech and Chong ever became missionaries for our church.

And then I woke up.

Until next time...