Peaches and Dreams

Everyone has routines. We get up out of bed about the same time everyday. We comb our hair the same way. We brush our teeth the same way we did yesterday and the day before. We walk the dog at the same time (animals like routines) and we (hopefully) pick up our kids when they get out of school.

Our days are so jam-packed with meetings and appointments that our phones are constantly ringing with reminders. It takes time to arrange our 24-hours so we spend hours with our day planners and calendars to make sure we get everything done.

Routines help balance our hectic pace.

When you go to school, the bell rings at a certain time, which helps with the daily routine of lunch and playground breaks. Work expects you to be there at a certain time so it better become routine or you are fired. The Rotary meets every Wednesday at 8:00 sharp so it becomes routine. Sunday service will start with or without you at 11:00 so you are routinely in your pew.

When you children leave home and you retire, your routine changes. Other than attending to an illness or a family reunion or a funeral, your time is your own.

My routine has changed over the years. Today I wake up with the sunrise. Doesn’t matter what I did the night before or when I finally climbed under the sheets, when the sunlight hits the sky, my feet are on the floor.

Stretch and put on my eyes and walk about to shake the cobwebs, and then sit down to view the world through electronic windows. This is where the title of the post kicks in.

I stumble to the kitchen and get a V-8 (spicy) or a smoothie or a jar of peaches or pineapples or mixed fruit to wet my whistle while I see if the war is over or we’ve been invaded by interplanetary invaders or someone died (way too many of those) and enjoy a refreshing treat before I return to the covers and doze off.

This is when the dreams come.

Whatever happens with the juices or vitamins or whatever is in that breakfast, but it sure brings out my imagination. I’m not a botanist or a gastrologist but whatever those liquids do in my belly with the remains of the beer sloshing around makes some beautiful movies. Imagine David Lynch and Fellini writing the script.

This morning I was at Charles Bowles’ house. I’d seen a post on social media so I know where that came from but then it got weird. There was a pool in the house. So the problem (there is always a problem to solve) was to get a bathing suit. The thought of jumping in fully clothed did cross my mind, but I was diverted into another room. On the floor was what looked like sand or maybe some very large lines of magic dust until I walked to the other side and the reflection of the lights show giant ruby red lips and hearts. The rooms are always in constant motion so I was back by the pool thinking I needed a towel but I had one wrapped around my arms. The pool was raised so the only access was through an enclosed stairway. A stairway covered in a thick brown shag carpet. There was a little kid on the steps who scurried out of the way as climbed up. The steps leaned back toward the top and the railing was on the floor and the tread were further apart so it became difficult to reach the top of the stairs. I couldn’t pull my self up or lift my leg high enough to get to the next tread and under the watchful eye of the kid on the banister I tried turning around and sitting down and pushing myself up.

Then the movie is over.

I wish science could find a way to record all these metabolic transactions that are going to my brain to present these short movies but I’d be viral on YouTube. Plus these treats in the morning offer fell and taste and smell and sometimes romance.

Maybe this is just a brief preview of heaven?