Happy Friday and Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! I’m working tomorrow, but that’s okay. I feel less weary today than I did yesterday. I went back to the house last night, and the walk back from the train was not as tiring as it had been before, after a night’s and morning’s physical rest.
I may even have a beer—perhaps a Guinness—this evening, in celebration of the day, though regrettably I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy any corned beef and cabbage, and I indeed regret not being able to have the red potatoes that often come with that meal. But, be that as it must.
Not surprisingly, I slept pretty deeply last night, though not as long as my body would have liked to sleep. In fact, I was awakened by my alarm, which is an infrequent occurrence. I was, what’s more, disturbed in the midst of a dream, and that happens rarely indeed. I don’t recall the last time I had a dream that I remembered, though neuroscience suggests that I must have some dreams most every night.
It was a strange dream (though that’s perhaps redundant). It involved a peculiar game of golf that went through a mysterious forest along a narrow path, with low but rather steep hills surrounding a thin, mostly straight main trail, which were part of the apparent “fairway”. There were many small trees, which were nevertheless quite “shady”, though much of the game seemed to take place at night. I don’t think I was present in the dream as myself per se, but was if anything a spectator. It seemed almost like a set, as if for an elaborate play, though there seemed to be open, starry sky overhead.
Then, of course, an even more absurd turn of events happened, and the final shot of the golf round before the dream was interrupted landed in a changed landscape that seemed to be the interior of some impossibly huge mega-store, spread wider and higher than any real store could surely be. It reminded me of a Meijer’s Thrifty Acres, a superstore that I think still exists up north, and that was always much more wholesome than any Walmart has ever seemed to me.
The latter stores always feel dismal somehow, rife with disorder and despair, ill-tended and bleak, with shelves rising not into displays of plenteous goods that signify prosperity, but with stereotypical discount items, things of poor quality and bare usability. I say that only as an impression, not an actual review of the goods available in the store. In fact, the best dress shoes I’ve ever owned I got at a Walmart for $10; the $120 Ecco shoes I was replacing with them had caused me terrible foot and back pain. Also, the arts and crafts sections of Walmart has often surprised me with the quality (and low expense) of the materials you could buy there. I’ve found good quality acrylic and watercolor painting supplies at Walmart for remarkable prices in the past!
Meijer’s, though, has always felt almost like a wonderland, with almost anything a person might wish to buy all under a vast, high roof that seemed too spacious to be a structure made by humans, but appeared rather like a miniature version of the sky itself, unlike the dreary overhead of gray, bare structures seen in most Walmarts.
I like Target stores, also; they tend to feel cheerier and to have higher quality stuff than Walmart (except their groceries) and they have some arts supplies that Walmart doesn’t, including a few nice options for alcohol-based colored markers. But they remind me too much of shopping trips with my children (and with their mother), and I avoid going into them; they make me feel very sad. I have similar trouble with Publix, and even with Walgreen’s drug stores, though I still prefer the latter to CVS, which always seems cold and detached and uncaring.
These are weird impressions to have, I’m sure, regarding chains of retails stores, but as I’ve always admitted, I’m a weird person.
Speaking of weirdness, the last shot of the dream golf match—by the apparent protagonist of the dream, who I think was a woman, though I can’t be sure*—landed on what appeared to be a checkout counter, with nondescript impulse items, a conveyer belt, and a cash-register. The hero (or, if you prefer, heroine) got up on the counter-top, ready to hit the ball with a truly absurd, wide and fat and tall wedge club that looked almost as if it had been crafted from a snow shovel. She was a lefty, if memory serves.
And then, I was awakened, literally, by the sound of a rooster crowing. My morning alarm call is the Beatles song Good Morning, Good Morning, which—appropriately—starts with a cock calling out the start of the day.
Such was the start of my day, today. I rose and showered and walked to the train while listening to The Fellowship of the Ring, from the end of the Council of Elrond until just after the fellowship is driven back by snow in the Redhorn Gate and by the cruelty of Caradhras.
It’s a brilliant story to listen to while walking, as I think I’ve written before. One can almost feel that one is on a great adventure oneself, a quest of deep and heroic import, even though I’ve read the book so often that I can frequently recite it along with the recoding even as I walk. And certainly, the style of the writing (and thus the reading or listening) influences the style of my own writing, as might be evident from this post.
Well, that’s enough for now. I hope you all have a nice day, and enjoy a Saint Patrick’s Day celebration if you celebrate it. It’s Friday, so if you like, you can even have some beer (green beer, if you must, though I think that’s perhaps a bit silly), and a lovely, appropriate meal, ideally with family and/or friends.
I’ll be writing a post tomorrow morning, barring the truly unforeseen, so, you’ll be “hearing” from me then.
*I guess this isn’t surprising. LPGA golf has always been more interesting to me than PGA golf—I’m not sure why. It’s not just because the ladies are nicer to look at for me, as a man, than the men are. I feel there’s less ego and snootiness among the ladies. Lydia Ko is one of my favorite sports figures of any field, gender, time, or whatever. She’s as enjoyable to see play—as are her competitors—as ever was Tiger Woods in his prime (though his first Masters win was amazing!), or even Michael Jordan playing basketball with the Chicago Bulls. I’ll admit, however, that few sporting events were better than seeing the Pistons live, playing—for instance, given that this is St Patrick’s Day—the Celtics, back when they played in the Silverdome, and tickets were obtainable and reasonably priced.