Memoirs of a Geezer
Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!
This Episode: Insomnia, Somnambulism and Plaid Dreams!
While some of us can fall asleep during root canals and children's school concerts that sound more like conventions of screech owls, SweetHeart has a lifelong battle with insomnia, and on a nightly basis. There are, however, lighter moments in her quest for sleep. I recall one evening, long ago. She often uses television as a kind of sleep-inducing medium. We happened upon a sermonette in which the clergy person was doing an excellent imitation of Boris Karloff:
"Sleep is your friend," he began. "But one mustn't wallow in sleep, nor use it as an escape from our sacred duties, the performance of good works. Sleep is merely an interlude between acts of charity and kindness toward our less privileged brethren. Rise up and contemplate what you will next do to give purpose to your life in full wakefulness...!"
As "Boris" droned and prattled on interminably, we chuckled somewhat mirthlessly as we threw socks and shoes at the screen. (Television screens were more solid and durable in the 1970s, you see!) In spite of his amusing exhortations, sleep, on that particular night, was another elusive shadow as we both lay wide-eyed, tossed, re-adjusted our bodies, pillows and blankets in feckless efforts to fall into a well of peaceful slumber. I think I dropped off about 2:30AM, while SweetHeart's turn came at about 4:00AM!
As a younger man, following my time in the military, I experienced strange periods of somnambulism. On an evening in the late 1960s, in mid-autumn and durning my often-drunken college years, I was briefly billeted at the home of my parents. I entered the upstairs bathroom, filled my mouth with water, then, according my my mother's account, scratched at her bedroom door. When she opened said door with considerable irritation in the middle of that strange night, I spat the mouthful in her face. Mother was displeased, to put it mildly. I apparently walked back to whatever unoccupied bed I happened to find and slept quietly, and without further perambulation... at least I think so...!
There were other episodes of sleep walking. One of them ending at a kitchen table where perhaps I was planning a late-night snack or a breakfast of eggs and toast. There was physical evidence to support both probable choices of foodstuffs. (SweetHeart's father -- in his own GeezerHood -- once 
awoke while eating eggs. He had no idea where he was, how he got there, or who prepared the eggs!)
My dreams in the Age of Geezerhood, are remarkably odd. I'm a barrister in an old sports car, driving while seated on a bent-wood kitchen chair. I'm working on a newsletter or a manifesto, searching for an old edition from which I can cut and paste. I'm pounding on an ancient typewriter, manually flipping the carriage so vigorously that it sails out a window. Sometimes I can fly! I soar over a cityscape scouting for evildoers. Or I'm fretting over an upcoming examination for which I failed to read any of the required philosophy tomes. (Or was it theology?)
And gunmen! Often I'm fleeing from villains wildly shooting their pistols, obviously with intent to do me a grievous injury, or worse! I fall down stairways and into sewers. Sometimes I'm on roller-skates or skateboards, neither of which I cannot now nor have ever mastered! If I'm honest, sometimes I'm the aggressor. I'm often playing volleyball in my dreams, or football...! 
Most recently, I dreamt in Plaid! Each dreamscape mostly obliterated as I attempted to see through a tartan kilt or a Scotsman's earasaid or tonnag. I can't make out the scenes behind the annoying plaids. I could be in mortal danger, but I can't see clearly through the fabric. Are they Piper's plaids or Drummer's? What the hell difference does that make? The whole business is terribly strange... Sometimes patterns change in mid dream!...
Oh, and one more result of ridiculous dreams. I sometimes scratch myself and draw blood. What does that mean? Too much violence in dreams, I suppose. Perhaps the answer is a machine that makes soothing sounds, like ocean waves or a gentle breeze to lull a person into a more peaceful realm of slumber... Wait a minute; I have one of those! Ach! It's all too bizarre...
Hmmm... Perhaps what the nation really needs is a Department of Dream Interpretations! Maybe get rid of one of the less effective departments, and replace it with one staffed by competent interpreters of dreams; and perhaps add staffers or a sub-department that can assist with other sleep-centered disorders -- insomnia and of course somnambulism! Yeah... That's the Ticket!! (I know people who claim they interact routinely with celebrities in dreamland; I find that a bit hard to accept! I'm happy if occasionally my dreams are inhabited by dead people, relatives and friends alike! Always delightful to see them!!)
Humbly Submitted, 11-30-2021... By Joel K.
