havards.org

Lately I’ve been having very detailed, vivid dreams. It’s been a long time since that has happened. Here’s the most intriguing:

We bought a small ship, like a very small caravel, about the size of a school bus. My dad, my kids and I took possession of the boat, and boarded her. (I should mention that none of us are sailors.)

We walked down some tight, turning steps and into the cabin. On our left, which was the rear of the ship, there was a sort of built-in high counter or desk. There was a cubby-hole of sorts on the right, with a hinged cover. It (and the rest of the ship) was outfitted with gleaming brass hardware. The dark wood was highly polished. ]

Behind the compartment was an opening in the desk, about one foot square. The opening showed nothing, it was black.

Near the compartment was a portrait of a man, done in porcelain, and affixed to the bulkhead. A small brass plate read “Con**el, shipbuilder, 1806.” I can’t remember the name, but I do remember that my Dad and I read the name differently. A Masonic symbol was affixed below the plate (pleasing Dad, an enthusiastic Mason).

Inside the compartment was a note that read, The keys to the ship are in a forward compartment. Advance down the nearby hatch to meet your doom. The “nearby hatch” was the black opening.

We turned to go forward, and above us on the horizontal beam that formed the sort of hallway we were entering was a big brass plaque, it spanned the width of the ship. In big letters it read, Let not size be your measure of success. That’s where my dream ended.

I don’t know exactly what to make of it.

A few nights ago, I stopped by the supermarket after work, to pick up a few essentials. In the dairy section, I saw a gangly kid, about 16 or so, shopping with his mother. He looked like he’d rather be anyplace else, with anyone else. He looked pretty miserable.

I noticed that he had on a ragged and worn Ramones tour shirt; it may well have been vintage, and barely fit him. I smiled to myself, because I remembered shopping trips like that, and because I was glad to see a kid from his generation who was obviously looking back upstream.

A little while later, I ran into the kid again, on the bread aisle. He was pushing the shopping cart, and his mom was not around. As we passed, I caught his eye with a jerk of my chin, pointed to his shirt and said, “Gabba gabba hey.”

His perpetual scowl broke for a second. There was a flash of confusion that said, “Why is this dressed-up old guy talking to me?” Then, as comprehension settled in, his face split into a wide grin, and all of his tension left him for just a second.

He nodded back, looked me in the eye, and said, “Awright!” As we passed each other, the connection was broken, and I saw his stoicism settle back over him like a blanket. I hope I made his situation a little more bearable.

I grinned all the way home.

The last time we were at Sonny’s, Larry gave me a couple of these cards…he had found a box of them in a dark corner under the bar. They are from the early sixties, and Larry pointed out that the address (or maybe it was phone number) had a typo. Doesn’t matter, though. They’re still cool.

My kids love Sonny’s more than I do, they walk in like they they own the place. Zeke loves to trade jokes with Larry and watch Larry’s dad, Jr. (that’s Mr. Puccetti to you, son), pump his bicep. We sit in the red Naugahyde booths, kick our feet and relax. Sonny’s is one of those places that exists outside of time–it’s unique unto itself, and every visit is just like the last. Sonny’s Place is probably some kind of important nexus of the universe, a hangout not just for Galveston locals, but travelers of the astral plane. Maybe we’re just too blissed out on cold root beer to see it.

I’m up early today; I woke up at about 5 a.m. again, somehow. That’s happening more and more lately, no matter how tired I am the night before. I came downstairs and tried to meditate, but my session didn’t go so well. That’s the way it goes, sometimes.

The whole family is rising a little earlier these days; Zeke has to be at school earlier this year and we are making a concerted effort to get out the door before 7:30 a.m. That would have been unheard of last year, but we’ve managed it almost every day so far this school year.

The television has not been turned on, and neither of the kids has asked for it. I have been surprised about that, as it was a regular feature of our mornings last year, much to my chagrin.

I’m hoping we can keep this momentum going; it feels pretty good.

One of the cool things we did on vacation was travel back in time. Big Sam took Luke, Zeke and me on a short drive in the van, and simultaneously 240-280 million years back in time to the early Permian period.

We stepped out of the van and onto an area littered with Dimetrodon fossils, including teeth, vertebrae, sail spine fragments, etc. We spent the whole morning rummaging around, looking at nice examples of lizard parts, and wondering what life was like for these animals.

Zeke was especially into it, and had a great eye for picking the fossils out of the thousands of normal rocks that lay about. Luke, being three, was as much interested in running, jumping and sliding as he was in ancient lizard parts.