We all get them, from time to time: Dreams that you wake up from and wonder “What did that mean?” It comes as a standard part of the World of Woo-Woo (the WoWW).
Over the years, I’ve slowly been racking up dreams that have emotional and predictive content. Dreaming about my son wearing an orange jumpsuit and learning later that was the jail clothing for one of his “big adventures” in life – repelling down the side of a 12 story building without bothering to ask permission.
Or, like the time sailing far from civilization and dreaming about one of my daughters being wrapped in a green flag with a spot on it. Only to learn a day and a half later than she’d had an emergency appendectomy (green surgical sheets) and a spot of blood on it (black) while I was totally unreachable.
Then there was my odd dream about a fire/murder on an oil platform and a place called “the Wall” and posted on the old UrbanSurvival site 18-hours before the Gulf of Mexico disaster.
And there was the more recent case where I dreamed about a plane sliding off the end of a runway with 146 people aboard – unharmed – and a week later, a plane with 149 aboard slid off the end of a runway up in Pennsylvania. Sometimes the dream content shows up promptly (present to a few hours later) and other times, it can take a week to right days.
So, yeah, I know sometimes dreams are nothing more than the brain’s internet blender going off, but others times they can have predictive content. And this morning’s is just strange enough to be worth mentioning.
It begins with me being on the second story of a house. The house if built on the side of a hill – a very steep one – and the house begins to move back and forth in a generally north-south direction. But there’s a bit of an arc to the swing such that every time the house moves back and forth (a distance that was huge – I’d estimate it at 12-13 feet) the leading end of the arc would smack into the side of the hill.
I knew the house wouldn’t last long. There was a sense of worry about people in the house, but not a lot of
It has been a good long while since the world has had a 7.0 quake – and my sense upon waking was that a Big One is just ahead.
Still, there are usually other indicators that come with big quakes (like the Japan-sized quakes): I often get very intense feelings of “the earthquake tireds.” Being a super high-energy person I really notice this things so when I get an overwhelming sense of tiredness that drives me to the closest bed for 8-16 hours and I’m otherwise healthy (BP normal, all that), it usually means a quake.
The tiredness usually comes a day or three ahead of events. And things like the dreams, at least in the case of that Pennsylvania jet, that was 7 or 8 days out.
I’ll let you know if I get super tired (no, I don’t fly our airplane under these conditions) I’ll let you know.
The main other observation – that I have in passing – is that I don’t remember any Big quakes in a good while. Readers Tony R, who has generously run out data since 1963 in the past – which has helped us see the big picture on things, has been too busy of late to make data runs.
I’ll try to put the “strong-arm” on him and see if we can maybe talk him into doing a run at the end of this month’s data: My sense is that 6.0 to 7+ quakes feel like they have been in a massive decline.
And that leads to an intriguing line of inquiry: Is the decline (if I’m not imagining it) because the plates are locking up (a fine thing, indeed, until, that is until they unlock and all hell breaks loose). Or, is the decline due to the reduced solar output (there went global warming which was most solar-driven) which slows the planetary expansion, which in turn closes down quake activity when the Sun goes out to lunch.
We’ll keep our ear to the ground…so to speak.
Where Do You Want to Die?
Even if you’re not a Peoplenomics subscriber, one of the reasons we keep such close tabs on real estate both in Texas and Washington (the state) is that Elaine made a remark a while back “I don’t want to die out here…” referring to our place in the outback.
Of course I asked, in return, “Where is it, exactly you want to die, because I can’t think of ANYWHERE!”
She’s still thinking on that one.
A Peoplenomics subscriber picked up the question and passed this one:
“I caught your comment about Mrs. Ure concerned about where she wants to spend her last moments in this world. I’m a retired soldier and been to a bunch of places and saw my share of the world. Bottom line is everywhere is pretty much like everywhere else except for the landscaping and scenery. Home is where the heart is and our hearts build our homes. I’ve given the last breath thing a lot of thought over the years and I concluded it’s not where I die that’s important but what the scenery looks like. Personally, I prefer a field of flowers or a nice meadow. I won’t be thinking too much about the temperature at the time. That will come a few minutes later and I won’t have much control over it. Joe”
Sometimes I wonder if – when people of a certain age (north of 65) start to thinking about moving “closer to the kids” whether they’re just trying to move to a different location so Death won’t know where to find them. I’m near certain Death has a worldwide reverse directory.
Who Says You Can’t Take It With You?
Not to go off on morbid (although compared to prime time TV this is nuthin): Since it’s a relatively forgone conclusion that we all head to the Big Sleep, I had a marvelous conversation with one of my daughters on Wednesday that you’ll get a kick out of.
It began with a discussion of what else? Money and she quickly reminded me that “You can’t take it with you” and ended with a wrap-up, in so many words: “And this being the case, Dad, can you send me some?”
I politely declined, pointing out that while it’s true that you can’t take it with you, there’s no point on missing out on too many adventures in this Life if you can afford them.
“Money doesn’t make you happy, Dad!” came the retort.
“Oh?” I couldn’t help myself: “I got the right woman, a paid for home, an old airplane, and more hobbies than I have time for. I love my life and [hate to disappoint you] but I am ridiculously HAPPY!”
There was a pause as that sunk in and a new argument constructed.
““To prove my point, people in India are a lot happier than people in the US.”
““Listen, daughter-of-mine: I’m not big on trusting any country which still wipes with its left hand. Besides, they’ll be miserable as we are, just as soon as a professional politician class rises to power and they get an Affordable Care Act.. Give them time. Money may not buy happiness, dear, but it does buy toilet paper and top sirloin.
As for the “taking it with you” part? I figure to leave life with many great memories, plus a whole smorgasbord of soul-tempering adventures. I spend a fair bit of money to have those. Money makes it possible and the quest for the memories and the soul-tempering is what we live for.”
This being the case, I of offered, “Would you rather have a 50-year collection of “working for the Man” as your takeaway to the grave or a lifetime of spitting in the wind and trying everything that grabs your heart strings? I vote the latter. You may need a life of just working more than I do.”
I’m sure this isn’t the end of it…got the sense that the check-fishing isn’t over. But as I’ve told here, when Dad wanders off to the Big Sleep, she’s got to figure out how to bait her own hooks and catch her own fish. And teaching the fine art of fishing for money is a core parenting responsibility. Putting fish on the hook for the kids doesn’t teach ‘em jack.
Personal Priorities
As long as I’m slogging through personal priorities, I took the old Beechcrate down to Crocket, Texas, this week where Mark-the-Mechanic at East Texas Aviation will be doing this year’s required annual inspections.
Flying in the South is a year-round activity but Spring is especially nice…the bug bites once again.
The flight down for maintenance was comfortable although bumpy below 2,500 feet. Greased it on, right smack on the centerline, as is my habit.
You need to know that the interior of the Beech is 44 inches, when Elaine and I travel, we can sprawl all over the place…and the seating is high…just like a living room chair. The cabin width carries to head-level and above.
My fright instructor was kind enough to give me a ride back – and for some reason in all my flying, I’d never been for a ride in a short-body Mooney C. Great airplane, fast, and the specs claim a cabin width of 43.5”. But because the frontal area is reduced (and you sit lower) you can’t wear a wide brim Stetson in a Mooney where you can in the Beech. A baseball cap is stretching it if you have a fat head.
Still, it’s blazingly fast (160 knots) versus 115, although getting out of it was like getting out of a sardine can. I’m not as limber as I used to be, so it was butt-first getting out and then a backward roll onto the wing – much to my CFI’s amusement.
Every year I try to upgrade something at annual. This year it came down to three choices:
a) PowerFlo exhaust,
b) type approved electronic ignition, or
c) put the money in the gas kitty and just travel more.
My Council of (Aeronautical) Economic Advisors voted for money into the gasoline and hotel fund and more travel. I’m leaning toward the electronic ignition which will give better engine performance (and higher rate of climb) going into places like Denver or Albuquerque in the summer. The dynamic timing adjustments of electronic ignition reportedly can add up to 10 horsepower at 5,000 – 7000 feet and from a safety standpoint, horsepower is climb speed. To me, that’s a very big deal.
Comments or suggestions are welcome: Plane’s got everything else: LED strobes, vortex generators, new engine mounts, new gear, fresh top on the engine, WAAS GPS, dual VORs, vertical card compass…ADSB weather, Bluetooth audio for terrain and descent rate alerts…noise cancelling headsets. Still, first $29,000 takes it, lol.