Dream a little dream

I had a dream the other night, not one of nightmare on some street or other. Just one of those dreams experts say people have to put the day’s activities in perspective.
In my dream, I was climbing up a 20-foot ladder. I had almost reached the top rung when out of nowhere came by pestering little brother in this Batman get-up. And, in one of his kick . . . bang . . . boom moves, he knocked me clean off that ladder.
Down, I started falling . . . down . . . down . . . down . . .
Right in the middle of my dreaming I remember thinking I was OK, unless I was dreaming. ‘Cause I’d heard if you dream you’re falling and you hit bottom . . . you . . . well, ahhh, die.
“Sure hope I’m not dreaming,” I remember thinking in my dream state. “’Cause that ground is getting closer and closer.”
All of a sudden, I woke up, only to find myself on the bedroom floor clutching my pillow for dear life.
Don’t tell anybody I fell out of bed, at my age. I’m trusting you on this.
Dreams are kinda of funny though. My brother used to dream and walk and talk in his sleep. We had as many arguments in his dreams as we did when he was awake.
Once, we were on a family outing at the drive-in theater. Joe drifted off to sleep in the backseat of the car. Right in the middle of the good part of the movie, he began mumbling something about chickens.
“Linda, catch that baby chicken,” he yelled.
“We’re in the car, there ain’t no baby chickens in the car,” I said.
“I’m gonna tell Daddy, if you don’t catch those chickens,” he again yelled.
“Well, go ahead,” I yelled back.
“No, I ain’t,” he laughed. “I’ll just let them get run over and you’ll be in trouble.”
Then, just as quickly as the conversation began, it was over with Joe never believing he had said a word.
One night, he decided to take a journey during his dreamland visit. I followed him through the house as he rambled his way to the bathroom and climbed into the bathtub.
“Get down,” he shouted.
“Why,” I questioned.
“Get in the foxhole or you’ll be shot, dead,” he yelled.
I think he had seen one too many war movies.
I don’t recall ever talking in my dreams or walking in my sleep, but, I have had some pretty far-fetched dreams in my day.
Once, I dreamed I was fighting Indians. During the standoff I was shot in the leg with an arrow and left dangling from the edge of a cliff.
When I woke up, I had gotten tangled in between the rungs of the old iron bed frame. One leg was twisted around the frame, while the rest of me was hanging off the edge of the bed.
Dreams are funny things. And, we do some pretty weird stuff in them, too.
When my oldest son, Jody, was about seven, he felt he was ready to graduate to the top bunk of the bunk beds. One night, I heard a loud thud, followed by a . . . Mommmmm.”
Jody had taken a nose dive off the edge of the bed. I helped him up and checked him out for any obvious injuries.
“Son, what happened,” I quizzed.
“I thought I was jumping off the diving board,” he sniffled.
“Were you asleep?” I asked him.
“Well, yeah, until I hit the floor.”
Sometimes, we dream fun stuff and sometimes we dream scary stuff. We really never know which kind of dream will find its way into our sleep.
In My Corner of the World, I like the fun stuff way more that being chased around the room by the “monster from the deep.” And, that’s why I try to think only happy thoughts at bedtime and only watch scary movies in the middle of the day . . . And, then only through the tiny spaces between my fingers covering my eyes.