I remember.

I remember the night I drove with Rachel Roman from Houston to New Orleans, to meet with her boyfriend, my girlfriend, and the others who had been able to make the trip a day or two before we could, to make Mardi Gras before all the fun was over.

We cruised down I-10 through the dark, her driving and me in the passenger seat of her Chevelle, picking my Alvarez 12-string while she sang.

She had a voice with no parallel; though she said to me "I can't sing like Dolly Parton or Emmylou Harris or Linda Ronstadt," I knew she could better any of them, because I'd heard her sing - I lived with her, after all, her and the others who made up the crazy conflation in our apartment in Houston.

So she sang. She had resisted my entreaties to sing with my band for almost a year, but that night in the car, just the two of us there, she sang. And I heard the voice of an angel, and played my best, notwithstanding the difficulty of doing so in the passenger seat of a Chevelle.

I hear her voice yet; it trickles down through the years sometimes in my dreams. She's long lost to me, but my fervent wish is that she overcame her shyness and shared that angelic voice with others, because such a voice should not have gone unheard except by me.

I remember that night. Rachel Roman, wherever you are, I remember you and I thank you for the gift of your song.

Redstone

You describe it so perfectly that I can see you in the car, with your guitar....

Perfect.....

Thank you....... :loveya: :hug:

years gone by. That happens now and again; do you think it means anything?

I'm not sure if I want to sleep.

Redstone

I do believe that it does mean something.....

She is on your mind, of course; that much is obvious.....

Perhaps you're wondering what your life would have been like if you'd married her and spent your life with her......

Hard to say.

Don't let it stop you from getting adequate rest.....

You do need that!

I think I would not consciously worry about your dream.....just let it simmer below the surface....

And one fine day, you might be surprised to find an answer peeking out at you .......

:loveya: :hug:

at all between us...but there have been others who might fit the category that you describe inhabiting my dreams lately, and yet others long gone, such as my parents, other relatives, and my "Big Brother" Mike Baronowski. I was down in the cellar tonight and stumbled across the book on topological physics he sent me in 1966 from Marine boot camp a few months before he died in Viet Nam.

I went to look for him six years later and found no answers. (Though I did find those answers just five years ago, astonishingly enough. Go to the NPR website and search for "The VietNam Tapes of Lance Corporal Michael Baronowski" and you'll get to meet him.)

And it's not that I'm unhappy with Mrs R; we're doing fine, so there's no longing for anyone.

I just don't know. But I know that the dreaming and the days are becoming less distinguishable.

Thanks for listening.

Redstone

You know it.

:loveya: :hug:

from my eyes, so forgive any typos, but finding that book made me remember. I remember that I spoke not a word to anyone the day of his funeral - and a miserable, spiteful day it was, cold and full of spitting rain in the depressing shell of a city that was Scranton.

And I spoke no more for about six months thereafter, even though that caused considerable concern to my parents and schoolmates; indeed the kids at school only learned to not question my silence until I broke the face of one of my tormentors against the edge of the cafeteria table. He and the others learned, then, that when I told them "leave me alone," that I would enforce that command.

But yet six years later there was the opportunity to be in the inside, and to have access (or so I thought) to the information that would confirm what I believed, which was that the story we were told about how Mike died was not true. I took that opportunity, because, well, I was nineteen and therefore indestructible, and who wouldn't have? Not to mention the fifteen hundred bucks a month, which was damn good money in the very early 1970s.

I traveled eight thousand miles to prove that the story was a lie, and found not proof, not truth, but only blood and death and pain.

The story was true after all. And was there ever a greater fool than I, to take such a risk to prove it wasn't?

I can't believe I'm writing this in a public forum, but I'll probably click the "post message" button before I come to my senses and back out. I'll do that, and then I'll go outside and weep for a while, for the dead like Mike, and the damaged like me and BikeWriter and Tim Duffie, and the thousands who have come home from Iraq only to begin lives of pain...

Redstone

When I have times with lots of dreams of days past, I figure something from then would be helpful for now. Might chew on that a bit, Redstone. Get in the zone and bring some perspective back with you.

And, it is 'notebook by the bed' time for a few days ;) Try to capture more than action of dreams in notes you jot down. Try to grab some of the texture, mood, light or darkness. There will be a theme running through it even when the subjects change.

Sweet dreams, Redstone. They are where we fly and pain is fleeting. Sweet dreams

"Dreams are where we fly and pain is fleeting."

I do not believe I have ever read a more beautifully-written and expressive sentence. I hope some day I can write something as good as that.

And your other advice seems sound. I'll do that. Good advice, indeed.

You're a treasure. There are many at DU who I am thankful to have met, and you're in the very top rank of them. I hope the people who are in your daily life appreciate the gift they've received of having you around.

Thank you.

Redstone

Yep, at the grand ol age of ## I do, indeed have some people who appreciate me. Tis a small, select group though! ;)

On the subject of writing, well, this place has given me some courage to perhaps let others read a bit of what dwells in my mind. But the mind works faster than the hands can record and most is lost.

I recall the day our posts first crossed here. And on that old subject, I am recently contemplating. I try to savor the sweetness of the people I meet and not dwell on those who have chosen not to evolve.

It has been very fulfilling to see you bloom here and watch as you spread good.

Through such efforts all our souls are lifted and we reach closer to true light.

Thank you for all you do to help people stop, take a breath and savor sweetness.

Tousle the little guy's hair for me in the morning. It is all for the little guys when boiled down to essence. All for the little guys. All else is illusion.

Sweet dreams, Redstone. Ask that the past show you clearly the lesson you need to remember for the now. Ask the question then have sweet dreams.

hm

Ahhh, memories:grouphug: :cry:

Redstone

Redstone