Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Nicotine Dreams

Darlene and I have quit smoking.

You might say “big deal, people do it every day.”

True, but we really enjoyed smoking. Not the act of smoking – the leisure of smoking.

So we are both wearing the patch. Step one of the patch gives you enough nicotine for ten cigarettes a day. It is slowly dispersed into your body throughout the course of the day. And night. While you’re sleeping, the nicotine is running through your veins.

I think nicotine is an underrated hallucinogen. Because last night I had these two dreams.

In the first, I am at my Mom's place in Florida, with my wife and kids, and other members of my family. My Mum lives in a simple apartment in Pensacola, very nice, on a golf course, but simple. But in my dream, my Mum lived in a million dollar condo, with a water-fountain at the covered entrance – marble. And inside the fountain (of course an angel floating above the pool and peeing water in – now that’s art!), was my Mums … answering machine.

Now this is relevant because – while the rest of family was playing in the games and billiards room near downstairs bar on the 2nd bottom level – I am outside fixing it, because as my Mum (and all my non-IT friends) say, “well dear, you do computers … this should be simple for you”.

The problem seems to be that instead of playing her standard greeting that I have heard a million times, it is playing random clips from Eddie Murphy’s RAW comedy album. And she is not an Eddie Murphy fan. So, this was unacceptable.

I dug, I moved things, I traced wires, and found a wireless adaptor base station and an iPod hooked into her answering machine. And the iPod play-list was set to … well, RAW. So I guess a computer guy can fix an answering machine after all.

But before I could get a thank you, my second dream began.

Darlene and I are driving through the southeast country side I grew up in Georgia. But where, I did not know. As we approached a stately looking property, she told me to close my eyes. I did. She turned into a drive way lane. My eyes stayed closed.

She said “this is so beautiful, keep your eyes closed!” I did.

Okay open them now”, in a sweet singing voice I truly don’t hear often enough anymore.

We were at the front entrance to the main building of the Augusta National Golf Course. And she had made me miss the beautiful drive down Magnolia lane – the famous entry way to the Augusta National Golf Course.

A young man came and took our car to park it. A pretty young woman met us and escorted us through the building. Amazingly, I knew the way and it seemed so familiar. Darlene said, “I knew you haven’t been here for a while so I thought we would visit.”

Huh?.

Out the back we went, and came out by the number 1 tee by Butlers Cabin. I was in awe of all the amazing sites and artifacts that are The National.

Freddy, Darlene!” came a southern gentleman voice – it was Sam Snead. Somehow he had arisen from the afterlife to attend this event.

Over here Mister Brill. We’re a waiting for ya’s”. Our caddy had our things lined up. Clubs, shoes, balls, tees, a card, gloves, sweaters, and slacks. A whole wardrobe. So we changed.

As we approached the tee to tee off, I was getting “ahh”s and “ooh”s for my bright red persimmon woods (which I really have and play with). I stood behind the tee and looked down the first fairway – the “Olive Tea” hole it read on the sign by the tee. I took a couple of practice swings, and they felt great! I could hardly wait to tee off.

A mere for-mality Mr. Brill”, said an elderly gentleman in the common Georgian twang. “We need your tourn-a-ment card before you pro-ceed sir.

Tournament card?

Yes, mailed to your house several weeks ago. We have record it was received and signed for”.

You do?”

Look in your wallet, Honey” said my wife, annoyed with my ineptness. The gallery giggled.

Where is my wallet?

It was not in my pants,
It was not in my locker.
It was not in my Jeep.

I don’t have my wallet!

Then you sir, are an imposter”. And with that two security guards whisked me from the tee box, through the building, and as we started back down magnolia lane … me and the two guards … the alarm radio came on and informed that it was going to be “a partly cloudy day in Windsor, with a high of minus 2 celcius”.

I guess I’ll never find out how Darlene shot.

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