From time to time I have prophetic dreams. I’m not gifted with the ability to see huge events, or major warnings; instead, I see, well, trends.
First example: I was about 12 when I dreamed about being in a store where they were selling the most gorgeous beautiful and amazing flowers, made of—feathers. Yes, the petals were made of feathers of fantastic colors, deep and rich, the flowers were huge and their leaves were also feathers, deep, intense green feathers. The dream was highly detailed. I saw how the quills of the feathers were pushed into slender green plastic tubes, then the tubes were tied together with floral tape around an artificial center. One could gather as many tubes together as one wished, with whatever center, and make any flower or combination one desired. The flowers were beautiful, and they were “towering over our heads” as in the song Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. (And before you think it, that record hadn’t even been released in this country when I dreamed this—maybe that was a second prophecy?)
Anyway, when I woke up I told my mother about the dream and she laughed and said that sounded crazy—flowers from feathers! Hah! Two weeks later, my aunt J. took both of us to a turkey farm where they sold—are you ready?—feathers. Dyed feathers in intense, bright colors, for making—still ready?—flowers. No, I’m not joking! The flowers weren’t made exactly like my dream suggested, although there isn’t any reason they couldn’t have been; instead, these were stuck into small pieces of Styrofoam, or gathered around a flower center, and taped round with the green floral tape. Also, these feathers were small, only about 3 inches long, with square ends, unlike in my dream, where they were more like peacock feathers—long, wide and whippy. Of course, they also sold those kinds at this farm—but they were a lot more expensive. My dream could have been entirely realized from the stock we saw there.
They were also used in other ways: sticking them into Styrofoam shapes such as wreath forms, or reindeer heads, layered like scales, to make Christmas décor. This is what my aunt and my mother wanted to do, so we bought scads of plastic bagsful and made feather-lapped things for all over the house that holiday season. I begged a few bucks from my mom and bought some floral tape and fake centers, to make a few flowers. My clumsy fingers didn’t have the touch needed to do them as well as I envisioned; they weren’t exactly as drop-dead stunning as the ones in my dream, but I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I looked at them. They were my dream realized.
Another prophecy I dreamed was about a dress. I dreamed I was looking into a shop window and there was the most beautiful dress there…it was a silky sort of fabric, that draped and flowed, and it was silver, very simple, with princess seaming down the front, and a scoop neckline, and long, bell sleeves. It looked like a fairy’s dress. I woke up, drew it from memory, and had my grandmother, who was a professional seamstress, look at it. She hadn’t seen any patterns that would be suitable for altering into this dress, so I gave up, reluctantly. A month later, the exact dress was hanging up in a shop window across from where I had a part-time job. Not just a similar dress, the exact dress. Same color, same flowy fabric. It cost $39.95. I couldn’t afford it. (This was 1967.) But my mind boggled when I saw it, and I got that same funny pit-of-the-stomach feeling again.
A codicil to this story: about seven months later, My girlfriend Jan found the drawing during a sleepover, and fell in love with the style. We found a similar pattern with no trouble this time, and she had my grandmother make it up in pink for her prom dress. She looked like a princess.
My third prophecy was very strange indeed. I dreamed of those reflectors that are implanted in the road—the kind that reflect your cars headlights around curves or divided highways. I dreamed that I had invented them and they were being installed all over the state. Not one week later, I watched in utter amazement as the road crews began installing the exact same reflectors in the roads around my home town. Until they actually installed them, I had never seen one. I didn’t even know they existed.
Okay, I know what you’re thinking—these aren’t “prophecies.” These are things I saw, then forgot I saw, then saw again and thought I had invented them. I have to admit, I’ve thought the same thing in moments of self-doubt. But it’s not true. I did dream these things before I ever saw them, and you’re just going to have to take my word for it.
I’ve dreamed other mad inventions. Here’s one: an articulated stapler. Yes, a long stapler that bends and swings in the middle, so you can staple in any direction. Why would anyone need one of these? Well, uh, I don’t know exactly. But I invented it when I used one in a dream about stapling hundreds of booklets together. It came in very handy.
And here’s another one: sunglasses that stick to your eyeglass lenses, made of magnetic film, like window clings. They could be trimmed to fit any glasses, polarized for safety, and cost next to nothing. Also, they could slip into a pocket or purse without taking up hardly any room. I don’t know why this wouldn’t work. And they’d sure beat those ugly slip-over-your-own-glasses types, or the geeky clip-on kinds.
And another: an apron with a built in tray for people who eat at buffets. The tray would be in the front and have places to hold one’s dishes and utensils so one could select food from the buffet with both hands free. It could be fitted like a cobbler apron, the tray would fold down in front, and have a two-inch edge around it for safety, and there could even be a “well” for beverage glasses. There would be a lot less spilling and juggling with such a garment. When you get to your table with your food-laden plates and glass, you could set them down, push the tray up, fasten it with Velcro ™ and eat your meal, without worry about spilling, staining, or the like, then remove the garment and go on your way clean as a whistle! I think it would make life a lot easier for the elderly, or for people who are very dressed up and don’t want to look like they just went through a buffet line.
And my latest dream was just last night.
I dreamed about a barbecue in the winter. The dream featured the cast of the defunct TV show Home Improvement, for some strange reason. They were outside on the deck, and it was snowing like mad, and the barbecue was fired up, cooking steaks. The barbecue grill was hissing and spitting from the meat juices and the snowflakes; beer was cooling in a nearby snowbank, instead of an insulated cooler, and there was hot bread spread with pizza sauce and herbs in a pan on the table. Vegetable kebobs were roasting away on the grill, a large thermos of holiday rum punch was available. Everyone was happy, rosy-cheeked and having a great time, eating, drinking, throwing snowballs. It looked and felt like a trend that is about ready to be popular. Like it ought to be featured in a Superbowl commercial. I’m going to watch this January, just to see if I’m right.
It seems to me that we don’t try hard enough to invent the new thing to do, or a new way to have fun, as we invent devices to make our lives easier. What about just making things more interesting? The people in my dream, odd as it was that they were television stars, were having a lot of fun at their winter barbecue bash. I could, in my dream’s eye, see the invitations they had sent out for this party, and the incredulous looks when people read them, and how they weren’t sure about it, but once they got there, they realized sure, why not?, and entered into the spirit of the thing with gusto.
I don’t know why I dream such things, only to see them realized days, weeks, or months later. I don’t know why my mind forecasts such trivial things, unimportant, irrelevant things. None of them are truly going to shake up the universe. Winter barbecues, pretty dresses, feather flowers—not a single thing that will affect the balance of the cosmos. Yet, along with those things, are the other things—the road reflectors, buffet garments, the stick-on sunglass film—that might save lives or make things safer for people. My sleeping, dreaming brain doesn’t see a difference, and maybe I shouldn’t either. Maybe it’s just as important to invent a new way to have fun as it is to invent a new way to make life easier. Maybe they’re equally important to the universe itself.
I’d really like to think so.
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