Vivid Dreams
AJ Robinson

I’m a dreamer. I mean, quite literally, that I dream a lot. Now, fortunately, I limit most of them to when I’m sleeping.

Vivid dreams I remember.

After all, daydreaming, especially at work or while driving can get you in trouble! So, yeah, I dream quite a bit. No big deal actually, we all dream, but I’m one of those people who have very vivid realistic dreams, which I tend to remember them. I love it when I dream of my brother Steve or my dad.

I came up with some great story ideas from my dreams. My first novel, Murder on Gosnold Island, grew out of a dream I had about Paula Abdul. Nothing dirty, mind you. No, I dreamed my family and I met her at Busch Gardens in Tampa.

Abdul told us about a television movie she was going to film. It was a sappy love story that was popular on the Lifetime channel. She would play a record executive from LA that vacations on Captiva Island, Florida.

During the vacation, the character Abdul plays meets a man, a widower, with two small children. Of course, they fall in love, but neither is willing to give up their life. Abdul leaves for the airport.

Well, naturally, he goes after her. She changes her mind. They profess their undying love, up comes the music and fade to black, roll credits.

I told my wife Jo Ann about the dream and her response was, “What are you going to do, write a romance story?” I had to admit, it really wasn’t what I wrote; I did see some tropes I could work with. I changed the Abdul to a homicide detective from New York City and the island to Gosnold, a mix of Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket and a touch of Cuttyhunk. Presto, I had my first novel, a murder mystery.

Yes, I usually welcome what dreams may bring, as the content is often quite inspirational. Not the other night, though. I had just rescued the fairy princess from the clutches of the vile space gangster. She was asking what she might do to reward me, as we rocketed through a spectacular multicolored nebula. I opened my mouth and asked for cheese.

I said I wanted cheese.

She proceeded to serve up a silver platter with just about the finest selection of cheeses I’d ever seen, the cheddar and the provolone was particularly good. It was rather nice, being fed by a voluptuous space babe in a rainbow-colored metallic gown that was a mix of Beyoncé and Scarlett Johansson. She then asked if there was anything else I desired, and the next words out of my mouth truly surprised me.

I said I wanted to go see the baby Jesus.

A moment later, I woke up, truly confused by that stopover in the realm of Morpheus. Jo Ann, my wife, could see my troubled expression and asked what was wrong. I gave her an abridged version of the dream, focusing on my cheese and Jesus interests. She laughed.

It seemed Jo Ann and Zane, our foster son, had been discussing his desire for cheese that morning, when he stood in our bedroom door. He’d asked for some baby cheeses, the small cheeses that he liked to eat for a snack, but he mumbled the words. Jo had thought he’d asked about baby Jesus.

Take talk of dairy products elsewhere.

They sorted it out and Jo Ann went to get him the appropriate snack. The influence to my subconscious done; my dream was altered. I’m hoping that the next time I dream I’m a gallant space ranger blasting my way through a fleet of enemy ships and talk of dairy products will go on elsewhere. When I save Bey-Jo, I prefer my mind not to be distracted.