Dreaming in California

My dreams were troubled. Airports and Schedules. Jet Lag, perhaps?

My plan was simple. 3 weeks in California, traveling. It was hot most of the time. The high 20s, or if you prefer “in the 80s” for you Americans out there. Hot and dry. No sign of rain, or even clouds. California in the Summertime. Summer reaches from April to September, you know? Summer Dry. Summer Hot. Summer relentless.

Los Angeles was no exception. It was hot as well, but in the mornings you might imagine the day to be something else. Low clouds appearing from the Pacific, covering the “Southland” as they call it. The traffic on the freeways knows no different. The Carpool lane mocks the other more crowded lanes, with motorcycles speeding along the double yellow line between the two. Accident here, Car fire there. Traffic reports fill the morning news, between Trump and Hillary, between News at 11, and 12 and….

The traffic reporter didn’t know that I chose that day to watch TV. I saw her, but she didn’t see me. Traffic goes better when a nice looking young woman tells me that the Freeway is in trouble, and that I should take alternative routes. I want to trust her, but I don’t know why?

I happened to be in LA on Labor Day. You’d think by the name, that it is a Holiday. Not if you are in the Service Industry. The girl at McDonalds hands me my McMuffin. “Aren’t you off today?” “Isn’t it Labor Day?” “Do you get overtime/Holiday pay?” She smiles with a touch of sadness. No, no and no. The no’s have it. Work is work, regardless of someone calling the day for something else. Labor Day – That’s right. We are laboring today!


I didn’t plan on coming to Los Angeles. It turns out, it was cheaper to do so. Rent a car and see LA. My father’s burial place was on my agenda. “Hi Dad, what’s up?” No response. I remember him to be a bit more talkative in the past. The headstones all looked the same.


The sun was hot, and I searched a while until I found him. We were alone, and yet not alone.

My sleep remained troubled. Drive to there, visit here, memory lane is not a carpool lane, my thoughts were crowded with other thoughts. The sun beat down.


I remember how the city looked when the plane was about to land. So many lights, and roads and lives.

The airport beckoned to me. Another airport. Another set of stairs, suitcases, then buses, then rental car.

The employees did their job. Just another plane in the night’s darkness. Just another before the next one, another.


I dreamed of California, while I still was in Denmark. I didn’t dream of cemeteries, of McDrives, or of airports. They, my Dreams, were troubled all the same.

-and I didn’t even have Jet Lag to deal with back then…..



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