Dreams of Saving the Day

       Like you, I dream every night. At least, I suppose I do. Most of the time I forget my dreams by the time I walk to the bathroom; they have less than a one-minute half-life.

       One thing I’ve never dreamed about – and this is the reason I’m writing about this - is playing music. Why is that?

       There are few things in my life more regular than music. I’ve played trombone since 1968, 54 years, longer than I’ve done anything else.

       OK, maybe I’ve ridden bikes longer than 54 years, but my cycling habit has large multi-decade gaps. And yet, I have dreamed of cycling many times.

       But never a dream of playing my trombone despite the fact there are no significant gaps in my 54 years. It seems I would’ve dreamed at least once about playing during all those years.

       Why not one dream of playing in some restaurant with Craig and Rabon and my solos are so good, so clean and simple, so independent, everyone in the room stopped eating just to listen? And we were so successful, the restaurant, which was struggling, has a renaissance and the family who owns it can send their kids to college?

       Or why not a dream of playing in church with our orchestra and it energizes everyone’s worship experience and people start walking in the back door like in the movie Sister Act?

       Or how about this? Why not a single dream where I’m sitting with Cyndi and all our friends and family at the Wagner Noel concert hall, waiting for everything to start, when a young roadie walks up the aisle, stops at our row, and tells me James Pankow is suddenly ill and can’t play and would I mind joining Chicago on stage to play his part? Why not a dream like that? That would be epic.

       Why not a dream where I’m the rehearsal hall with all the Metro Big Band musicians from the past ten years, and the director asks, can anyone demonstrate a B# mixolydian counter-punctel Asian-modal scale, and I jump up and play two different versions – the second one being my personal favorite for jazz – to the shock and awe of everyone?

       And that isn’t all. Why can’t I dream about things on purpose? Why can’t I drift off to sleep with something on my conscious mind that becomes the most vivid dream. I’ve been dreaming even longer than I’ve been playing music. Why can’t I aim my dreams?

       If I could, I would go back to sleep right now (it’s only 4:23 am) and dream about saving the day with my trombone.

       Or Cyndi. Maybe I would go back to sleep and aim my dream at an exciting romantic liaison with Cyndi. Wouldn’t that be cool?

       Instead, I dream of things like being stuck in the mud in my Tacoma, or something useless and uninspiring as that

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“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32

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