Daydreams and the Perfect Moment
June 10, 2015

There should be bright little signs we can drape around our necks that say: DO NOT DISTURB DAYDREAMER AT WORK…

…OR PLAY. Careful here. There are those who think play is a thing we do Sunday at the beach, or the golf course, or trotting down a bridle path to never-never.

Daydreams  and daydreamer are  special things. They should go hand- in- hand with the perfect moment. Don’t you think?

Daydreams are personal. The perfect personal fascinating moment only we can know. Only we can imagine. They are ours to own and not to share. They can be filled with love and laughter, scents and soft caresses, and maybe the sensational taste of whatever we think tastes sensational. We can put music to that French Cherry pie and dance with it. Or  fly with  a  red royal poinciana that sings like a white-rumped shama and flits through a bamboo grove at Smith’s Tropical Paradise.


You can toss creations like this  around  light as whistles in a breeze. Anywhere. Any time. Savor them. Soak them up like bubbles in a fragrant bubble bath and never let them  go. Until someone gives you a poke in the a** and slams you with a  get back to work blast of hot air. But quick! You can turn this doddering horror into mite on a mouse that scurries and scuttles asunder. Send it to perdition. Crumple it like bits of  over-salted chippys.

Tape and file your perfect daydream moment on a disc in your mind you can call up at any moment. Be there now.


You don’t need an iPod or a cell phone or a Royal Royce or Lear to get you there. And it didn’t cost you nothin’. Drives the doddering horrors to distractions.

You don’t need a Carnival Cruise  that can turn into something very other- than- perfect at any given moment.

You don’t need a lover or a friend or a church or club group. All you need is you, love. All you need is you.

Studies indicate the average person spends eight hours a day daydreaming.

Studies also state the daydreamer looks like a drooling, slack- lipped rutabagas on Dramamine.


Doddering horrors have had imagination and creativity punched out of them. Long ago they lost it. They see dollar signs. They see expensive silk- lined coffins standing stiffly still as death in dim-lit rooms draped in long black veils. They hear voices like rusty fog horns. Songs that shudder the ear and drown in the silence.

A quote, with small changes, I blank plagiarism. “The scientific community continues to unlock these and other mysteries behind daydreams. A recent discovery pointed to a negative correlation with technology, finding the constant presence of screens and devices in our lives to be robbing our weary brains of restful daydream moments, resulting in a tragic drop in imaginary revelry for  all.”

I’m goin’ back to Smith’s Tropical Paradise and sit on a bench beneath a tree. See you there.