Don’t procrastinate

Do you dream? Most of us do, although remembering the dream can be spotty, at least in my experience. Scientists claim that 10% of us dream in black and white, 50% in color, and the rest (40% for you UGA grads), don’t recall. There are all kinds of things associated with dreams, but here’s one of my crazier dreams. Relax, it’s a family newspaper.

What do you know about Harry Nilsson? He was a pretty successful singer/songwriter of the 1970s, with three Top Ten songs. #1 “Without You,” (1971-1972); #6 “Everybody’s Talkin,” (1969), a cover; and #8 “Coconut” (1972). He had a few other Top 40 hits as well. I like Nilsson, but his claim to fame was he appeared in my long dream, spread out over three nights, years ago.

Nilsson’s old Cadillac, a ragtop, broke down in front of our house. I couldn’t pick Harry out of a lineup, but I offered to help him with his Caddy. As I examined it, it became obvious Harry had no mechanical aptitude, but I observed the water pump was leaking. I pulled his car into our driveway and tried to find a water pump locally but it was a two-day order item.

There was an old guitar case in the back seat, which my aspiring young guitarist, Elena, spied. She asked him if he could teach her some chords while he waited and he happily agreed. So we sat on the sofa and he strummed a few tunes, and I guess he couldn’t resist playing things he knew, but when it came to the “lime in the coconut,” it made me look up Harry Nilsson on the Internet and, lo and behold, he was sitting on my sofa.

As dusk settled in, he said he needed to get to a hotel, but that wasn’t going to happen, he was staying with us. We played and sang 70’s rock, his songs and others, up to midnight.

The next night, in a rarity for me, I started that dream back up. When we woke, we had family-style breakfast, and Harry asked how I knew so much about cars. Elena and Torri explained my MGB fascination and we talked about how they knew a good bit about cars because they paid attention. We went outside and talked about his old Cadillac, and I pointed out some things we could repair while we waited on the water pump.

We then adjourned back to the family room and listened to his stories while entertaining him as only six kids can do. His guitar lessons were really helping Elena, and she was able to accompany his playing on several songs by dinner time.

The next morning, in my dream, we talked about his life after the murder of John Lennon, his close friend. He had a confusing relationship with his kids, but he expressed love for them all. He talked to my kids about how important family is. It was heartfelt.

His water pump showed up and it was a quick fix. As he got ready to hit the road, we prayed with him for reconcilation with his family and he promised to keep in touch.

A week later, the mailbox contained a sweet card from Harry telling us how much he enjoyed his three days with us and that he was at home with all seven of his kids and life is good. A week later, he died of a heart attack.

The three-night Harry Nilsson dream was over and never reappeared. I’ve had dreams recur in bits and pieces, but this was like a novel. The moral of the story is to act now before it’s too late. Nilsson waited on his water pump, no big deal. But he didn’t postpone talking to his kids.

Now for an unique twist. My sister, Kathy, edits my column, but she’s been correcting my abuse of the English language since high school. I think she does it so I don’t bring dishonor to my family with phantom commas or apostrophes. What follows is her Harry Nilsson encounter. I don’t recall having heard this at the family dinner table, but maybe it was the impetus of my dream decades later? Funny how the mind works.

P.S. I’ve (Kathy) also had an encounter with Harry Nilsson. It happened at Columbia Mall in Avondale Estates, Georgia within the first couple of years after we moved to Avondale. I was 12 at the time.

This guy, who said his name was Harry, was sitting on a bench in the mall. He waved me over and invited me to sit with him, and he started telling me about his music, but more than that, he told me about an animated video titled “The Point,” that he was working on at the time, with his own songs as part storyline and part soundtrack. He called it “Me and My Arrow.” It featured a dog and a guy with a pointy head. 

I actually saw it a couple of years later on TV. I remember sitting with him on that bench, and I know that I didn’t make up or dream this encounter, so naysay me if you wish. But I’ll never forget it.