Dream: Blossoming Oak Trees and Flat Tire Service

I’m in the backyard of the house I grew up in, but now my wife and I live there.  The massive oak trees that tower above the house in the backyard have blossoms, like large, solid-colored pansies in lavender and indigo.

I call to my wife who’s indoors.  She comes out to see it.  I suggest that we take a picture from the front of our house and send it to her mother.  The blossoms are too high to take a cutting for indoors.  But I see one that fell on the ground, so I pick it up.  But it’s not a blossom at all.  It’s a weed that’s on top of a load of dog poop.

I get in the car and start it so I can drive to the front of the house.  But then I realize how silly that is, so I park the car, backing in against the house under the master bedroom window so I can walk around to the front.  But I notice that when I put the car into park, the transmission doesn’t lock.  The car continues to roll.  I point this out to my wife.  As well, I hear a grinding sound from the rear at the end of the maneuver.  So when I get out of the car I circle around to look at the rear passenger side wheel.  A thin rim of rusty metal is sticking out al around where the tire meets the rim.  I try to pound it back into place with the back of my fist.  But I also notice that the tire is flat.  The other rear tire also is flat.

Since it’s Saturday, I decide that I’ll have to hurry and remove both wheels so as to drive with them in the other car to have them repaired at the Honda dealership before it closes.

But as I start to remove the wheels, the car slowly transforms into something a lot smaller and resembling something like a carpet cleaner.

I’m at the Honda dealership now.  The “car” is in a carpeted office rather than a repair bay.  I explain the problem to the manager of the repair department.  He calls in a mechanic who takes a look and then goes away.  [This part is a bit foggy.]

Now a female mechanic has been assigned to the car.  She asks me where the car is, so I point in the direction of the office.  She doesn’t believe me that it's in an office.  So she goes looking in the direction of the repair bays.  I decide to bring the car to her.  Although the car is easily picked up like a consumer-grade carpet cleaner, it’s in several pieces, so I can’t carry all of it in two hands.

I pick up the main part of it as well as the front wheels.  Now the mechanic and I are in a reception area of the dealership.  She’s blonde and wearing a white uniform.  I also see my wife’s best friend Lisa there.  Lisa is talking on a landline telephone that has an extremely long coiled cord.  She’s also wearing white.  She has a small, glittering, heart-shaped sticker on her left check.  She does not see me or acknowledge, and I refrain from saying "hi" because she's on the phone.