How Do Customers Rate Dreamer Dispensary Overall?

Every time I swing by Fields of Dreams, the staff make the veteran discounts feel like a real, lived appreciation rather than a checkbox. From what I’ve experienced and seen other vets use, they typically offer a solid percentage off—around 10–20%—on most in-store purchases when you show valid veteran paperwork like a military ID, VA card, or DD214. That discount usually applies to flower, concentrates, and edibles, though some higher-end or limited-release items might be excluded. Beyond the baseline percentage, Fields of Dreams often runs extra perks: special Veteran Appreciation Days with deeper discounts (sometimes up to 25% on select items), bundled deals on accessories like vaporizers and grinders, and occasional buy-one-get-one promotions specifically for military patrons. They also tend to fold veterans into their loyalty program so points stack with discounted purchases, which makes ongoing savings more noticeable over time. I’ve also noticed they’re pretty accommodating with paperwork help—staff will walk you through how to verify veteran status for online orders or how to sign up for member-only pricing. Policies can change with state rules and store location, but in my visits the vibe is consistently respectful and practical, and I leave feeling genuinely valued by the shop.

I usually place my order on their website or through the app and pick the curbside option — that's where the whole process starts. After I finish shopping I get an order confirmation and a pickup window. They’re pretty good about sending a text or phone confirmation when the order’s ready; sometimes they’ll give a short ETA and a numbered parking spot to use. I try to arrive within that window so staff aren’t juggling multiple cars. When I pull into the designated spot I text or call the curbside number they provide and tell them my name and the spot number. They ask to see my ID (you need to be the legal age for cannabis in the state) so I hold it up to the window while they verify. If I prepaid online, the exchange is almost immediate — they bring out the sealed package on a sanitized tray and set it on the back of the car or hand it through a window. If I didn’t prepay they sometimes accept card at the curb, but I’ve found it’s smoother to finish payment beforehand. Staff are usually professional and discreet; they’ll double-check ID and have a tamper-evident bag ready. There’s a short wait sometimes during busy hours, like weekends, so I’ll go grab a coffee nearby and watch the ETA. I appreciate that they stress safety and legal compliance, and their curbside setup makes pickup low-contact and efficient. It’s convenient, and I always leave feeling the whole thing was handled respectfully and cleanly.

I’ve scored signed copies of books by following a few small rituals, so here’s what I’d tell a friend hunting for a signed copy of 'Strange the Dreamer'. First, check Laini Taylor’s official website and her social feeds — authors often announce signings, limited signed runs, or bookplate giveaways there. I’ve snagged signed editions after an author posted a short preorder window, so be ready to act fast. Next, contact independent bookstores. I like to email a couple locally and a few well-known indies (think stores that host author events). Tell them you’re looking specifically for a signed copy; sometimes they hold a stack back or can request one from the author or distributor. If you want online options, watch Bookshop.org listings, and set saved searches on AbeBooks, Biblio, and eBay with filters for ‘signed copy’ or ‘signed first edition’. Always ask sellers for photos of the signature and condition, and check return policies — I learned the hard way that provenance matters when you’re buying sight-unseen.

There’s this quiet, almost whispered quality to the way queerness shows up in 'Strange the Dreamer' that I really loved. I found the book generous with emotional intimacy between characters of the same gender—moments of longing, fierce protectiveness, and deep friendship that read as queer-coded even when they aren’t labeled. Laini Taylor seems to care more about the shape of people’s hearts and chosen families than about slapping on identities, and that subtlety resonates with me in a comforting way. That said, if you’re hunting for explicit, named LGBTQ labels in this first volume, you’ll find more implication than proclamation. The novel plants seeds: tender glances, shared histories, and relationships that resist neat heteronormative framing. For readers who cherish representation, those seeds feel intentional and meaningful, especially if you enjoy reading subtext and atmosphere. If you like exploring how authors embed queer themes without fanfare, this is a lovely place to start. I’d also say that fandom discussion and the second book broaden things further, so if you want more overt representation, stick with the duology and fan spaces where people unpack these threads together.

If you like words that feel like silk and scenes that linger, 'Strange the Dreamer' is going to ask for a reader who's ready to slow down and lean into language. For me, that meant recommending it to teens around 15–18 and up: the book sits squarely in young-adult territory but the prose is dense, occasionally poetic, and the emotional stakes get pretty heavy. Younger teens (12–14) who are voracious readers and comfortable with serious themes might enjoy it, but I’d warn caregivers that there are moments of violence, trauma, and morally complex decisions. Vocabulary and sentence rhythm can be challenging — I found myself rereading passages to taste the lines — so readers who enjoy authors like 'Patrick Rothfuss' or lyrical fantasy will be happiest. Also, if someone loved 'Muse of Nightmares', they'd definitely be ready for the twin novels here. Bottom line: best for mature middle-teens and adults who appreciate atmosphere, slow-burn plots, and a book that rewards patience. It left me contemplative and oddly comforted, the kind of book I wanted to talk about late into the night.

Dreamers in novels can be so fascinating, right? I’ve always been drawn to characters who seem to float through their worlds, lost in thought and imagination. One of the most vivid traits I've noticed is their boundless creativity. Just think about it! Characters like Hiro in 'Summer Wars' or Alice in 'Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland' embody this idea. They see the world not just as it is, but as it could be. It’s like they simply refuse to be defined by their reality and constantly seek out new adventures, often leading them to unexpected places. This creative flair can be both a blessing and a curse, as it often puts them at odds with the practicalities of life. Another characteristic that stands out is their idealism. These dreamers aspire for something greater – whether it's a personal goal, the pursuit of love, or even saving the world. They often approach challenges with a sense of hope, believing that things can change for the better. This often leads to them clashing with more cynical characters, creating a dynamic tension that makes for compelling storytelling. Think of characters in stories like 'The Little Prince', where the moment’s beauty and their dreams challenge harsh realities. Lastly, there’s a unique sense of vulnerability present in dreamers. Their big dreams often expose them to greater risks of disappointment and heartache. They are deeply passionate, and when faced with opposition or setbacks, it really pulls you into their emotional world. That rawness can resonate so deeply, allowing readers to connect with them on a personal level. Honestly, diving into these characters makes my journey through the pages feel so much richer.

When it comes to movies, a synonym dreamer shines brightly through their imaginative twists and extraordinary narratives. They're not just characters stuck in a plot; they're the ones who challenge reality, often pushing beyond the boundaries laid out for them. Take 'Inception', for example. The protagonist, Cobb, navigates layered dreams, battling not just enemies but his own doubts and failures. It’s this internal conflict that resonates deeply with me and showcases how a dreamer stands out. Dreamers in films are often portrayed as visionaries, the ones trying to create a world that aligns with their ideals, and that struggle can be intensely relatable. Themes of aspiration and the pursuit of one's desires are just a breath away from our everyday lives. For instance, 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty' presents a quintessential dreamer who embarks on fantastical adventures outside his mundane existence. The film's heartwarming message of breaking free from one's shell is something we all can aspire to, inspiring us to take leaps of faith. They remind us that there’s beauty in dreaming and that every challenge can turn into a launching pad for something magnificent. However, what truly makes these dreamers stand out is their vulnerability. They aren’t invincible; they falter, face setbacks, and sometimes fail. Watching them struggle makes their eventual triumph even more poignant. In 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind', for instance, Joel’s adventurous journey through his own memories unveils not just the depth of his dreams, but also the raw emotions tied to love and loss. A true dreamer encapsulates the idea that to dream is to embrace both the highs and the lows of life, and therein lies their most compelling narrative. I absolutely love this aspect, as it fosters connection with viewers on deeper emotional levels, something I find enriching and powerful.

Lazlo's dreams in 'Strange the Dreamer' aren’t just fleeting fantasies—they’re the lifeblood of his identity and the driving force behind his journey. From childhood, his visions of the lost city of Weep are so vivid they blur the line between memory and imagination, suggesting a deeper, almost mystical connection to the city. The dreams act as a compass, pulling him toward Weep with an urgency that defies logic, making him question whether they’re merely dreams or fragments of a forgotten past. What makes them truly significant is how they mirror the novel’s themes of destiny and self-discovery. Lazlo, an orphan with no roots, finds purpose in these dreams, which become his anchor in a world that otherwise overlooks him. They also hint at the novel’s magical realism—his dreams aren’t passive; they interact with reality, almost as if Weep is dreaming him back. The climax reveals their true nature, tying Lazlo’s fate to the city in a way that redefines both his life and the story’s lore. It’s a brilliant narrative device that blurs dreams and reality, making Lazlo’s journey feel inevitable yet wondrous.