I had the strangest dream...

I was in Boston and staying in a cheap hotel with my parents. The room was paneled and the bed had brown bedspreads. There was orange indoor/outdoor carpet. We weren't there long until I couldn't find my luggage. I searched and searched until I found my duffle bag wadded up and filled with empty Walmart bags. When I started pulling the bags out, I noticed that there was rat poop in the bottom. Well, it's what I identified in my dream as rat poop, but it looked like this:

I was sufficiently skeeved out so I went out on the balcony to watch the boats in the harbor. There were many novelty boats like a river boat complete with paddles, a ski boat and a ferris wheel boat. they were all sort of miniturized and driven by people using a bicycle wheel rig. They were flying around in the small area of sky blue waters outside my window. The waters were cordoned off by boardwalks with no railing, which I found to be quite unsafe. But then again the water only looked knee-deep anyway.

I went back into the room, which was like three hotel rooms together. There were pigeons roosting on the drapery rods and the rat made an appearance. It was a big rat. It looked like a wet, white cat.

I bravely got up and let the rat out the patio door and went to talk to my Mom, who was lying on the bed. I told her I was sorry about the rat, but I'd never experienced rats in Boston before; I had always stayed "On the hill" and not by the harbor.

We went out on the patio and looked at the surreal water. I had a moment of peace where I could just enjoy the silence, even though I was still worried about what happened to my clothes and what I was supposed to do for work and why no celebrities had appeared.

What could it mean?

Just One More Thing...

As you may have guessed, I have recently become obsessed with “Murder, She Wrote.” I discovered the show during Groundhog’s Day weekend when I was too drunk to sleep. I had a house full of people and didn’t want to turn the TV on, so I browsed the instant (just add water) movies and shows. I had just watched a Columbo episode with Leonard Nimoy as the killer and it really freaked me out. Talk about a cold hearted snake. Nimoy was almost too clinical of a killer. Also, Columbo used the murder weapon found at the scene to crack the shell on his hard boiled egg breakfast. I guess that makes him a hard-boiled detective. Anyway, it was creepy on so many levels, I decided to abandon Columbo and find something else to watch.

Netflix said, that if I enjoyed Columbo, I’d probably enjoy MSW. So, I took the recommendation and settled in to a 5 a.m. viewing. I started with season 1 and boy was it corny. But I remember Doc saying it was a show his mother enjoyed. Sadly, Doc’s mother walked on in 2003. As I watched the show, I felt this sort of warm feeling. My MIL and I didn’t always see eye to eye, which is typical of MIL relationships, I would guess. But watching this show made me remember things I’d forgotten about Mary.

Isn’t memory a funny thing? Some people like to listen to music to bring back the old days. Others might travel back in time through photo albums or journals. I am probably the least nostalgic person I know. I don’t like to relive the past. I prefer to play out the possibilities of my future instead of probing the painful past for memories and rolling them around in my mind like some kind of mental Jolly Rancher. Recently, however, I’ve learned the value of memory. Now that so many of my nearest and dearest have either left town or left this mortal coil, I try to look for memories to tie me to them.

It starts with dreams. I see them in my dreams. If they’ve passed away, I talk to them, but they don’t talk back to me. I cling to those dreams and the feeling that they were nearby again. I also recall what they liked and try to bring whatever it is into my life, even if it’s not really my cup of tea, just so I can be close to that person for a little while. Like watching Murder, She Wrote to bring my MIL back.

The interesting thing with MSW is that, when the show was on the air, I was probably totally outside of the demographic market. I was in high school and college at the time. CBS was in full-blown “Celebrate the Elderly” mode and it didn’t really speak to me. But as I watch now, I get a comforting feeling that I am watching MSW and experiencing some of the same reactions Mary may have had when she watched it.

Sometimes I try to think what Mary might have thought about what was going on. I don’t know. It makes me feel better. In my heart, I know I kept Doc’s parents at arms’ length. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t. Doing things or experiencing things they enjoyed, I feel like I’m opening my heart to them for real. Perhaps, it’s too late and I’m closing the barn door after the horses got away. But you have to close that door at some point, don’t you? Even if the horses never come back.

But now, watching MSW is no longer an exercise in nostalgia for times that never were. But rather I’ve come to really enjoy it. I’ve found a connection to Jessica Fletcher. I’ve also found a role model in her. She’s a successful writer who travels the world and people invite her to become involved in whatever important task they have in front of them. That’s what I want to be. Even more so, though, I like the sweet way that she doesn’t take shit from anyone. She has no problem calling people on their lies in such a way that makes the liar fell like she deeply cares for him or her. It’s remarkable.

I typically prefer to assume if you look me in the eye and say something, that you’re telling me the truth. But as I’ve aged, I know that people can’t be telling the truth all the time. I like to pick my battles, but in the past, I’ve felt unarmed, not able to tell when I was on the business end of a snow job or not. But now, I have developed my instincts and I can tell when someone isn’t being completely honest. I still struggle with the confrontation part, but with Jessica’s help, I think I have gathered a vocabulary for calling bullshit without being mean.

So forgive me if in the very near future, I put my nose where it doesn’t belong or call you on your bullshit. It’s only because I love you and I want to be a part of your life, while we are both still here to enjoy it together.

Dreams

"A bit beyone perception's reach
I sometimes believe I see
that life is two locked boxes,
each containing the other's key.

Piet Hein, as quoted in PopCo by Scarlett Thomas

"Mommy!" Lucy yelled, "Watch me pee!"

"OK," I said. It really is exciting, after three plus years of diapers. She plops herself on the seat and I gasp to myself, remembering the time I fell in the toilet when I was a little bit older than her, but whenever I threw myself on the seat with anything resembling gusto. This happens to me everytime I am called to bear witness to my youngest daughter's WC adventures.

Lucy finishes up and I help her sort out her clothes. I make my way out of my parent's master bathroom and into their wonderful sitting room with Lucy in tow. I wander into their bedroom where my Dad is loading up the last quarter of his music collection. He's only up to hundreds of gigs so far.

We both turned around to watch Lucy come into the room and proceed to be sweet. She went over to the bed and gave Riley a kiss. My Dad and I both melted.

"She's so sweet," I said.

"Yeah, she wears her heart on her sleeve."

"And she's such a snuggler." I remarked.

"Hey," he said turning toward me, "I had the strangest dream this morning."

"Oh?" I said. I was standing in the doorway by this point and I could see my Grandma sitting in a wooden chair against the far wall, reading.

"Yeah, it was early in the morning and I had woken up briefly, but I fell back asleep and had this dream that was more like a movie. Like, I wasn't in it but I was watching it."

"Ok" I said.

"It was in color, too, which is unusual."

I never understood my Dad's claim that most people dreamed in color. It seems impossible to me. How can we, i.e. human beings, dream in black and white if we've been seeing everything in color up until the early 20th century when silent pictures were first seen. I mean, how would you even know black and white without knowing Buster Keaton? I never questioned him about this. I just took it as his rule and made my mind up later on. It doesn't seem worth arguing over anyway; it's not easy to really know what's going on in someone else's head, even if you know them well.

"There was a crane that was outside our house and it burst into flames. I remember picking up Lucy and holding her."

"Oh, weird," I said. "Shall I interpret it for you?"

"Huh?" he looked at me, "Oh, I read your dream on your blog on Friday. I just couldn't work anymore."

Just so you know: Yes, my parents read my blog...and I've apologized for every F-bomb I've dropped over here.

Anyway, he said, "Ah, no...I just remembered holding Lucy and how sweet it was."

"That's nice," I said.

"How did you interpret that dream?" my Grandma asks from the living room, "Did you have a book from the library? Can I borrow it?"

"Well, I use an online Dream Dictionary at Dreammoods.com." I explain.

"Oh," she said.

I walked over and plopped into the love seat next to her.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

"What does it mean when you dream about dead people all the time?"

"What?" I'm surprised, but recover after a few beats, "Who are you dreaming about, Grandma?"

"Oh, your Grandpa," she said. She rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

"Oh?" I prodded.

"Yes, he's always fighting with me."

"Fighting? Why?"

"He's made at me for moving his stuff."

I paused and looked away. I remembered my feelings of forboding about touching his stuf a few months ago.

"Grandma, do you remember when I volunteered to clean out his workroom?"

"Yes..."

"Well, let's just say I could feel his anger when I went down there. I didn't want to touch anything and make him mad at me. I mean his coffee mug is still there like he just went upstairs!"

"Oh, I know!" my Grandma laughs, "He's mad about that!"

"I dream about him sometimes," I offer.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yeah, but he doesn't say anything. He just gives me a hug and a kiss."

"That's nice," she said.

I felt a bit guilty. Granpa should be hugging and kissing her. Maybe I'll tell him to lighten up the next time I see him.

I was telling this story to Doc the other night after we were chatting about the recent heaviness of the stubble left behind since the moustache growing contest ended.

"I was standing in the bathroom at work when I noticed that I had a 5 o'clock shadow. Of course it was 7:30. But I was thinking about growing it back into a pencil-thin moustache like Granpa C.I. I was looking in the mirror considering this when his image floated up in front of mine on the mirror. I could see my face through his."

"Weird," I said.

"Yeah," he said.

"So, is the moustache coming back?"

"No," he said. "I'm going to wait until I'm 60. Then I'm growing a moustache again."

"Oh, good," I said, "Then we'll both have one."

Twas A Dream I Had

I was on the phone with Matt, our friend from the country.

"You guys weren't here, but it happened anyway," he said, in mock-martyred tones.

"What happened?" I said.

"It's a girl!" he said.

"What?!? Oh, my God, congratulations!" I squealed, thinking, when the hell did he get married? Why didn't we know? Who is having his baby?

"I'll be right down," I said, looking at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. I could drive down there, visit for a bit, see the baby, then return home in time to meet Riley's bus at 3:30. So, I drove through the country and arrived in the valley. I pulled into his driveway, but it wasn't his driveway, it was the driveway to a farmhouse. He walked out with his arms outstretched like Jesus or Bono. I ran up to him and gave him a bear hug that he returned. The skin at his collar bone was starting to look old, I noticed.

"Come on in," he said. I followed him into the house, which was his house, or rather his parent's house.

"We have two guest rooms now," he said, indicating his old bedroom as one of them. I cocked my head to the side and looked at him, quizzically. His parents stepped into the room.

"Yeah, I finished working on the little house (a nearly 10-year project) and they decided to move in there and let me and Connie live here with the baby," he explained.

"Wow," I said, amazed at how things worked out.

We headed downstairs, not his downstairs, but my sister-in-law's downstairs, and I looked into the living room and saw Matt's parents and the back of Connie's head. She was blonde. Matt picked up the infant and handed her to me. The cape of tension I was wearing slinked off my back. She was pink and lovely. Sleeping.

"Oh, Matt," I said through tears, "She's beautiful."

"Yeah, I know," he said in that swaggering way he has. Pride and love were pouring out of him.

I looked at the clock in the kitchen and saw it was 3:00 p.m. I would never make it back in time to meet the bus. Well, Doc would be there, I thought. When I looked toward the coffee pot, there was Doc, pouring a cup.

"Oh, hello!" I said. "I didn't know you were here!"

Doc smiled and handed Matt the cup of coffee. While Matt stirred his coffee, he told us that he was studying to get his license in somthing or other, indicating that it would help him get ahead. He went on to describe who was doing what lately in the valley. Everything was so different; everyone had changed. It's funny how life goes on in a place after you leave.

I told Matt I'd better be getting back, mentally preparing a list of phone calls I would need to make.

"You can leave, but walk with me to the reception," he said to both of us. We exited the farmhouse into the night. There were stars scattered thickly across the sky, as they always are in the valley. I looked to the southwest and pointed.

"There's the Big Dipper," I said. This is probably one of three constellations I can recognize in the night sky.

Doc and Matt looked up with me. We watched as each star in the Big Dipper simultaneously burst into red flames and began to fall to the earth and it began to gently hail. Quarter inch balls of ice fell on us as we raced to the reception hall, laughing.

It looked like a Holiday Inn from the early 90's. It wasn't new, but it was still in good shape. There were many old ladies there. I don't know what the reception was for, but it felt like a wedding reception. Matt and I made our way down a long hallway. I was lingering. I knew I had to leave, but I didn't want to. Finally, I gave him a hug and said, "Congratulations, Matt; You make beautiful babies."

He laughed and said, "Yeah, what am I studying for? I should put myself out to stud." He then popped his colar and strutted a bit. I laughed too and reached for the steel handle across the glass door. I saw my car in the distance and then I woke up.

Edited to add the interpretation:

Here's the interpretation using the Dream Moods Dream Dictionary:

Baby
To see a baby in your dream, signifies innocence, warmth and new beginnings. Babies may symbolize something in your own inner nature which is pure, vulnerable, and/or uncorrupted.

Jesus
To see Jesus in your dream, foretells that your greatest desires and goals will be realized. This dream serves to console and strengthen you in your times of adversity, hardship and struggle. You will rise above any situation and circumstance and become victorious. To dream that Jesus speaks to you or that you are praying with Him, signifies that you will be blessed with true peace of mind, joy and contentment.

Coffee Pot
To see a coffee pot in your dream, signifies hospitality and sharing of knowledge, hopes, concerns and/or ideas. It may also represent neighborliness, comfort, and companionship. ReceptionTo dream that you are attending a reception, signifies many pleasant engagements and social gatherings.

Constellation
To see a constellation in your dream, indicates that something in your life is coming together in a complex way. It represents a mental process. Consider what the constellation is depicting.

I think the Big Dipper represents the kind of disappointing and unethical practices I've been a witness to recently. I think that the fact that it blows up and falls to the earth signifies that that kind of thing will no longer be hanging over my head.

Hail
To dream that you are caught in a hail storm, suggests that you are emotionally withdrawn. Some situation beyond your control is causing you to shut down emotionally.

This is exactly what happened to me while under the Big Dipper so to speak.

Hugging
To dream that you are hugging someone, symbolizes your loving and caring nature. You are holding someone or something close to your heart. Alternatively, it may indicate your need to be more affectionate.

Overall, a pretty awesome dream. This interpretation explains why I feel so good right now.

If We Build It, Will You Come?

My neighbor, Frank, found a classified ad for a farm in Ashtabula, Ohio. The people who are selling it are asking for people to send in $100 and and essay. They will then pick the one they like and give the farm to the winner.



Well, we are all over this idea. In fact, when I chatted with him last night, we came up with the ideas in the previous post. Actually, I didn't mean to post the list, but I left it up anyway. I thought they sounded intriguing.



I have been charged with writing the essay and Frank is putting up the hundred bucks. But I need your help. I'm going to outline the dream here and I want you to let me know what you think. I also want to know if it would be someplace you would like to go for vacation.



The Dream



We would like to create a bed and breakfast that caters to the whims and wants of writers. It would be a place where people go to get some peace and quiet, soak up nature, have time to reflect, talk about ideas around a campfire or fire place. We would also have a first rate chef (Frank) and the kind of kitchen where, if you were a guest and felt like cooking, you could pitch in.



In the winter, we could have "snowed-in weekends," no phones, no TV, just the radio, the fireplace and good company. I would also like to make an arrangement with the local schools and give guests the opportunity to tutor students. Maybe we could bring people in to help tutor the guests too.



If there is enough land, we could set up a golf course that could be used day or night. During the night, Frank thinks we should have food and drink stations at every hole. And lasers to light the course.



What do you think?

My Superbowl Prediction: Proof That My Psychic Abilities Are Not 100% Reliable

I had a dream Saturday night that a black drag queen and I went to the Superbowl. The game was going to be played at Cleveland Browns Stadium for some crazy reason. When we got there, skies over the lake looked ominous and I wondered at what idiot would lose his/her job for greenlighting the decision to hold the big game here in early February.

As we sat down in la loge, of course, I told him that one of the things I must do before I die is go to see a live drag queen show and I wondered if I could go see his. He told me, no, this wasn't a kind of show that ladies would want to attend. He didn't go into any detail, but I had a flash of insight of a drag show being held on the set of a Rudolph Valentino movie (and in black and white) where my drag queen friend was dressed in seven veils, dancing gracefully under an arch on the third floor balcony overlooking a 1930's Hollywood idea of a Moroccan marketplace. Meanwhile, various hunks ala Charlton Heston and John Agar pole danced in togas around the columns. It was exactly the kind of drag show I'd like to see, frankly. Then he showed me a black and white photo of his totally ripped, white boyfriend.

We spent the rest of the time bitching about our respective jobs and eating gourmet nachos. Unnoticed by us, the Bears won game and we left feeling vaguely happy for all of those Chicago fans who got to celebrate their championship team.

Twas A Dream I've Had...

I was in "my" house and it was full of people. It was getting late and Doc and I and this older lady decided it was time to hit the hay. We were the last ones up and had to climb over sleeping figures to get to the upstairs. After I had changed into a white nightgown, I went into my bedroom. It happened to be the bedroom I had at my parent's house. When I got there, Shawn was asleep next to the old lady, who had lain her head on my favorite pillow.

I began to weep. Doc woke up and asked me what was the matter.

"I have to get up early for work tomorrow and that lady is sleeping in my place!"

"Well, Miss Scarlett," he said, in his best Rhett Butler, "Why don't you go see Ashley Wilkes and tell him all about it."

"I will! I will tell Ashley! Ashley will understand!" I said and ran out of the room weeping. I knew he was teasing me good-naturedly. I was playing along to the fullest.

So I headed down into the basement, which was all white and very well-lit and modern. A grandma and her grandkids were just putting away the PlayStation. I couldn't believe all the people that were at the house.

I gave up trying to get some sleep as I looked to my right and noticed that I was standing in the way of many patrons, who were wandering around the rest of the basement, which just happened to be the public library.

I found Elizabeth and we decided to head to colonial Boston to meet up with Big Orange and his Good Wife. We got into an open carriage. it was drizzling and dark. The driver, who pulled the carriage with a John Deere Tractor and was dressed as Paul Revere, took our money and told us to sit on the bench. We went down the dirt road and I spotted Big Orange and his Good Wife among the other villagers, all of whom were wearing colonial garb. The town itself, though, had the look of Tombstone.

They climbed up into the carriage and I gave Big Orange a bear hug. I released him from the hug, but kept my arm around his shoulder. It was so good to see him and I missed him very much, I didn't want to let him go. We rode to a pavillion and got off the carriage. We made our way to a spot on the grass, where several colonials were sitting on a large tarp. Big Orange lounged on his side, propped up on his elbow with his feet crossed. I saw him look up. My eyes followed his and we took in the sight of a lovely waif of a woman who had just wandered up. I turned my head as something whizzed by it. Big Orange's Good Wife had thrown a slinky at him good and hard to get him to put his tongue back into his head.

"That's how we play it around here," she said.

I took a good look at Big Orange. He now has freckles, I noted. I also noted the time. It was 7:09 a.m. Our plane left Boston at 7:30 a.m. I began to weep again.

"I've got to go but I don't want to!" I said. "Besides, I don't think we'll make our plane, Elizabeth!"

She gathered me up and we made our way down the dirt road. We began to pass several street vendor carts: hot dogs and pretzels. They were "closed" but fully stocked. One of the carriage drivers was sneaking up to one. Apparently, one of the initiation rites in this place was to steal an item of food off of one of the carts without getting caught. He grabbed a hot pretzel. He coaxed us to do the same. Elizabeth helped herself to a hot pretzel, but I demured.

At the end of the row of vendor carts, was a gangplank. We walked onto it and followed it along until it opened up into our hosts house. I looked into their office and the lady was dressed as Marie Antoinette. I told her we need to get to our plane and that we hadn't packed our stuff yet.

She nodded and called over her shoulder to her husband, "Lady Elaine, could you come out here for a moment?"

Her husband came out of the back of the room and there he was, dressed as, not Lady Elaine, but Madame. Then I woke up.

Ah...Prescription Pain Kilers

They do bring on the most interesting dreams. Here's mine:

I was a contestant on American Idol and I was up first. But there was some confusion and I couldn't get to the stage right away, so Bo went in my place. When he was done singing, I was up. I stood on stage and realized that I knew my song inside and out, but I just blanked. Rather than just standing there, I decided to belt out "The Gambler" for my grandpa [see his eulogy here].

I started off acapella with "You've got to know when to hold'em..." and I sung my ass off. The band started in with me and the back up singers joined me on stage and we rocked the house. I "brought it," as Randy Jackson would say. I didn't hear what the judges said, however, because whatever crisis kept me from the stage the first time was still unresolved.

In the aftermath, I kept trying to find out how it went, but no one would tell me how I did or what the judges thought. At one point, I stopped running around and just stood there thinking. I sensed someone standing to my left, slightly behind me. It was my grandpa, looking dapper as ever in a navy blue suit. He just smiled and gave me a kiss on the lips and then followed my grandma out of the room.

It felt so wonderful to see him and to get a kiss, complete with prickles from his pencil-thin moustache. I know it was his spirit. He didn't speak to me but he didn't have to. I knew he was pleased that I gave him a shout-out and thanked me for it in the best way possible.

The dream went on in the usual Sunday night, pre-return to work way, but when I woke up, I still felt the joy of being visited by his spirit. I love you Grandpa. Thanks for the kiss.