Tag Archives: dreams

Just a dream?

26 Jul

I’m a pretty practical, feet-on-the-ground sort of person.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t have my otherworldly moments though.

It’s 4 a.m. and I woke up after a most peculiar dream.

It’s not like the usual dream for me, in which a life event is relived or something innocuous and normal is played out.  It wasn’t a case of working out a problem in my dreams either.  This wasn’t even one of the weird singing chickens or babies in loaves of bread dreams.

This was like some kind of star crossed romance dream.

Sometimes, when I dream, I’m not “me” as in the normal everyday me.  In my dreams, I’ll often look at my feet to see if it is me, and if it is me…when it was me.  Yeah, it’s weird, but feet are easy to see and as identifiable as faces when it’s your own pair.  Sometimes, it’s not me, not in this lifetime at least.

I didn’t look at my feet.  Ever.  In this dream.  So, I don’t know who it was or if it was even anyone I know.

In the dream, the “hero” was a Native American drummer, and he happened to be almost totally deaf.  Sometimes, he would play a flute too.  He was a strong sort of hero, but he had his hidden, more sensitive side too.  I was hitchhiking with the heroine, the object of his affections.

They weren’t a young couple.  They’d been around the block a bit, and life hadn’t been kind to either one.  Somehow, they encountered each other and a cautious romance had begun.  Both had been bitten hard in previous relationships, which isn’t uncommon in the older crowd.  We don’t age unsullied by romance gone bad.

The dream is fragmented in my memory as I write this–it’s funny how a vivid dream begins to fade as the dreamer wakes, but it does.

There was a beautiful beaded tunic that had belonged to his previous partner/wife/girlfriend, which was given to the heroine.  It fit her, and was beautiful, but there was a bitter-sweetness to the tunic’s fit too.  The hero’s sister, roughly the same age as the  couple, had gotten it out and had the heroine put it on.

The deaf drummer sang a song, and it was heart-wrenching to hear him sing.  It was perfectly pitched, a difficult thing for a deaf singer, I suspect.  His song showed her how he heard things through his limited hearing somehow.

He heard things in a different way, he explained it.  The sounds of feet and hooves, the wind, engines…they all were distinct to him.  He also explained otherworldly characters to her, giving names to them.  There was one that I remember.  They were scary looking to her, inspiring near terror.  They were like tall narrow piles of mud with faces, and he called them the Urdu.  (I looked up Urdu, and this is a language spoken in Pakistan  today.  I couldn’t find any variation of the sounds that gave me any other search result either.)  He cautioned her from speaking to them or acknowledging them, as to do so would lessen her ability to connect with him, to be his true love, and she would have to conquer her fear of them as part of the trials and tribulations of being his partner.  There were other things too, of this otherworldly nature, that she had to conquer her fear of, for he had strong otherworldly connections.

Ultimately, their relationship was fracturing, and was doomed to destruction, partly because of his inability to allow her into his life.  A young man, 20something, was taking a table apart and explaining how taking the table apart ended a relationship.  (I don’t get how a table equates relationship/marriage, but in the dream, it did.)  The heroine then lifted up large pieces of a table top, completely unlike the fitted together squares that had formed the younger man’s table top, and took out things that had been pressed between the layers, including photographs, magazines written in a foreign language she did not speak, clippings, and other papers.  She would sort and stack the papers, and the young man took them away.  Finally, the older hero arrives and takes the foreign language magazines, exhibiting a holier-than-thou attitude over the magazines and the fact that she does not understand that language.

Sometimes, with a dream, we can find meaning that can help us with our lives.  It isn’t always immediately apparent.  Other times, no matter how long or how hard we search, there is no meaning to be gleaned from the dreams.  I’m not sure where this dream would be filed yet.

Certain key points are apparent, though.  One is this concept of star crossed or doomed love.  Another is that the heroine is being forced to try to live up to impossible standards and ignore things that are terrifying to her with little support from her partner, that was played over and over as she was faced with various supernatural entities that were scary at best.   Another was that the heroine was being pushed by others into wearing the same clothing (the tunic) of the previous partner of her object of affection.  That indicates to me that she is being forced into a pigeonhole that may not actually fit as well as it appears it does.  Next, the disassembly of the table really correlates with the disassembly of a relationship, and that is actually explained by the younger man who is busy with his own disassembly of a relationship.  She then proceeds to disassemble her relationship with the man, whom she does still love, by the way.  She takes the layers apart, and sorts out the memories (the papers, photos, etc.) which are then taken away.  Finally, the hero appears for one last taunt: he illustrates the holier-than-thou attitude about taking away the things that make no sense at all to the heroine.

It puzzles me that none of this pertains to me, at all.  My husband isn’t deaf.  He’s not a drummer.  Our relationship isn’t fracturing. I can’t even imagine him taking this kind of an attitude towards me.  So why did I have the dream?

Sometimes, it’s as though I’m either watching someone else’s dream or something.  It’s one of the weird ones, that while I can interpret it, I can’t match the dream’s meaning with anything in my own life right now.  Maybe I’m wrong.

Then again, maybe I’m not, and it just wasn’t my dream.

With all of that said and done, I hope I can go back to sleep–it’s hours until dawn!

 

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Freaky dreams

11 Jun

I thought the end of the freaky dreams was surely the night that I dreamed about the singing chickens.

Yeah, real chickens.  Really singing, in tune, with chicken voices.

It got even weirder last night.

Now yesterday, I was in Hattiesburg when there was a tornado warning & accompanying weird siren to warn everyone.  I’m blaming the tornado portion on that experience.  But the rest?  Heck if I know!

It was an inter-dimensional tornado.  It periodically took people from this dimension and sent them there.  It wasn’t supposed to bring them back ever. Pretty heartbreaking, since many of the ones who left here were kids, leaving parents behind too often.  In this particular incident, the tornado was making an unauthorized transfer, courtesy of some evil gang who was going to kill a bunch of people.

A bunch of kids were packed into a giant bin thing in cocoa powder.

Not sure what that was all about, other than we were trying to get them out before the evildoers arrived.

Outside of the weird facets, it read like a typical g-men kind of tale.  The good guys (like g-men) were trying to save innocent lives, while the bad guys (aka evil scientists or whatever) were trying to do them in.  I woke up before the story was resolved, but I have no doubt that the good guys were going to win, at least most of the situation.

I’m not sure who is in charge of dreams, but I must have gotten whatever was left in the barrel last night.

Swimming cats, babies in bread, and devilish tornadoes

1 Feb

Vivid dreams, especially of this sort, are noteworthy with me.  I just don’t have them that often.  This one was vivid and ranked fairly high on the Freaky Weird Scale.

It started off with three cats swimming in our bathtub, and me calling to Greg for him to come watch.  We were quite amazed, and the bathtub was certainly far larger than anything we could fit in our home.  I’ve seen smaller wading pools than this bathtub was–it must have been about eight foot long and six feet wide, as well as about a foot and a half deep.

Now cats can swim fairly well, but its well known that most don’t like it much.  These cats were enjoying it, and had gotten in for their swim of their own volition, which was curious.

Somehow, at that point, I ended up outdoors with Greg.  The sky was ominous, and there was an open field between our house and a cluster of other buildings, which included some houses.  There was also a lake or broad river behind us, and a couple of hundred yards along the bank from our house, there was a large underground structure which opened up on the water side.

All of this is important, as from the other side of this village or town, a massive tornado was approaching.  People were running towards us in a panic, and we were yelling and directing them all to the underground structure.  We ran along with the stragglers, and barely made it before the tornado arrived, completely destroying our house, swimming cats and all.

While I was obviously unhappy about losing my house, I was concerned about a woman who leaned back against a wall, somewhat exhausted and pale.  I was inquiring about how she was and whether she was all right when an older woman explained that she had just had a baby.  At that point, the woman laid a big loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper in her lap, opened the loaf, and was relieved to find her baby was sleeping contentedly.  I was quite impressed with the idea of using bread to protect the baby.

At that point, I woke up.  What was just as strange as the initial dream is that when I went back to sleep…I went back to that place, which is completely unlike any place I’ve ever known.  Our house was still destroyed, without a trace of the swimming cats or anything else–everything had been carried away by the tornado.  The town was just as destroyed, but I’m not sure where the people were.  I was walking around our former home, in the debris filled garden, when the woman with the baby in the loaf of bread walked past with the older woman again, still carrying her baby in the bread, although with its tiny face exposed and the brown paper wrapped around the loaf.

Pretty curious, that baby in the loaf of bread.  I have no idea where that could come from,  nor what it would possibly mean in terms of symbology either at this point.  It’s just…weird.  The whole impression was not anything like a hot dog or that the baby or bread were intended for anyone to eat, but rather that the bread provided some kind of special protection for the baby, while the brown paper simply protected and disguised the bread.

Protected from what?  Disguised from who?

Curiouser and curiouser, don’t you think?

Unsettling dreams…

7 Feb

Black dogs.  All of them big, but that’s about where the similarities end.  Well, maybe one more thing…they all seem to be short haired.

I’m a bit weary of dreaming about them and their companions.  I’d say that someone was trying to send me a message, but unfortunately, I’m not speaking this form of symbolism.  Some want to tear me limb from limb, others want to play, and some just sit with me.  A few look at me, as though waiting for…something.  Some are alone, others have companions, and the rest of the story line varies from one dream to the next.  There isn’t any pattern between them.

A few times, that insane Mall From Hell reappears, as well as the man with the tattooed head.  At least HE is consistent–he’s always a “good guy”, on my side.  I just wish he was a little less cryptic and more forthcoming with information about what on earth is going on, even in that dream.  Sometimes, I wonder if he is a real person, that’s how often I’ve seen him.  Sometimes Greg or other family members appear in the dreams as well.

Searching for “black dog dreams” on the internet hasn’t provided me with any insight.  I was hoping to clarify the message I wasn’t understanding, since I wasn’t getting anywhere with the imagery on my own.  The meanings I found indicated that something was in my house, something evil, or that I was being threatened in some way.  I don’t feel threatened.  No one else is picking up on this sense of evil foreboding, so I’m inclined to dismiss that interpretation of the dreams’ symbolism.

Such vivid dreams since the beginning of the year, yet nothing that makes sense or creates a sense of continuity with the concepts being communicated to me.  That statement is true whether its my subconscious or some paranormal aspect inspiring the dreams.  I’m not one of those people who assigns all dreams into the paranormal realm–all too often, our dreams are simply our subconscious communicating with us in one of the few manners that it can.  That doesn’t mean that dream symbolism is irrelevant, because it is very relevant.  It does mean that standard definitions of what a particular symbol means just does not work because each person assigns different meanings to things.  Even so, when all else fails, standard definitions can help provide clarity to our dreams’ messages.  One example is dreaming about appearing in public naked–it is almost universally interpreted as meaning a fear of exposure.  What that fear of exposure really is, however, is very individual.

Logging your dreams and looking at them over a period of time can be a great aid in figuring out what they mean.   This is more important than we think, because this can be messages from our subconscious indicating what is wrong with our lives, be it illness, stress, or whatever.  Using those messages can help us become happier and healthier.

Really weird dream

7 Feb

Tonight, I was tired early and headed to bed.  It rarely works out for me, but I do it anyhow.  Tonight though, it ended with a decidedly weird note.

I dreamed I met a man and his family and they were Muslim.  I then attended a service with him, and was surprised because this huge building existed in our community and I never realized that.  The service was mostly conducted in a language I did not understand and presumed was Arabic, but portions were in English.  I sat beside the man, who shared a prayer book with me.  I’m not sure what kind of a place this was, as we were sitting on benches with a narrow wooden table in front of us to put our books on.

The place was beautiful, and we were high above the person conducting the service.  There were many levels in this massive building, and it was amazingly beautiful.  I tried to follow what was going on, but once the English was over, I was lost.  Then, my companion shared his prayer book with me.  It was a thick book, with sections of the book loose from the cover.  On one side was a phonetic version using our alphabet with a translation, and the other side was in Arabic.  I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and said something about the book being well worn.

He shocked me as he told me how one tore out sections, and I told him that I had a reverence for books that forbid doing such a thing.  He nodded, and explained that it was done for the sake of expediency, but that he respected my views.  I then began looking around the room we were in, rather than paying attention to a service that I did not understand.  The other very odd thing was that this book contained chocolates….real, edible chocolates were held in pages of the book.  They were like small cylinders, and covered with a sugary powder, but tasted absolutely of chocolate that melted in your mouth.

The chocolate was a good thing, because it was a very lengthy service.  Apparently, the chocolate was also part of the whole religious experience too, it was to help one understand and get closer to God.

I then visited with his family in a very large and complicated house.  They had many family members, as it was their entire extended family.  At one point, I was in a room with two young women.  We were dressing.  One of the women was naked, and stretched out on a bench.  She said something about sex and orgasms, and I replied “Aren’t they (orgasms) the whole point of sex?”  This delighted the two women, and after they got dressed and scurried off, I was then left to explain my remark to an older man.  My explanation was very simple: before the process of procreation was known to mankind, it had to feel good to get people to do it.  He found the explanation interesting.

At some point, I decided to move in with this family, despite the fact that they were moving to some distant location.  I closed up my house, quit my job, packed up, and left. I needed rest and relaxation very badly, and felt that I would get it with this family.  Life at the new location was perfect, and I was feeling a lot better.

Then, someone arrived.  It was a man, and he was the brother of the wife of the guy who owned the Chevron station in my hometown.  Apparently, she had been my friend.  She was certain that I had been abducted, and had sent her brother to find me.  I talked with him, explained what was going on, and calmed the man down, after he had apparently practically broke down the door to gain access to the people inside.

At this point, apparently I have already begun to forget the dream.  But, we were closing up some house.  I’m not sure if it was my former house or some other house.  We moved everything out of it, scrubbed it down, covered it with a rubbery sheeting and then proceeded to cover it with pink cement.  The brother of my friend was in charge of this project, and he was very upset because some city official had demanded that they gunite the house which apparently meant to spray on the cement rather than glop it on with brushes and brooms, and it was adding a complication to the project.  While we were talking about this, I was trying to get a little girl to eat.  She was very pretty, with long dark hair, wearing a jumper and blouse.  I needed to move her chair, which was a folding chair but made of wood, and when I tipped the seat, water ran onto the floor.  I said either we have a leak or she has wet her pants waiting, and someone began lamenting that she would have spoiled her outfit if she had wet her pants.

I then woke up with a start to the sound of a crying baby, because there were no babies in the household.  It turned out that it was the movie being played, not a real baby, but it sounded very realistic!

I never seem to dream about a normal house.  They are always weird, usually with massive floor plans and complicated layouts that no architect would ever approve.  None of this makes sense.  I don’t know much about the Islamic religion, but I’m pretty sure that women do not worship alongside men.  I’m equally sure it does not include the use of chocolate too.  I was always being told how it was the religion of peace and tranquility and that it did not advocate violence of any kind ever.  I know that in the dream, I had found the relaxation and tranquility that I needed to become “better.”  I was not stressed, and nothing I did was too demanding.  I was able to rest in a way that normal sleep has never rested anyone.  It was a really good feeling that I got in this house, as thought it was all like-minded people, sort of like a monastery without the religion?  No one yelled, no one was frantic, no one behaved badly, and no one acted without thought.  Everyone was concerned about me “going back” to settle things better, for fear it would be too much for me.

As far as I know, real people never act like that.  Real religions also do not include the consumption of chocolate, even if it is in odd shapes either.  Despite this, an hour’s sleep with this dream did leave me feeling very relaxed and calm, which is peculiar considering that the day we had was everything but relaxing.

Even so, part of my mind drifts off with the concept of a beautiful church that advocates peace and tranquility, encourages the consumption of chocolate, and has beautiful music…

Like misty wisps of fog–the dreams that vanish

3 Apr

We all dream.

Some of us remember our dreams, some of us remember them some of the time, and a few people claim they always remember them.  Some people claim that dreams are always prophetic.  Some people claim that dreams are always reflections of our inner psychological turmoil.  Other people claim that dreams are nothing more than a solitary dance of our imaginations.  Some people claim to be able to direct their dreams, the same way a writer directs their story.

Okay.

I don’t know much about other people’s dreams, although on occasion, friends and family will ask me to help interpret their dreams.  I don’t know if that makes me a dream expert, or just the local weirdo.  I have more trouble interpreting my own dreams and where they fit into the scheme of things, whether they are prophetic, psychological, inner truth, or imagination…or nothing at all.

Like the singing chickens.  I’m sure there must be some deep meaning in a dream that was so real that I woke up, singing aloud with the chickens that don’t exist.  No, they weren’t singing like humans, they were singing like chickens would if they could carry a tune.  Chickens just aren’t very smart, and I can’t imagine one, let alone a dozen or so, being motivated to carry a tune or even interact with a person for any reason other than food.  They are much more likely to turn on one of their own and literally peck them to death before completing their act of cannibalism on the corpse.  I try to not think about that when I stop at KFC.

I’m more likely to use dreams as a problem solving tool.  I literally like to “sleep on”  a problem, whether its mechanical or some other kind of problem, and during the night, I try out solutions as sort of animated scenarios, seeking the best solution.  It’s rare that I don’t wake up with the solution, and often recall of many of the failed methods…especially when they were epic fails.  Sometimes, as in dealing with interpersonal problems, there isn’t any real fix, but rather merely the “best solution” to choose.

But often, I wake and the dream fades like a wisp of fog when the sunlight strikes.  It’s gone.  There is no retrieving it.  But…it often leaves its mood behind.  There is also this intense sensation that I have forgotten something critically important, like the code to open the safe that contains the key to mankind’s survival or something.

Not that I think I am THAT important, but rather that’s the level of importance behind what I have forgotten.  It’s the feeling that it is something really, REALLY big!

This morning was one of those mornings.  I’d had another restless night, more the norm for me anymore than the exception, and was up and down all night long.  I finally fell into a deep sleep just after dawn, sleeping about 3-4 hours like a rock.  Waking up was a misery, as the reality of a screaming headache tore into my consciousness, sending dreamy recollections to the wind.  I’d put Red Dog outside just after dawn, as she was dancing to get out, but Sissy was agitating to go out mid morning when I was forced to consciousness.  GM got elected to dog duty.  Moving was not an optional response as I tried to avoid the headache’s insisting stabs and recover the dream.

It was elusive.  I didn’t find it.  But…it left its mood.

I’m quiet and contemplative today.  The headache is making its presence known, and whoever is outside beating on a stake or post or whatever…I’d like to do something completely immoral and violent to them.  GM would like eggs, I figure they serve them at Waffle House.  I made coffee.  I might be human in a bit.  If I can remember where the ibuprofen is.  Maybe.

Once upon a time, I used to recover from feeling like this by the judicious use of the “hair of the dog.”  It would have taken a very loud, very wild, very alcohol soaked night to inspire waking up feeling like this.  An hour after I woke up, I’d be right as rain and ready to do it again.  That was then.

This is now.  The most exciting thing that I drank last night was a Hawaiian Punch Fruit Juicy Red.  I’m not sure what flavor red is, but I can’t blame feeling this way today on it.  It’s happened too often the past year or so for it to be an incident with artificial sweeteners and artificial colors inspiring it.  I could learn to hate mornings on days like today.  But headaches aside…I’m much more concerned with that elusive dream.

Where did it go?  What did it mean?  Why can’t I recall it?  Why the quiet mood and feeling that I should seclude myself?  I do have a single image though, which IS more than usual.

It’s a typical country road scene here in the South.  A narrow paved road, without center line, curving to the right.  It’s shady, with thick trees on both sides, and a narrow grassy depression running alongside of the roadway on both sides.  There are no road signs, no markers, no mail boxes, nothing…just the shady lane and the curve in the road.  I think I’m riding bicycle on it.  If I’m not riding a bike on it, I’d like to do so!  It’s peaceful and quiet, no barking dogs, no hammering on metal, no lawn mowers.

Maybe, if my head behaves, I’ll cajole GM into taking a bike ride into the bayou and we’ll see about a place to fish for a bit this afternoon.  That might be a great way to punctuate a lazy Sunday afternoon.  There are plenty of curves in the road, and most of it is paved too.  Lots of trees.  We might see a snake or a gator or a turtle along the way.

And by the way, I do have hopes that I’m really going to end up human today.  Some toast, some ibuprofen, a cup of coffee…and I’m feeling a lot more optimistic and less murderous about noise!

The things that I love about my life

29 Oct

I’ve spent an excessive amount of time lately focused on negativity.  It’s bad for the psyche, soul, spirit, or whatever name you want to  put on the non-physical part of each individual.  I like to be positive, and I’ve spent way too much time lately focused on the negative portions of my day to day existence.  Face it, we all have negatives in our lives, and they are probably essential to our overall well being.  After all, how could we recognize the positive if we didn’t have the negative to compare it to?

I have a lot that is VERY positive in my life.  Things that are more wonderful than the best dream possible.

Like what, you wonder?

Oh, like good old GM, who rarely gets more than his initials in my blog entries.  He is my fiance, and the love of my life.  Having him love me back is a fantastic gift from the Ladies of Fate or the Source or God or whatever name you want to put on it.  I don’t know how I could have ever thought I had a great life before he was part of it.

Yeah, I can gush.  But, at the same time, how many men can you ask to go to the store and buy sanitary napkins?  How many will try to do their other half’s hair?  (Even if it isn’t a very good job, he did try!)  He’s helped me put on my bra and get dressed when I was first hurt and completely inept.  He’s cleaned up after the dogs and cats.  He’s gone on wild goose chases for everything from caraway seeds to a good fishing spot.  He goes camping, even when he doesn’t want to, because I love going.  He gets up in the morning with only SOME bitching because his negative response to mornings was troubling me.  He makes me coffee, he does dishes, he does laundry…whatever he is asked for, he does.  He’s not a slave, by any means, he does those things for me because he loves me.  So, I’ll make him Mexican hot chocolate (he loves chocolate, and loves the Mexican version with cinnamon too.)  I get him little treats, like the chocolate hazelnut spread  or oatmeal pies he loves.  I try to show how much I appreciate him, and always feel as though he gets the short end of the stick.

We work together, we share common goals, we laugh together, and we gripe to each other.  We rarely fight, and our disagreements are more like flashes in the pan than anything remotely resembling a real dispute.  He’s my best friend,my lover, my cheering squad, my partner, my companion, my sounding board…in short, I’m ecstatically happy with him.  We have lived together for about two years now, but we’ve known each other for a decade or more.  He was my buddy before, and that was good, but this is oh-so-much-better-than-I-could-have dreamed to share my life with him.

My daughter lives nearby now, less than an hour away, which is rather like the saying…she’s close enough and far enough away.  I don’t want to be an overbearing mother and start interfering with her life and telling her what to do, even if I do know how to make her life better and have more experience than she does…

She has Type 1 diabetes, and has had it since she was 15.  She had such a high blood sugar reading initially that it was feared she would lapse into a coma and die.  For those diabetics out there that understand the numbers, her reading was over 2200.  She spent years in and out of the hospital with frequent DKA episodes, and the calls would frequently come to me when I was at work that she was sick and was at the hospital.  With her frequent admissions, the hospital was familiar with her, and we had a routine.  Her grandma would stay with her until I got off of work, then I would come and sign the paperwork again.  Over half of my paycheck went to pay for health insurance, and I needed to stay at work to pay for it.

After my son’s death when he was ten and my daughter was almost 18, it would have been so easy to go into ultra overprotective mom mode.  I wanted to.  Badly.  I had lost one chick and was deathly afraid of losing her, after all, it had been the “healthy” child that had suddenly died in his sleep…she was the one that was in and out of ICU each month.  I had to force myself to back off, keep my hands off, and let her fly, like a butterfly taking wing.  It was very hard, and it was harder yet when I decided to move entirely away, long after she was married the first time, as she was about to turn 21.  I was moving clear to New Orleans and leaving her behind in Arizona, and we both cried as we said goodbye, despite the fact that we have talked on the phone nearly every day since then.

I’ve always been teased by my family about being a “mama bear” when it came to my kids, and I still am.  I just put on a facade with a reminder to myself that I am to be “hands off.”  How can she live her life if I’m standing there looking over her shoulder?

Not to say that I agree with everything she has done with her life so far.  At the same time, lord help anyone that thinks she can be an object of ridicule or worse in my presence.  When push comes to shove, she is still MY BABY!!!  I may chastise her in private, but in public…I’m behind her 100% of the time.  She knows it, and she knows that she has responsibility there too.  She better NOT do anything that is truly wrong!

On October 18th, I became a grandmother, and as beautiful as that baby is, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen was my daughter looking at the amazing new life she was holding in her arms.  It was all I could do not to cry.  It was a look of pure unconditional love, and it made my heart ache with joy to see it in her eyes.  She loves that tiny bundle of joy, no matter what.  She will do anything to protect her too.  I understand it, I was once in her shoes too.

It’s hard for her right now, the baby arrived prematurely because of preeclampsia.  Once fluid started developing on my daughter’s lungs, they couldn’t wait anymore.  She had an emergency c-section, and the baby made her debut.  She had the best of care at the University of Southern Alabama Women & Children’s Hospital in Mobile, Alabama.  I have nothing but good to say about that.  She had been a high risk pregnancy, but the preeclampsia was a “normal” complication rather than one of the expected ones as a result of her diabetes.  So, my grand daughter, who has inherited dark hair like mine and her uncle’s was, has to stay at the hospital until she is strong enough to come home, as well as big enough.

On Saturday, we’re giving the baby shower for my daughter.  It had been planned for months before the sudden birth, and we’re not changing the date even though the baby isn’t home.

I am so looking forward to being a grandmother.  I loved being a mom, and being a grandmother is like going on a chocolate diet.  You only get the sweet stuff!

As for daddy…well, all mothers know one thing, there is no man on earth good enough for our daughters.  Once we accept that fact, we can get on with getting on with.  It’s a given fact that my daughter is going to be right and he’s going to be wrong, but as long as he doesn’t treat her or my granddaughter badly, I guess he’s all right, right?

He adores his newest daughter as much as my daughter, I suspect.  He’s learning that its a whole new ball game though too.  His first three were all term, delivered quickly and without any drama, and came home in the manner that most babies do.  BUT…his “baby” is now 14, so things have changed a bit too.  Mama is a different woman entirely, and comes with a whole different way of doing things and expectations too.  He’s learning fast that the cookie cutter doesn’t fit, and that his baby daughter has a whole new family to go with her.  Great Grandma is going to arrive next month, along with a Great Great Aunt.  He hasn’t met them yet…and boy, oh boy, is he in for a surprise!  GM ran the gauntlet last year with the dynamic duo, and apparently passed muster.  I haven’t heard anything negative yet, nor have they asked any questions about our relationship that indicate they are concerned, so I guess he’s all right in there eyes.  After all, remember the bit about no man being good enough for your daughter? (or woman for your son though too!)  That’s applied to GM by MY mother.  The daddy has no experience with a matriarchal family, whereas GM comes from an equally matriarchal family, so he “gets” the idea.

Basically, I’ll confess, I like the daddy.  He was our friend first, then he met my daughter later.  It’s a bit weird, but that’s ok.  Lots of weird enters my life anyhow.

I have great friends too.  Friends who matter and are there when the chips are down.  That’s the kind that really matter anyhow.  Friends who only hang out with you when things are going good aren’t the kind of friends I want or need.

I have a radio show that is still fun to do.  I love the guests, they always offer interesting ideas for me to ponder.  I have complete creative control, so it allows me to do things my way.  That’s another thing in my life to love.  It keeps my mind active, and always looking at new ideas to see if they have merit for application in my life.

I write, and I love that too.  I write about all sorts of things, from restaurant reviews to food, about camping, about life and spirituality, about anything and everything I want to.  I make a bit of money from it once in a while, so that’s always a nice bonus.

I’m noticing a trend here.  The most important things to me are the people in my life: my family and friends, the guests I interview and the audience that listens.  Next is my creative outlets, and those too bring me great joy.  What isn’t on the list that many people might find odd?

Money.  Possessions.

Okay, I don’t like being broke and trying to figure out how to pay the bills.  However, over time, I have gotten used to it.  I still don’t like it, but oh well.  I’ve been unable to work for 11 months now, and that has been hard.  I can’t do everything I used to, and we’re definitely cutting corners and still sinking into a dismal swamp of financial disaster.  Soon, I hope GM will find a regular job with regular income or I’ll be able to return to the work force myself.

As for “stuff” which is how I usually refer to possessions, I’ve discovered that stuff weighs you down and hinders your travel through life.  I’d love to have a piece of property where I could garden, especially if it was before I’m too decrepit to garden!  In the meantime, I grow a few herbs in coffee containers and am satisfied.  I have the entire world around me, filled with greenery.  I can enjoy the world, even if the only dirt I own is the dirt we track inside on our collective feet…or I buy in a bag from the nursery. We have a van that usually runs, as it is wearing out now.  We have a travel trailer we still owe money on.  We own two bicycles, five tents, and a small heap of camping gear.  We have one functioning laptop.  We have a cell phone with an agreeable plan, even if I do hate the remaining time on the contract.  We have internet access.  We have a couple of bank accounts, and they aren’t in the red, even if they are somewhat anemic.

If I suddenly could buy everything I wanted, what would I buy?  Another laptop, another external hard drive, a new printer, another vehicle to replace our wheezy minivan, some tools we need, the desktop computer we need & the software we need, a small acreage where I could garden my little pea picking heart out on, a spacious shed where we could have office space, a regular bathroom, ample storage, and a regular kitchen in, as well as shop space…and that’s about it.  I don’t mind living in a travel trailer, although it would be nice to be able to afford to actually travel.  Small spaces can be cozy and efficient, and we’re working on getting there.  Adding a big shed with space to do the things we can’t do in a travel trailer would be nice, as would owning land where we could become more self sufficient.  It would be nice to have a fast and reliable ISP too, one that didn’t govern bandwidth during the 4 pm to midnight hours.

But if wishes were horses, we’d all have a ride…and there would be a shortage of hay.

My wishes are small, I suppose.  My grand dream is Exogeny Center, and it’s my passion.  I’m determined that someday, somehow, we shall get that set up, and we’ll be able to protect and preserve some very important parts of the world with it, such as heritage breeds of livestock, produce, field crops, and skill sets.  We’ll be able to pass those things on, so that future generations will still have something very precious to hold onto.  That is where my big dream lies, and I’ll give up my dream of owning a piece of land myself to get there.  When my granddaughter grows up, I want her to know that many things that were once common all through North America are still being preserved in a living heritage farm by people who live in the small planned community that is part of the overall picture, and that people from across the land are able to come and experience much the same thing as a generation ago they would experience when they visited their country cousins.

So dreams are something to love in my life too.  I still have them, even as I approach ever closer to that half century mark.  I have a whopper of a dream too, one that will take many people coming together to make happen.  I believe that GM and I can be the catalyst to ensure that it does happen too…with a little help from our family and friends, which is how all the good dreams come true.

Enlightenment…let it begin!