I had a dream last night that I was in a land (country? on a planet?) where there was no knowledge of God. Not just denial of Him, but a complete unawareness that He existed. It was a place where “right” meant “whatever I want” and “wrong” meant “whatever kept me from having what I want”. In one part of the dream, I was standing on a concourse outside, much like the one at Haley Center at Auburn U. A group of mentally handicapped people, all in a straight line, shuffled through, and several people were throwing rocks and taunting them. I tried explaining that the people could not help being mentally handicapped, and taunting them was no different than making fun of someone for being blonde, or having brown eyes. So they threw rocks at me as well. Later I met a man who was frustrated because he was having trouble reconciling the concepts of “right and wrong”,because one person’s right could be another person’s wrong. I explained to him about an omniscient and omnipresent God who laid down a set of concrete laws that defined “right and wrong” and applied to everyone. He said that was too hard to keep, so that led to an explanation of God and His Son,and mercy and grace. Also,how having the same set of concrete laws, defining “right and wrong” meant everyone had the same standards to follow, which helped eliminate confusion within a society.
I woke up feeling a little bit frustrated, but also profoundly grateful that we live in a world where there is a concrete “right and wrong”, and those are essentially universal ideas (most of them, anyway). That world, with no order and no sense of the value of other people, was a pretty awful place, and I am thankful it’s not real.
Even with so many people in this country yelling about how Godless it is…it’s not Godless. It never has been, and never will be. He IS everywhere, and working His Will always. Even when someone doesn’t see it or understand what’s going on. Even people who claim to be Godless, are not,because He is there, too.
I don’t understand the point in denying that, I don’t really understand why anyone would WANT to be in a Godless world, where “right” means “whatever I want” and “wrong” means “whatever keeps me from having what I want”. It sounds really awful to me.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Dreams, perspective, Spouse, Who does that
We’re better now. The crushing disappointment of yesterday has been warped into anger, which burned for a while and was settled with the hurling of curses and humor (that always seems to work for us), and soothed with the discussion and anticipation of the upcoming restorative trip.
One of the parties involved, 12 hours after being the cause of the crushing disappointment, had the stunningly poor taste to send Himself an email Christmas card saying “HappyHolidays from all of us at The Place !, which resulted in a flurry of emails between Himself and Myself, mainly stating that, the least they could have done after all that was send flowers!
Gosh I wish I could go into details, but Himself request not. Business was involved, and High Finance. It was all very heady stuff and quite exciting, but where there’s great excitement, there’s always the potential for equally great disappointment, and that’s what happened. The good news is that we are no worse off than we were when all this started, and that’s a very good thing. I’ll just call it all fantasy and carry on.
Perspective helps. No one died. What happened to us was merely a disappointment and we’ll get over it. We didn’t lose anything, other than daydreams and some hope.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Being Southern, Dreams, Home and hearth, Oh for pete's sake, Spouse
so, last night I got a spur-of-the-moment invitation to dinner. Terry was eating with some coworkers, and at the last minute said “Hey, they want you to come too!” which was great because they were eating at this new place in town called 40 East Grill, a fancypants restaurant half a block down from the courthouse. I’d heard good things about it so was happy for the invite. NOT only THAT…I was the only woman in the group and that made me VERY happy, because I could converse about football and dogs and guns without any fear of reprisal from another woman for being either unladylike or somethingsomething…
Anyway, while waiting on the rest of the group (7 others) I ordered a drink, to loosen up a little. (I am very stiff and stuffy normally) and it was my usual very dry Tanqueray martini,3 olives. Which they brought out in a pint sized glass and I was like…woah, that’s huge. Then proceeded to drink the whole thing, which made me hungry. I am totally doing a separate write up for the dinner-a restaurant review of sorts. Being in a group full of men meant that I could ask each one of them for their opinion of their meal and know I’d get an honest one. Said one, “It was a bacon cheeseburger. Bacon, cheese, and beef. Of course it was good.”
My point…ok it’s coming.
So I had this ginormous martini and it was delicious. It also made me fall HARD asleep, which meant I woke up at 1 am, and that was irritating, because stuff started rolling around in my head like it does at 1 am and I began questioning every single decision I’d ever made in my entire life and got nervous and paranoid and had Billy Joel songs running through my head. So, I forced myself to think of other things. I sang Henry Purcell songs, and imagined myself in some other situation somewhere else in the world. I worked out exactly the best way to get #4′s kilt on him next week. I deconstructed the rosemary couscous Terry had with his meal. More Purcell. An attempt at Handel and a bit of Bach. Also, I figured out what I’d do with $1million,or $100K, or $10K, or $10.
Then 3 am rolled around and I fell back asleep and had a dream that I was a Jewish nanny in NYC, I had a massive head of curly dark hair and 2 children in my charge. During the evenings I moonlighted as a New Age Motivational Speaker complete with beeswax candles and a guy with a set of bongo drums in the background. I woke up from that at 4 am and felt briefly empowered.
Terry was also awake at 4,and we pondered getting up and going to buy groceries. We would, we reasoned, be back in time to get #4 up and ready for school. Then we mutually groaned at our apparent idea of what was “spontaneous”. I remembered that the timer on the coffee maker had not been reset with the time change, so it thought it was 5, and the coffee would be ready. And we got up. 4 am.
Whatever.
I blame the martini.
Filed under: Dewicate feewings, Dream a little dream, family, I feel so smart!, kids | Tags: Dreams, fashion and sewing, responsible adult, sewing
I have been a housewife for 25 years.
When I was a child, I dreamed of various things. I wanted to be a physician- a neurologist or maybe a psychiatrist, then decided no, the sight of blood made me faint . I wanted to be a fashion designer, then decided no, I didn’t like the culture associated with it. I decided be be a housewife, even when the culture of the time (late 1970′s, early ’80′s) said things like “you’ve come a long way, baby” and “I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan”. I still held on to the dream of working in fashion, because I loved it. I loved taking a plain piece of fabric and making it into something that flatters a person, makes them look interesting and fits them well. I still do.
Every now and then I read a website called Secret Regrets. Often on this site, someone’s regret will be about having allowed their dreams to fall to the wayside. I kind of know the feeling, but I also want to shake them, because they will indicate that their age is something I consider very young- 25 or 30. They seem so full of despair because they think they are stuck where they are and will never be able to dream or pursue a passion ever again. Are you ever too old to do what you really want to do?
I am a housewife. I have 4 children and a husband and a big grubby house and too many pets that shed everywhere. My children are mostly grown, save one who’s 13 and he likes to think he’s grown until he doesn’t, and needs a hug. However, none of them require around-the-clock care and they are all capable of feeding themselves. I want to tell young mothers who fear their dreams have all disappeared into diaper pails and minivans that it is temporary. I know how it felt to set everything aside and tend to the needs of others. I know the frustration and angst of forgetting my own desires and aspirations for the sake of other people. I also know it does not have to be forever.
I used to love to sew. I mean really, really love it. I designed and made one-of-a-kind historically accurate clothing for reenactors. I made square dance outfits for husband and wife dance teams. I even made a square dance wedding dress that went to a national dance. I made my own patterns, worked off drawings and photographs and paintings…I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING and I was very, very good at it.
Then children started happening. And happening, and kept on happening. I loved my kids but there was no time for creating. No one to sew for others because we moved, and moved, and moved. I didn’t resent it, it was the way things were and resentment would just just make me…y’know…resentful. Eventually the babies turned into toddlers and little kids and there was a bit more time for creativity, but no room for sewing. So I cooked, and learned to sculpt small things (which could be done on the dining table, and cleaned up quickly), and garden. Creativity was necessary. The times I was unable to create, I became depressed, sad, and lonely. Terry recognized this and kept me supplied with materials and time (as best he could).
I still wanted to sew, but it was frustrating to go to a fabric store, and wind up spending $50+ on materials to make one blouse I could buy for $15, so that didn’t happen anymore. For many years I didn’t sew at all. It felt like that dream was dead and gone.
Then the kids were (sometimes it seemed suddenly, sometimes it seemed to take forever) grown. Then paying $50 for the stuff to make a blouse was no longer out of the question. I still kind of balk at it, but all it takes is going to the store, even Dillard’s or Belk, where supposedly the Good Stuff is found, and seeing the poor quality of the clothes there, to know that what I make is far, far better and no longer does $50 for a blouse seem ridiculous.
Now. it feels like perhaps a dream is fixing to grow. I have no desire to be a designer. There is no interest inside in having to market a product, hoof it around to stores and hope someone likes it enough to buy it. I don’t want to look for a production facility to make 1000 of them. The logistics of all that do not appeal one single bit.
But…there is a designer. I met him through a friend who is also a designer. My friend makes heirloom children’s clothing and he (the designer) wants her and me to make stuff for him to hoof around to stores and show and take orders. This is kind of exciting.
Now, my typical pessimistic (I call it realistic) self expects that we will make the 3 dresses he wants and that will be the end of it. However, there is potential for more. If he really likes what we do for him, and wants us to continue working for him…where could that go? I have a dream about that (will I get to go to a fashion show and work backstage?), but it’s just a fantasy right now.
The thing is (and I guess this is the point), I am 47 years old, and getting to work on a dream I had 25 years ago, and had to set aside. I thought it was over, packed up in mothballs and forgotten about. However, with the encouragement and cheers of this family I’ve taken care of, the dream seems to be out of mothballs and is hung up in the sunshine to air out and look at. Maybe that is all that will come of it, I don’t know. But there it is.
If I can do it, anyone can.
Filed under: *whinge*, Anger management, Dream a little dream | Tags: bipolar disorder, Dreams, Oversharing
I have disaster dreams when things get hairy in life. And, things have been kind of hairy.
Oh, not in Real Life. Actually as far as the normal living stuff of bills and health and relationships and all that day-to-day living that we all deal with, that’s all been pretty good. No one has died, no one is in jail, no one is fixing to (as far as I can tell, I have to leave wiggle room in there) royally screw up. Which is a very good thing…except that a real life crisis is kind of a great excuse to set aside the self indulgence of an existential or mental one. Who has time for inexplicable anxiety attacks or moodiness when you’re in a hospital with a child or planning your grandfather’s funeral? For some reason, I seem to be at my best when someone else is having a terrible time and needs my help.
Anyway, while the hypomania and concurrent anxiety seem to be winding down (it’s still there, I can feel it like a snake coiled in the pit of my stomach, but it’s more like a little garter snake than a big ol’ water moccasin), I am having those delightful (HA) disaster dreams.
This…
Not this…not anymore.
The last time I had one, there were tornadoes all over the place, but I was able to get everyone into an underground bunker that was well stocked with water and food and beds, even though I know tornadoes are short lived things and all you really need is the safe place, and not the provisions. It’s my dream, if I want board games and a well stocked bar, then I’ll have one.
Last night, though. Ugh. I’m watching too much Falling Skies. In the dream, there were nuclear explosions (too much Battlestar Galactica, too) and I had a farm on the prairie in Colorado, right up near the mountains but not in them. Everyone came to the farm, looking for help. It was so frustrating because I am not a leader, not the type of person who wants to be responsible for all those hand-wringing whiners who complained because “he got more cornbread than I did” and “I don’t like goat milk” and “are these eggs free range?” yet everyone was asking the most inane questions and making the stupidest demands with no regard or consideration for what was expedient or even possible for the group as a whole. And yet, I couldn’t shove them out and lock the gate, because they needed help, and I had the resources. I woke up so ANGRY from that dream. Stupid people!
Then I had a dream where I wanted desperately to take a shower. I’d shampooed my hair in the sink, but didn’t rinse it, so had this head full of lather. The only shower was in the backyard, which also served as a playground for the elementary school next door. It was full of children, who got mouthy when I asked them to leave so I could shower. So I woke up angry from that, too. Kids these days! Bah!
So today, don’t nobody better piss me off, because I’m likely to feed them substandard cornbread with cage-raised eggs. Then chain them to a desk and force them to watch those science movies from the late 1970′s that used that Pat Metheney song for the soundtrack.
Filed under: *whinge*, Anger management | Tags: Being Southern, Coping mechanisms, Dreams, In the Southland, Oh for pete's sake, solving personal problems
Have you ever felt like getting away from it all? I don’t mean taking a vacation to the beach, either. I mean…finding a chunk of land, building a big fence around with and hanging signs on the gate telling everyone you’re an absolute misanthrope and go the hell away. Because there’s dogs and guns and assorted damage causing devices that will be employed if they do not go away.
Mostly, I am ok with people, one at a time. I heard a saying “No one of us is as stupid as all of us.” talking about mob mentality and how a perfectly reasonable person, on their own, is just fine but you get a bunch of people together along with one or two people who know the right words and a whole bunch of shit can get stirred up and suddenly the bunch of people become a mob and immune to reason.
Know what I mean?
This is what makes me go BAH! and throw up my hands, and fantasize about acreage in the boondocks and fences and large dogs and firearms.
I want to handpick my neighbors. I want to become something like a Hutterite, only without the accent and ugly dresses.
It is a fantasy I have entertained since I was a child and had to go to public school, where I could NOT choose who was around me, and didn’t particularly like the people who were. I can envision a community made of people with various talents- medical, agricultural, animal husbandrical (yes, I just made that word up but I’ll bet a dollar you know what it means), all that stuff. Something peaceful, and self sustaining (mostly). It would be located in the SouthEast, where water is plentiful and the growing season is 11-1/2 months long.
I want to be DONE with the frustrating people who think they KNOW so much more than everyone else, and use their charisma and large vocabulary and self-made importance to convince people (who are too damn lazy to do the research themselves) of their homemade agenda, no matter how flawed, because it’s how they get affirmation.
No, I cannot go into details due to legal mess.
Suffice it to say I am frustrated to the point of wanting to…well, you know. Leave.
Filed under: Dewicate feewings, Dream a little dream, family, home and hearth, I feel so smart!, In The Southland, oh you self indulgent hussy!, Sometimes she thinks too much, things that make you go hmmmmm, TMI | Tags: Being Southern, Dreams, Home and hearth, In the Southland, Oversharing, perspective, responsible adult, solving personal problems, Spouse, taboos
Here in the South,which is all I can speak for because it’s where I’ve lived since I was 9, talking about money is In Poor Taste, taboo even. You don’t do it. Well, except for some people,who have such good taste in other ways they can get away with it because it balances out. I am speaking of a friend, who’s Southern Living Magazine House totally gives her a pass to complain about the person who’s late paying her fee (for sewing) and how much she paid for getting her porch painted.
Anyway, we don’t do it here, talk about money. Sometimes I wish we did, because it would help, I think. Perspective and all that. I have a friend who was griping about her income tax bill this April. $37K…the bill, not the income. It helped, because I was griping about $3K. Yes, her husband earns significantly more than mine (which I am not jealous of, because her husband is an obstetrician and has liability issues mine does not)…so it makes sense that he’d pay more in taxes. But that’s a hunk of cash in anyone’s book, I think. “Ouch!” was my response.
I get nervous and sweaty-palmed whenever I need to check the bank account. The honest truth is- I don’t want to know. I want my allowance, I want $20 in my wallet so I can go eat lunch with a friend or stop at the market and buy tomatoes for supper or have an afternoon coffee while buying tomatoes. That’s all I want. Beyond that, it makes me nervous and I get the Southern hand-flapping disorder. I used to manage the household money, and hated it. So now, Terry gives me a grocery budget (the main thing I spend money on), an allowance, and I am very content with that. We have an agreement that anything over $100 that either of us wants to buy, we discuss it with the other one. He has never said no to any request, so it’s not like he’s being an iron-fisted control freak, and it keeps me happy, because if I went out and bought a $300 pair of shoes,and discovered they threw off the budget that month, I’d feel terrible and hate the shoes forever.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen inf someone dropped a million dollars in my lap. Tax-free, of course (this is how you know it is a real fantasy,and not a possibility) What would i do with it? 10% to the church, right off the top. I’d ask them to spend it on the charities supported by our church- the local food bank, and the Presbyterian Children’s Home. Then I’d put $50K in 4 accounts,one for each child. There would be conditions attached, involving schooling and perhaps buying a house or something. That would leave $700K. All our debts would be paid off, ALL of them- house cars, everything. This would give Terry the freedom to get that teaching certificate and teach high school chemistry- something he has dreamed of for a while now. After his schooling is paid for, and we’ve lived off a bit of it while he was in school,I figure there would be about $500K left. 5 acres in the country and the perfect house would leave $250K (no,I do not want a mansion. I want 1800 square feet and a shop building for Terry). A motorcycle and a small Winnebago so we can travel during the summers while school is out, and there we go.
Not that I’ve thought much about it or anything. The real fact is, if someone dropped a million bucks in my lap,1/2 of it would go toward taxes. I’d still give 10% to the church, pay off debts, and set some aside for the kids. Just paying off the debts would huge difference in our disposable income. (oo, nearly crossed the taboo money-talk line!)
What would you do if someone gave you a million tax-free dollars? (or $500K,after taxes?)
Filed under: Dewicate feewings, Dream a little dream, Rest and Relaxation, Sometimes she thinks too much | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Dreams, Oversharing, solving personal problems
I am a lucid dreamer. I can’t do it all the time, but many times, especially with a dream I am enjoying, I will wake up, then be able to pick back up where the dream left off, sometimes for several days in a row.
Sometimes, though, it will just be some goofy dream that I will forget as soon as I wake up.
Last night, I dreamt that I had a horse. He was a solid brown quarter horse (we’d driven by the American Quarter Horse Museum in Amarillo…of course it was in Amarillo. Where else would it be?), and it had a saddle but no bridle. Which was fine, quarter horses are smart and this one would go where he was told. I also had an apricot (kind of a strawberry blonde) Labradoodle. (see previous post) that would ride on the horse with me. We were going to a parade, and passed a driveway that had a large group of children and a couple of teachers, all in those little plastic Barbie cars with the batteries (that kids drive around in cul-de-sacs while their mothers gather at one house and sip sangria…which is what all mothers do, right? Because we don’t have anything better to do than sip sangria because this is totally 1957 or something.) Only, one of the cars held 9 kids- 3 rows of 3 stacked up like stadium seats, or one of those massive strollers that day care centers use. I spoke to the teacher about the parade and rode on.
This is not a dream I will try to pick up on tonight. Maybe the horse and dog part, I will, because that was fun.
I remember other dreams…ones where I woke up feeling very empowered. Often they involve some sort of military battle, and I am a leader.
Oh…and my brain talks to me, too. (can you say it like that, since the brain is part of who you are?) Really, it does.
I have a condition called medication induced nephrogenic diabetes insipidus. It means the medication I took for 15 years (that kept me sane) eventually fried my kidneys, and I had (past tense, more medication and a diet change helped) to pee all the time. ALL THE TIME. Even at night. I’d get up 5 or 6 times…yea…hourly…to use the bathroom. My brain, bless it’s (her?) heart, would insert a bathroom into a dream, to let me know it was Time To Go. Even to the point of putting a port-a-potty on the battlefield. That’s right. Once I was leading a regiment across a battlefield at night, it was something like Waterloo or some other pre-Civil War era thing (based on the uniforms and weapons) and there it was,a royal blue Port-A-Potty, and I yelled “OK WAIT …I’LL BE RIGHT BACK” then woke up enough to use the bathroom (which is not very, I got good at that. even though I broke my toe once because I wasn’t awake enough to notice that the door had shifted 3 inches to the left), then returned to the battle. Which we won, and that was very satisfying.
Dreams occasionally warn that I am having mental issues. Being bipolar, issues happen. Being a control freak (Terry will tell you that I am very emotionally buttoned up, and have real trouble expressing feelings), sometimes the brain will kick in, and give a warning that maybe some unbuttoning is in order. Natural disasters are a common thing in the warning dreams. I used to wonder why, but Terry said he thinks it’s because I despise losing control, and no one can control a tsunami, or a tornado (common dream disasters). In these dreams I lose the things that are most precious- usually family- and I wake up very shaken and unhappy. This requires some heavy-duty analysis of what’s going on in real life. And yes, usually these dreams occur when something heavy-duty is going on. You know, Life Stuff That Happens And I Can’t Control. When the brain does this to the dreams, it gives me the warning that it is time to step back and evaluate, maybe do some repositioning of opinion or outlook, or maybe simply find a way to CHILL THE HELL OUT. Easier said than done…
So anyway, the horse and the labradoodle…I hope I can use them again. Neither one talked or did anything one doesn’t expect an animal to do (except perhaps for the horse being perfectly OK with a dog riding it’s back, but even that isn’t totally out of the question), so it would be fun to put that in my stable (haw! *snort*) of dream themes to call on when the brain is bored at 2am and wants something other than flying grocery carts (yes…I had one of those…I was 12) or suspicious cakes that say “eat me”.
Ok I had this dream last night. It wasn’t the least bit disturbing, in fact was somewhat entertaining but with annoying elements.
I was on top of a a plateau, like a butte sort of thing with steep cliffs on 3 sides and a smooth grassy slope on the 4th side. I was sitting at a small folding table, like the one I had as a child, and on the table was a plate full of piping hot biscuits and cornbread muffins. I have a big lump of butter and was buttering up those biscuits and cornbread, excited to have something delicious for a snack!
Then a helicopter flies overhead! And another one! One of them is a gunship, all bristling and mean looking. It lands first and a bunch of soldiers dressed in blue uniforms with white helmets and (??) white guns jump out and establish a perimeter while the second helicopter that looks like the one the President flies in lands inside the perimeter. One of the soldiers walks over to me while I am buttering a cornbread muffin and tells me I have to leave.
“But my muffins! My biscuits! They’re hot and the butter is melting and I am hungry!” I cry.
“I am sorry, ma’am, but you have to leave right now.”
I am not happy because all along I thought this was MY butte and my house is right there at the bottom of the slope and how DARE they interrupt my snack!
But I leave anyway, grumping the entire time. I do not know why I didn’t take the plate of muffins and biscuits with me, but I left them on the table and went to my little house.
When I got there, I noticed my vegetable garden needed weeding and the white picket gate was hanging a little crooked.
Then a Senator (I don’t know which one, they’re all the same anyway) arrived, with a cadre of the blue uniformed soldiers, and we had a chat about organic gardening. Then he left.
I decided to get my biscuits and muffins anyway, even if i had to be sneaky about it. So I put harnesses on my 4 dogs (Sally, a rat terrier we had for about 2 weeks in 1993; Lucy, a pointer we had for 10 years from 1994 to 2004, when she died of old age; a golden lab we’ve never had, and a cocker spaniel we’ve also never had) and I went to the cliff side of the butte and started climbing, straight up that cliff with the dogs scrabbling along behind me. Sally the rat terrier climbed over my head and reached the top first. Then the golden lab retriever pushed me from behind. Lucy tried, but was too old to make it and I told her to wait at the bottom, likewise the cocker spaniel.
We were very near my table of snacks, and I was hopeful that they were still warm. Sally the terrier bounced over to the soldiers and distracted them while I ate a muffin and gave the golden lab a biscuit. They were indeed still warm! The soldiers came over and told me I had to go back down the way I came up, and I said I would leave as soon as I was finished with my muffin.
Then I woke up.
Here’s what I think about this dream:
I love buttered bread. Buttered bread is bad for me, especially when I’d like to lose 50 pounds.
The butte/plateau represent my life, and the comfortable place I am in right now.
The helicopters and soldiers represents The Food Police, or perhaps my subconcious, which is trying to tell me to put the biscuit DOWN.
The Senator is my brain making up an excuse (other than biscuits) for there to be a helicopter.
The weedy garden and crooked gate are the aspects of my life that could use some improving.
The climb up the cliff is my selfish side, that is resenting being told what to do (PUT DOWN THE BISCUIT) and will go to any lengths to do what I damn well please.
Lucy(the pointer) was an extremely sweet tempered dog, and she shows up in my dreams frequently. It is comforting to see her there, as if she’s telling me she’s doing great.
I don’t know why Sally (the terrier) was there. Usually when a dog is in my dreams it’s either Lucy or Rosy (the wee dachshund we had to put down a couple of years ago. I still tear up when I think of her.)
