Sunnier scenes

I thought I'd better lighten things up a bit, since my last post was so darned dark.

I bring you "After the Baling," an original painting by Mel. If I could step right into it, I would. I sort of did step in, in my mind at least, while I was working on it. I created this from a photo my husband took while visiting a nearby farm last summer. Can't you just smell that wonderful hay? (Allergy sufferers, can't you just feel your sinuses contracting and rebelling?)

This one's for sale in my Etsy shop. Thankfully, there is real sunshine today, as well as imagined. Enjoy it.

One man's nightmare is another man's reality

I've been having more bad dreams recently. It happens mostly when I'm awakened an hour or so before my usual rising time, during the fitful sleep that comes after premature wake-up/before real wake-up. That half-awake state must breed strange, troubled thoughts. And why do I keep waking up prior to the genuine wake-up? Well, I might have touched on one canine reason here. It also does not help that stupid, rule-breaking *@!?*&# Verizon borders our backyard and sometimes decides to off-load trucks around 5am. Plus there's our neighbor down the street who owns a car repair shop and has a nasty habit of "un-muffling" antique trucks and then switching around the business's classic-car license plates so he can take turns driving all of said trucks to and from the repair shop and home again. (He gets up at the crack of dawn—did I mention that?!)

Oh my, I'd better change the subject or you might think that all these factors cause me stress. How silly! Of course I love all my neighbors. Just like you do. Right?

Anyway. Bad dreams. The one that's sticking in my head most was from several nights ago. In that fitful, almost daylight hour of trying to fall back to sleep, my semi-conscious mind took me to work in a high-rise building downtown. There had been terror threats recently, and we were all gathered in a large room for a meeting, and the woman in charge was explaining there was nothing to worry about. And then, in my dream, the building lurched and the woman nearly lost her balance. We all did. It was a big lurch, as if something had exploded below us.

At that point the dream became rather unrealistic—because amidst the screams and shouts, the whole room tilted, as if the building had been struck with such force that the top of it had been knocked off. I could feel the entire room falling sideways; it was like we were in the top of one of my son's Lego structures that had been hit from the side until the upper portion flew off and landed on the ground. Except in my dream, we were falling in what felt like slow motion; we all had far too much time to process what was happening. Also, strangely (because it was a dream), no one had been knocked of his feet even though the entire room was tilted on its side and we were hurtling toward the ground below. That was handy, because since we were falling in slow-mo, and since miraculously none of us had fallen down, I had sufficient time to remember that I should make arrangements for someone else to meet my son's bus. I was preparing to dial my cell phone in the dream when I woke up.

I was very relieved to wake up. Albeit completely unrepresentative of the conscious laws of physics, the dream was disturbing. Mostly, it disturbed me because in my dream, I had not known whom to call. Now, in reality, I do know whom to call. We have a couple of options, neighbors and various relatives. Still, the whole thing got me thinking: What if I have a heart attack during the day? What if I'm involved in a bad car accident while my son's in school? What if I'm at a temp job downtown and a crazy person does a terrible thing to a building there? My building?

I know we don't like to think about this stuff. But it happens. A lady at my church lost her husband, younger than I am, because he suffered a brain aneurysm at home while caring for their children. The little kids sat next to his unconscious body for over an hour before anyone checked on them...and even then, people only checked because the wife had a weird feeling while at work. One of my son's schoolmates became father-less last year because the fellow fell from a building he was working on. Horrible as it is to consider, I am certain that there were at least a few kids waiting for a parent after the 9/11 tragedy. There had to be at least a handful of situations where the child was left without a back-up plan for a couple of hours or so. Don't you think? When that many people vanish in our busy and over-committed world, the ripples go out a long ways and affect many people.

It's scary. It gives me nightmares (literally). I can tell my child whom to find in an emergency, how to call 911—I can write down crucial information and stow it in back-packs, in wallets. But if he leaves the pack at school? No help. If I'm in a fiery crash and my purse and phone burn up? My careful preparations are ashes.

The whole thing gives me the heebie-jeebies and makes me short of breath. I guess I'll just have to make whatever plans I can, and pray that God protects my loved ones. (Would it be wrong to pray that the stupid pre-dawn disruptions cease, so I don't wake up, then try to sleep once more and have nightmares instead?)

Dream, dream dream dream

(Thanks to Chris H for causing me to ponder this subject.)

I don’t dream very often. Or, since every dream expert out there insists that we’re always dreaming while in deep sleep states, I suppose I should say that upon waking, I usually don’t recall my dreams. I don’t care, really—the dreams that I do remember are often unhappy ones. It’s sort of like my early childhood memories—the very earliest all center around injuries (that’s a subject for another blog post); similarly, the dreams that stick the most are the ones that frighten and occasionally disturb me.

You could look at a dream diary, if I kept one, and by many of the scary dream entries you’d be able to gauge pretty closely what was going on in my life. Not all—some of the dreams are just bizarre repeats—but some of them offer clues to my concerns at the time.

In childhood, I usually dreamed nonsensical stuff, probably trying to sort through all the strange, new thoughts and experiences one has a kid—except when I was sick. Then, I always dreamed the same odd thing: I was standing in a huge room, like a monstrous gymnasium, and it was completely empty except for me. And then, I’d become aware—not through any typical means like hearing footsteps or a door open or close, just through some innate sense—that there was someone else in the room. And then I’d see her; a tall woman, nondescript because she was so far away, standing all the way across the room on the opposite side. And she was just standing there, looking over at me. She wasn’t approaching me, or speaking, or gesticulating, or anything…just standing there. And I was always terrified. Why? What could be so frightening about that? But it was. I haven’t dreamed about that woman for many years now, and I don’t miss her.

No particular school-age dreams come to mind; I figure they were predictable and forgettable, the sorts of dreams you’d expect to spring from an immature, self-absorbed mind such as mine. My college dreams weren’t very memorable either, although that was the first time I lived alone, and I recall one repeat nightmare from that time span: I dreamt that I heard someone fumbling with the doorknob on my apartment, and when I went to see who it was, a rough-looking character I didn’t recognize was trying to force the lock. He asked if he could come in, and when I said no, he smiled evilly at me through the door’s window—and then punched through the glass, reached in, and admitted himself. That’s usually where I would wake up, heart thumping, gasping for breath, kicking myself once alert because the me in my dream had behaved like such a born victim, helpless, frozen, utterly astounded at his audacity. That dream came back again and again, on and off, depending on how safe I felt in my rented dwelling.

Once I began teaching school, that became the bad dream of the day—and the dream did not go away as years of teaching experience mounted under my belt. In every episode, my classroom was absolutely out of control, kids were running everywhere, screaming, talking, and not a soul was paying one whit of attention to me. That was mostly an annoying dream, not a nightmare, and thank God my real classroom never looked so chaotic (not quite…!) But it did leave me with a heavy, defeated feeling—especially when waking necessitated preparations for a day of school.

Working in an office caused the dreams to shift to “I didn’t get my project done and the client is coming!” scenarios. They had the same kind of theme as the teaching nightmares, but with a slightly different flavor of panic. I’m sure you can imagine them, my rushing to complete work, the resulting stammering conversations with my boss, the livid client, all in my own head, of course. But they certainly felt real.

A few times while pregnant, I dreamed I had the baby. I never knew the baby's sex, though, never even took a stab at guessing in my unconscious state. And I don’t consider those dreams to be nightmares, really—especially not in comparison to the reality of giving birth. (Don’t worry; that’s a post you’ll never see.)

And now, early yesterday morning, the dream that woke me with a start, heart pounding? What was it, you ask? I couldn’t find my little boy. In the dream, Todd was driving and made the decision to stop by at a picnic or party or something that we knew was going on. It was night, there were lots of people, I didn’t know most of them, and we all got separated. And I was running from group to group, first saying, “Marcus?” And then, when I didn’t find him, shouting frantically, “Marcus! Marcus, where are you?” When I did finally find him, a stranger called back to me, “He’s fine, he’s over here.” And I was so flooded with absolute relief. And frustration with myself that I’d allowed him out of my sight for even a second. Then, I was suddenly in the present, still feeling the physical effects of the absolute terror the dream had caused. And it was all better, for that moment at least; I listened carefully and I could hear my son breathing his nasally little breaths in the next room. He was safe.

I've dreamed of losing my child several times already; I’m sad to tell you that I suspect I’ll be having this nightmare for a long, long time. And it is, by far, the most frightening of all.

My dream—adjusted

So my dream has always been to move out west. The real west, Big Sky country, with Rockies in the background of every vista, small cabins crouching at the feet of big mountains, huge sunsets, and—most important of all—sooooo much space. Vast expanses of emptiness. Just me, perhaps a handful of loved ones, and lots and lots of room. Even my localized versions of the dream share that spaciousness. I picture ten or twenty acres with my house squarely in the middle of the acreage. A tractor is a must, maybe a horse, plenty of access to free firewood for the fireplace or wood burner, a garden in the summer… but neighbors? Not a must. I think I could do all right without them.

And please don’t misunderstand; we have great neighbors. They’re kind people, they’re thoughtful, they watch out for each other, are generally fond of our son and the other kids in the area, most of them drive slowly, and by and large they’re considerate about noise or mess. I honestly think we’re blessed to have such neighbors. But neighbors aren’t a must. I could probably do okay without them. I guess I’m a bit of a loner; I’ve never had much trouble entertaining myself.

Here’s the problem: our church is very much in support of living in community with one another. For real. As in, doing helpful things for each other, taking meals to people who need help, offering to run errands, opening our homes to each other, etc. And it’s a biblical concept. Over and over, our pastor (whom we both really like and respect—Todd may even love him) has pointed out clear, inarguable Bible scripture that dictates we genuinely care about and help each other, especially other believers in Christ. The whole concept of the church is that it’s a familial community that shares everything. The second greatest commandment? Love your neighbor as yourself. I can’t find any loopholes there. I’ve looked. I’m really supposed to love my neighbor. Love him.

And who’s your neighbor? Everyone around you—not just on your street, but around you all during the day. The annoying negative braggart at work, the lunkhead down the street who starts his Harley at 6:00 AM, the needy sort-of friend who always requires a ride or favor or money, maybe a family member who’s making you a bit batty. All of them. We’re to love them.

And how does this all fit into my dream of moving west and living among wild animals, perhaps some livestock, and lots of aspen trees? I don’t think they’d count as neighbors. So, that’s a bit of a situation. I can’t see how I can love my neighbors if I’m living the glorious, quiet, uncomplicated life of a hermit. I can’t be a good community member if I refuse to join the community. I can’t perceive the needs of all my neighbors if I don’t know them, spend time with them, let them into my world.

The toughest part is that I’m genuinely beginning to see how I, too, benefit from my community. Overall, I’m better with them than I am without. I am reminded of this nearly every day, when I talk to a friend on the phone, email a gal pal from Bible study, look forward to choir practice so I can see how everyone’s doing, etc. These exchanges make my days more enjoyable, cause me to count my blessings instead of cursing my bad luck. Watching others who exhibit grace every day, even in hardships, causes me to try harder, to work toward a better version of me. And helping others? The fact that we are able to do so at all is a reminder in itself of how much I’ve been given—given to share, that is.

Slowly, surely, it’s beginning to feel good to share. I still fight it sometimes—I’m human—but I know that the more I do it, the easier it will become. And the more I do it, the more I’ll find goodwill in my heart instead of bitterness and isolation.

So, I’m working on an adjusted version of the dream. I’ll get back to you with details as they emerge.

P.S. No, I can't claim credit for the photo--someone named Punit Sinha took it. I am borrowing it, since we didn't have a digital camera when we were honeymooning out west.