flying far

A news program showing an unusual bird as viewed from a airplane. Looks like the Screaming Eagle of cliche, at first. Then as the lens zooms in, it changed form. Well, no, the form becomes more clear. The face changes to first Sherman and then Mr.,Peabody of Fractured Fairy Tale fame, before going back to being a bird -- a seagull to be exact.
The news anchor goes on and on about a common gull looking like a legendary eagle, and asks viewers what they think of the story/transformation.
So I start writing on a sleeping Rex about seeing Sherman and Mr. Peabody, but try as I might, I can't get the complete thought written on his body. When I finally do try to snap a picture I don't like how messy it is and decide not to submit it. Because it's too long and too messy.
Rex agrees.


Am in a store/mall/somewhere, talking to someone about the difficulties in finding a place. A young woman at the customer service counter -- a customer -- finishes her discussion with another customer and leaves. The other customer is Phyllis Walls. She sees me, says hello, and then starts telling me about Faith, the young woman who just left her, and how the other people she was rooming with (I got the impression of college students, but couldn't say why.) had all up and decided to move out on her.

The house she was living in was a somehow deluxe version of our Decatur house, transported to wherever-we-were. With a grand staircase curving into the foyer.

Tammy and I went to see about taking the place of the vanishing roommates and there met a woman with a dark haired little girl who seemed to be moving in but turned out was really working on moving out. I said something about how pretty the girl was.

I could have a room downstairs and Tammy's family could have two rooms upstairs if they were willing to pay for two rooms and kitchen and living rooms were common areas. I tried to start a discussion about house rules, especially for the kitchen. but never succeeded.

Watching (all the) Children

For some reason, I had to take my friend (I'll call her Amy, since that's a couple of her initials) go Kroger's, so she came over to my house with four of her six kids. While I was getting ready, I walked back into my bedroom and caught one of the boys going through my dresser drawers. The boy was @10, chubby, dark hair, round face, laughing eyes. He looked like none of her actual children. He also had her husband's first name. 
Eventually, we got sorted out and off to the store we went, where we met her mother, who I used to work with. Mom had Amy's new van and we were meeting her there so Amy could get it back.
We loaded groceries into the van and children into car seats, and I followed them home.

I played with the baby and other children (not the husband namesake) while they unloaded the groceries.
Mom said something to me about having done Amy this favor, because taking that many children that young anywhere was no casual chore. But I had the space and the car seats, so it was no big deal to me. "Besides", I said, "I finally get to play with Little Miss here, who I haven't even got to meet before now, but love her anyway."  {TRUTH}

Anyway, visiting, talking, playing with babies and chasing down young'uns.

Then, something with kitchen matches. Three or four inch wooden matchsticks with the red sulfur tips, Don't remember what; don't remember why. One of the boys had kitchen matches. They -- HE -- was NOT playing with the matches, they weren't being lit, or anything. They were just there.


Somehow the matches seem the most significant to me. The rest of the dream was a story lading up to the revelation of the matches. My first thought was about redheads, but that doesn't seem to fit. Hothead might, some of those sisters (Amy's sisters) can be hot headed at times,because they are caring, passionate people,  but I don't know why I would dream about that/them.
Second thought was fire and/or fire starting. I even thought of mentioning something to her about boys and matches. But there really wasn't anything pyromanic or pyromatic about the matches or their existence. Not to mention how awkward the conversation would be.

Final thought, and the one ringing with truth, is that they were kitchen matches, meant for cooking and warming the home, and the heat of passion, and metaphors of that nature. Amy and her husband just recently married, and they've already been through the fire (see, there's another one)

I do believe the dream expresses my optimism for her and their life/lives. Not that it's particularly my business, but if I can feel happy for someone -- anyone -- why shouldn't I?

Besides, in my dream, I got to play with a very special Little Miss.

Jeanie, Blurred Vision, and New Hope.

Was driving Jeanie from Georgetown to Mt Orab, and my vision kept blurring, like when the floaters are bad. Usually this happens in bright sunny days, but in the dream it was a gray and rainy day. I finally pulled over and got out of the car to clear my vision. Tammy was in passenger front seat, Jeanie in back.

We were all yakking away.

We began driving past the little roads that lead into New Hope, and I said something to Jeanie about really wishing we could just walk around and explore what's left of the town. It's where Mamma was borned and raised, after all. Mamma and her million and a half brothers. And her dad and stepmother. They all lived there somewhere. I've driven through a couple of times, and there's a vibe to the town. Archaic; old; mystic; intriguing and a little scary/intimidating. There's a church or two (maybe a once-a-church and a current one.)

It's a tiny little town sitting up on a hill above White Oak Creek and/or Sterling Run. It looks self contained, which adds to its mystique.

Jean agreed, without a great deal of enthusiasm, that it would be a good place to explore.
Someday.

As we came around the bend, it suddenly poured down the rain so hard I couldn't see, and had to stop.
But even after the rain eased off, I still couldn't see. My vision was somehow waterlogged. I had to get out of the car again and after a bit my vision cleared, so I got back in the car and started driving again.

But as soon as I started driving again, my vision went. Sort of like the horizon sinking beneath my field of vision.
This happened a couple of times, until I finally pulled off into the main road from 68 into New Hope. I just stopped the car, put it in park, and said something about being here now.


limited vision, new hope, being forced to stop driving. all somewhat obvious as metaphors perhaps. Just to note, I did drive through that area -- veeeerrrrrry slowly and carefully -- due to heavy rain, not many days before the dream. There was a Jeanie/genealogy experience shortly before that.  
Since this dream, my car is acting up big time and having transmission problems. (Also an obvious metaphor, if I had known it was coming to that)

Was I dreaming of a return to the bucolic past?
Am I advising myself to give up control? To let someone else do the driving? (Who?)
Am I looking forward with limited and fuzzy vision?
Am I looking clear-eyed at the legendary past?

Do I just want my Mamma?

Help Emelyse And Her Family

It's a Story

What a convoluted dream, but a fantastic story. If only I could remember the details!

There are three boys, mid teens. A normal guy, a rich guy, and a weirdo who lives in the woods. (The cast of nearly every YA, right?)
There are two or three females, one girl for sure, and a woman, in the story, and a couple from outside the story. (My mother and Hazel's mother)

The normal guy is named Nick. One of the other two is Carson or Dawson.
The girl is mostly nameless, but has some synchronicity with Crystal, especially in the latter version (the rewrite.)

The basic story: The three fellows are reunited -- they were boy scouts together, or something like that. They are adventuring for the purpose of some 'defense'  of the girl. The girl is connected to Nick -- sometimes romantically, sometimes as a relative. You know how dreams are. The girl is pregnant, although it is unclear who the father is. One of the guys? Maybe. An outsider? Maybe. Depends on the version of the story.

In the dream, I wrote the story.
I was interrupted by my mother before the tale was told. She had all these 'suggestions' to make it better.

The weather changed and the sun came out, bathing my desk by the big window in golden sunlight.
Hazel's mom came in, telling me the story needed finished, and it needed this that and something else included. Also I needed to get it written NOW.
So she would know what to do next.

So I began the rewrite, adding in detailed conversations and telephone calls.
The girl has/had a sister in a coma. In a bedroom in the rich boy's house. His mother was taking care of her. (When she was in the story)

The coma sister dies, throwing them all into chaos.

Nick, in his scout uniform, is looking in the mirror, thinking of calling Carson/Dawson and getting his help. But C/D is off in his treehouse.

Girl is dressed up like pretty pretty princess and is looking into her mirror. (at rich house. she must be sister/kin to rich boy) She is thinking of Dawson, wanting to call him from his stronghold. He can help her, she thinks, find the answers she is looking for.
She has just discovered she is pregnant. No one knows this yet but her.

I am so tired. I have been writing for hours and hours.
But the sun is still shining on the desk through the window, and one mother or the other is insisting they need to know what is next. She needs to know what to do.

She needs to know the end of the story.

So I write again.
This time the chapters are about the boys, about calling Carson. Carson is unimpressed by all the drama, and patently uninterested in the girl's dilemma. He is on the phone, and agrees, reluctantly, to come out of his forested retreat.
He will get everything back in order.
He will reorganize their lives
He will keep his privacy yet remain their friend.

Nick, in an older uniform (army, navy, something) is looking in the mirror, thinking of his friend's help.
Girl, dressed formally, is looking in her mirror, thinking thankfully of Dawson's timely help, at that time.
Rich guy is looking in a mirror that reflects an empty room in an empty house.
Dawson is sitting on a log, by a campfire, reading a book at twilight as birds twitter their good nights, and nocturnal eyes begin to reflect in the firelight.

I am exhausted. I am too tired to write another word.
But she still insists that I finish the story. That she needs the answers.
Because she needs to know what to do about her pregnant daughter.

I am too tired to think of any more answers.
Too tired to know any more story.
Too tired to write.
Too tired to care.

There is a lot of 'reflection' in this dream. mirrors, parallels, Nick's is a reflection of self. Girl's is a reflection of the good someone else did. Dawson is a reflection of nature. 
The fatigue at writing is real for me for now, and the energy from it also 'reflects' what does happen. 
Not sure of all the pressures from the moms to do more write it better and not being able to stop short of collapse. Interesting pair of moms, though.

Pricklywood, Good Friends, Happy Ending

A serial dream (a chapter book dream?)

Branches.heavy gnarled branches knocked down by a storm, on the ground in a field next to my yard. They were a specific kind of branches with a specific name, which I can't remember right now. Stickerwood or Pricklywood, or something like that. The branches were huge, but curled and twisted into bizarre shapes.

However, I thought they could be put together, somehow, to make a snug cozy shelter house. But they were really too heavy for me to work with. I dragged a dozen or so to the center of the field. But I couldn't figure out how to build with the pricklywood, because of the spirals at the ends of the branches.

The branches seen from a distance are black and barky, but up close the wood (the inner wood)  has a rich reddish gleam like redwood or mahogany. However the plan was to leave the bark on, so the shelter (house) would look like a wind blown pile of tree limbs.

Rex thought I was crazy, but other than helping me put the limbs in straight lines (such as they were), he left me alone with the project.

The property, after all, was mine. It had been given to me by my friend Linda, a Canadian writer. Not sure how/why she acquired it or how it was passed on  to me. An inheritance was involved somehow.

And a husband.  (Don't ask me. In the dream I knew the back story; awake I don't.)

And the dream moved into the house. It gets very confusing there. Its a big house, all spacey and hardwood floors and painted wainscoted walls and a wide carpeted stairway that descends to an entryway by the front door.  There's something in this part about a woman named Melissa (who was me) and a preacher husband. Who was my husband, but not Rex or anyone I recognized or knew.)

Something to do with adding on a two room study to the side of the house that looks across the field into the woods. But we couldn't have people in to show it off because the place was shamefully embarrassingly infested.

So, I got very aggressive in treating the infestation and ended it. I showed my husband (the stranger) and he was pleased and proud and happy that he could now show off his addition. As soon as we cleaned up all the evidence of the infestation)

We cleaned it up together, and invited people in.

I entertained my friends on the deck and he in the study.
Someone (Linda??) asked about the infestation and how I had handled it. Something came up about a water system alongside of the cellar of the house and Ronn asked to see it,.
I showed him where I had reconnected and turned on a certain stream/waterflow, and he commented that that had seemed to solve the problem.

I immediately got huffy and told him that it was all his fault to start with because he had told me that there was no stream/flow there, it was just a relic of an older system or maybe an overflow trench of some sort. He said he could see now that he had been wrong.

We all went back out on the deck and were looking across the field/yard (possibly the deck was the 2nd room of the add-on?) at the lined-up Pricklywood. We began a spirited discussion of the way to stack/build/integrate them into a shelter home.

 

The closing scene was a friendly  gathering of friends and fellow writers talking and laughing and plotting and planning, while the Rest Of Life is going on inside in a clean (in every sense) and beautiful home.