Mary Christmas

I dreamed about visiting Mary, and she wanted to make out Christmas cards with me. She had some cards exactly like some I had, trees made with the words 'happy holidays' spelled out in green leaves, holly, I think) Her idea was to not send the same card to the same people. 

I was trying to hook up phones and computers and other tech stuff, and she became upset when I wasn't paying attention.
But I kept trying to get everything hooked up, and while I was doing that she went ahead and decorated for the holiday.
I had to hook up the phone because it didn't ring when my dad answered it (He just looked down and it was lit, so he answered) but it wasn't ringing because it wasn't connected to the main brain computer. Everything had to go through it. 

There was a lot of time and attention to connecting the woolly (They were like huge hair balls, all coiled in on themselves.Maybe old landline coiled phone cords) wires ? that would make that connection, which involved me slowing down and taking my time and really looking at the connections. (They looked like the test strips for my Onetouch glucometer) and once I discovered that I could get the connections fitted together.

Then Mary was wanting to know what to do with the icicles, since they were mine, because she didn't want to put them around the fireplace (!?!) again this year, and while I was working I kept making different suggestions. Around the front door (of our Decatur house) was one of the pop-up suggestions that she considered. Around the windows from inside the house was another. A third option was attaching them to the wall and making a frame for her little (@4ft) white LED lighted christmas tree along the edge of the little niche it was in.
We were also watching Murder She Wrote. (That part makes sense, because that's what I had on the tv as I went to sleep.)

Running. June 19, 2025

 I, as I am today (fat, breathless, with limited mobility, in both action and duration) was in Burke Park, here in my hometown -- where I grew up and to where I have returned. 

There was some type of family gathering, of a sort, but not an event. May have even been coincidental. As I came around the curve at the bottom of the hill from the tennis courts, I spotted Rita and Jeanie and others. Not sure of all -- Chip and David were spotted, and David's grandkids, and several others, nieces and nephews, and maybe some cousins. 

I waved at my sisters and they waved back.

I had got to where the sidewalk goes up to the old school (I remember when that was the new school!)

I was inspired and I started jogging up that sidewalk. Jogging, and then I even managed to burst into an actual run, then I was at the top. 

The former playground spread before me. The school building, with that odd corner thing, was to my right. The area was paved -- old pavement, but well kept. Crumbling edges, but the edges had been weed-whipped.

In the exact middle of this area was a concrete slab where the monkey bars, slide, and swings had been when I attended. The merry-go-round (if there was one then; I don't remember) had been a distance from the others. The slab where those things had stood looked the same, except there were round places where the poles that rooted the equipment had been. Not holes -- the holes had long ago been filled in with newer concrete. If there had ever been a layer smoothed over it all to make it even, that layer had worn away except where the holes had been.

The concrete pad was a clear rectangle of shape and I decided to run the perimeter of that before finishing my lap around the playground and back down to the park where there was paved roadway that I have never in my life seen used. The park end has always been blocked by pillars. (I'm not telling you how long that's been -- it's a ridiculous amount of time. If you know me, you know enough.)

I trotted/jogged around the rectangle, but didn't go down the closed roadway. My amazed family was all coming from the park up beside the shelter house, and where the caretaker's house had been before it wasn't. 

So, we met in the road that winds between the school buildings and the baseball park.

"Did you see me? I ran! I was running!"  I wasn't even breathless, and oh, that brief run had been fantabulous! It has been so long! Even the jog-trot had been exhilarating, but OH, that RUN!

They were all cheering and congratulating me and wishing they could get that lucky, and we all -- well, all who had come from the park -- started walking from Fossyl Drive to South Street while a bunch of us chattered away, talking over one another, about how I had been running; actually running, and I described how it had felt.

***********************

When we got home and was telling our mother about it, she told us she had once dropped "some things" into those pole holes before they filled them in. And that was that.

Rita and I were trying to figure out how to dig them up or out, because we were curious as to what the items were and when she had buried them in the playground graves. 

We couldn't ask her, because she wasn't there to ask or answer. She's been dead for more than one decade. 

bare bones (April 13, 2025)

Lot of craziness here: food, bones (what is with the bones?) pregnancy, incision hole, blood, holding in, ambulances, female news reporter (yeah, some significance to that but I don't know what) , my mother,
don't remember any weather

This dream had the foundation for one helluva political thriller, if I could remember enough of it to write it out. And if that was something I wanted to write.

Food was in the first part; not sure of specific involvement. I'd had surgery and was in bed. I had pain in one specific location -- just under lower right side ribs. Nobody believed me that it hurt "that bad" and insisted it was something I ate and I'd have to wait it out. For me to quit being a big baby.
And then they -- mainly my mother -- left me alone. I dozed off and on for who knows how long but that pain in my side was pulsing stronger and kept waking me up.

Finally I lifted my shirt, and there was an incision there and the very top was unraveling and I could see bits of white splinters poking out, so I was trying to coax them out with my fingers, using a very light touch. They were very wet and slimy.
The reason it was so difficult to get the pieces out was because there was a bunch of them hooked together as a unit.
They were a miniature torso skeleton. Bare bones; very small and very white. about the length of my thumb and half as wide.
When I moved them out of the way, the wound started bleeding.
I stuffed the bones back in and put the palm of my hand on the hole and pressed down to keep it in there, because it would die outside. I needed to keep it in, and protect it,possibly from leaking.
And I became hysterical.
Eventually I was screaming about my baby, my baby, and yelling at my mother to do something; I needed help, etc etc.
She called an ambulance and brought me some ~cloth~ to put between my hand and the hole, but every time I tried to lift my hand , the little bones would pop up to the top of the bloody wound and I'd clamp down without the cloth and force them down deeper inside me
Throughout the whole rest of the dream, am holding my hand, palm down, over the bloody hole, with the lil bones bobbing around every now and then. My hand stayed clamped down on that one spot, except for a couple peeks to see if it was getting any better or any worse. Didn't see the bones again, but knew they were there.

The ambulance took me to a couple hospitals, and at the last one is where the reporter appeared. (Maybe she was listening to dispatch?) The ambulance told her they couldn't get any hospital tp even look at me, and she called a different ambulance that came and picked me up from the first ambulance at, I think, the third hospital that rejected me. She climbed in the back with me as they headed out and was helping me, clicking her tongue at the bloody hole where I just needed stitched back up to keep everything contained and make the bleeding stop. She helped apply pressure, and we were traveling down the road; round and round and round it goes. Where it will stop no one knows.
But it's going to be one HELL of a story! For the reporter.