Zane and I are walking through a very busy warehouse type of place with machinery and gears moving and people hurrying everywhere. We know we're in a hurry. We stand before 3 elevators and are told to pick one. We go with elevator #1 (yes, this was a dream right after watching "Let's Make a Deal.") As we get in, we feel like we've made the "right" decision. The doors open and there stands a dark haired Michael Caine. He is there to award us our prize (kinda Willy-Wonka-esque) and starts to walk and bids us to follow. Zane and I are SO excited but trying to be cool.
We're outside and walking along dirt paths. Zane and Mr. Caine walk ahead as I get distracted by a group of gypsys. One was giving me a hard time about winning the BIG contest so I offered to give him my lucky socks. I took them off and gave them to him - then I have him one shoe because I noticed he had a prosthetic foot (????) Then I decided I wanted the shoe back and they got mad at me. I hurried and grabbed my shoe, then noticed that they had my mountain bike! (Zane saved up and bought me this a couple years ago.) "And I'm taking the bike too!" The lead gypsy looked at me and said coldly, "The bike stays." I just stare back at him, get on the bike and take off.
I rode through bright yellow fields of wheat toward a barn on the blue horizon. I guess I had been talking to the gypsys too long because Mr. Caine and Zane were out looking for me in a dune buggy. I met them at the barn where Mr. Caine was finally able to explain our prize. He looked out over the fields of golden plumes and said, "All of this is yours! I have no one else to give it to..." I started thinking about all the work that would go in to tending the farm, and how far we were from friends and family. I got MAD. "You call this a prize??? This is a prison!! You just want someone to work your farm! This is LAME!" I stomp to the other side of the barn and a beautiful black horse comes galloping towards me. I get excited thinking this is going to be a new friend - No - the horse doesn't stop and butts me in to the air, and then kicks me around a few times. I'm on the ground looking up at him as he rears up to crush me one final time and he turns into a bald eagle - letting out a HUGE shriek...
Then my cell phone wakes me up. I answer Zane's call with: "I was going to name her Black Beauty!" Zane says that wasn't very original...
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Gold Medal
The dream began with me crossing the finish line of a beautiful indoor track - the enormous crowd cheering from the stands - flashbulbs punctuating the air. A gold medal was placed around my neck. I had just won an OLYMPIC MARATHON!! (In running spikes no less.) I look to my left and see that my friend Emily has won the silver medal. (Emily is an avid runner... no, a crazy runner...she's on a team...a TEAM!) Then the guilt struck me. I'm sure Emily wanted the gold medal more than I did. I'd never run a marathon before and just plodded my way through whereas she's been training her whole life for this. My bad - sorry Emily for winning the gold medal of your dreams.
Next I'm leaving the arena, still very aware of the medal around my neck and hoping others will notice it. I'm switching shoes like Mr. Rogers into some more comfortable Vans. Then I see a woman in a wheelchair about to approach some stairs. She needs help. Emily and I go to her (only Emily isn't Emily anymore...she's my friend Stephanie). We approach the woman and realize it's none other than GLORIA ESTEFAN! Of course! She explains that she's got a broken ankle ('guess she won't be doin the "conga" any longa) and needs help down the steps to her car. Stephanie grabs the foot rest of the wheelchair and tells me to grab the back and we'll lift her (I was a little intimidated and impressed with Stephanies effortless strength...had she been working out?). I go with the plan though I was just going to slowly help the chair down each stair. Once we get her situated in the driver's seat, I decide to snoop around the back of her Rav-4. There is a kid's booster seat, McDonald's fries everywhere, and the back window is painted in a Star Wars theme. I was kind of surprised that this was how G.E. rolled.
Afterthat - the dream turned into a montage of bad roommate situations, trying to figure out sleeping arrangements, and being nervous in my underwear.
Interpretation: Why did I succeed at something I've never tried before, and beat someone who's VERY good at it? Perhaps I'm feeling a little overly confident lately. Maybe I feel like I could be good at a new skill if I applied myself. Meeting a crippled Gloria Estefan? I downloaded a couple of her songs yesterday...not sure why that put her in a wheelchair.
Next I'm leaving the arena, still very aware of the medal around my neck and hoping others will notice it. I'm switching shoes like Mr. Rogers into some more comfortable Vans. Then I see a woman in a wheelchair about to approach some stairs. She needs help. Emily and I go to her (only Emily isn't Emily anymore...she's my friend Stephanie). We approach the woman and realize it's none other than GLORIA ESTEFAN! Of course! She explains that she's got a broken ankle ('guess she won't be doin the "conga" any longa) and needs help down the steps to her car. Stephanie grabs the foot rest of the wheelchair and tells me to grab the back and we'll lift her (I was a little intimidated and impressed with Stephanies effortless strength...had she been working out?). I go with the plan though I was just going to slowly help the chair down each stair. Once we get her situated in the driver's seat, I decide to snoop around the back of her Rav-4. There is a kid's booster seat, McDonald's fries everywhere, and the back window is painted in a Star Wars theme. I was kind of surprised that this was how G.E. rolled.
Afterthat - the dream turned into a montage of bad roommate situations, trying to figure out sleeping arrangements, and being nervous in my underwear.
Interpretation: Why did I succeed at something I've never tried before, and beat someone who's VERY good at it? Perhaps I'm feeling a little overly confident lately. Maybe I feel like I could be good at a new skill if I applied myself. Meeting a crippled Gloria Estefan? I downloaded a couple of her songs yesterday...not sure why that put her in a wheelchair.
Friday, February 3, 2012
War Zone
It started off in a dug-out tunnel with explosions shaking dirt from the walls and ceiling. Zane and I were soldiers together trying to figure out what our roll was in the battle. We needed to leave the shelter and grabbed our hats & coats. Once we stepped out there were no more explosions...in fact, we were walking down a paved neighborhood street on our way to a gas station. There were a couple other soldiers with us, one of them being our friend, Curtis. Along with us were about 5 - 6 neighborhood teenagers also on their way to the gas station - I guess we all had cravings for Cheetos and Icees or something. As we were walking, Curtis kept wanting to take a picture of us in our uniforms - like it was funny we were in them and he wanted evidence. He kept getting annoyed that I wouldn't look at the camera - I was too concerned with watching where I was walking.
There was a discussion on where we were going to keep our guns. Zane was able to put his in a holster, but because my uniform was too tight (think Andrews Sisters with a little flight attendant hat) there was no where to hide a gun. I felt dumb.
On our way to the gas station, there was a vacant lot that had a baby laying in it. I saw her and knew 2 things: she belonged to William Joseph (musician), and I needed to change her diaper. It never occurred to me that it was ODD for a baby to be laying in a vacant lot. So as I went to change her diaper, I was surprised to see that her "load" was a delicious pink with sprinkles in it like a perfect Granny B's sugar cookie. I took my finger and wrote in the pink poo "At least it's pink!" No...I didn't lick my finger. I was going to leave the cute message and the poop for William to change later, but decided that was mean and finished the diaper change.
I don't know what happened after that... I must have left the baby and caught up with the group to pick up a Charleston Chew.
Interpretation: Hmmm.... Zane and I are probably feeling a bit like unprepared soldiers in a war zone with being new parents. The pink poop? I've got nothin... WAIT! I have joked that I think my newborn's diapers have an unusually sweet smell to them. Perhaps my subconscious took it a bit too far with the sprinkles.
There was a discussion on where we were going to keep our guns. Zane was able to put his in a holster, but because my uniform was too tight (think Andrews Sisters with a little flight attendant hat) there was no where to hide a gun. I felt dumb.
On our way to the gas station, there was a vacant lot that had a baby laying in it. I saw her and knew 2 things: she belonged to William Joseph (musician), and I needed to change her diaper. It never occurred to me that it was ODD for a baby to be laying in a vacant lot. So as I went to change her diaper, I was surprised to see that her "load" was a delicious pink with sprinkles in it like a perfect Granny B's sugar cookie. I took my finger and wrote in the pink poo "At least it's pink!" No...I didn't lick my finger. I was going to leave the cute message and the poop for William to change later, but decided that was mean and finished the diaper change.
I don't know what happened after that... I must have left the baby and caught up with the group to pick up a Charleston Chew.
Interpretation: Hmmm.... Zane and I are probably feeling a bit like unprepared soldiers in a war zone with being new parents. The pink poop? I've got nothin... WAIT! I have joked that I think my newborn's diapers have an unusually sweet smell to them. Perhaps my subconscious took it a bit too far with the sprinkles.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Dust Bowl
I've dreamt in color and black & white...but never sepia. This dream was all brown:
Picture Dorothy's farm from the 1939 Wizard of Oz. I was tending to a withering garden covered in layers of brown dust. My farm dress was tattered and dirty - probably the only one I owned. I was urgently called to the house and was to bring "the children" with me. I grabbed the two blond-haired children, a boy and a girl, from the dirt piles they were playing in and brought them inside. I felt that I loved them - they were family.
Inside of the dusty, sun-lit house (which was made up of no more than a few boards), a man in a suit sat at our dismal kitchen table. He wore a hat like a 1940s news reporter. With a concerned but friendly countenance, he explained to us that children had gone missing from their families in the area. These children were being kidnapped and forced to work on other people's property. Trying to catch the children in a lie, he then asked the small children who were with me how they met their parents. The boy started to giggle - answering the man's question that "meeting" someone's parents was a silly thought. I assured the man that these children were family and that I was "the auntie." He was satisfied and wished us a good day as he left.
There was another woman in the room - a "help" of some sort. She and I looked at each other worriedly knowing that the children's parents were usually drunk, abusive, or both and that perhaps these kids would be better off if someone snatched them away for good.
Interpretation: Perhaps my life is feeling a little dull? Lifeless? (I had my first baby 5 weeks ago and have gone from working girl to stay-at-home milk cow.) Perhaps the man coming to the house was a confrontation on my ability to be a parent? Do I have what it takes to raise these kids?
Picture Dorothy's farm from the 1939 Wizard of Oz. I was tending to a withering garden covered in layers of brown dust. My farm dress was tattered and dirty - probably the only one I owned. I was urgently called to the house and was to bring "the children" with me. I grabbed the two blond-haired children, a boy and a girl, from the dirt piles they were playing in and brought them inside. I felt that I loved them - they were family.
Inside of the dusty, sun-lit house (which was made up of no more than a few boards), a man in a suit sat at our dismal kitchen table. He wore a hat like a 1940s news reporter. With a concerned but friendly countenance, he explained to us that children had gone missing from their families in the area. These children were being kidnapped and forced to work on other people's property. Trying to catch the children in a lie, he then asked the small children who were with me how they met their parents. The boy started to giggle - answering the man's question that "meeting" someone's parents was a silly thought. I assured the man that these children were family and that I was "the auntie." He was satisfied and wished us a good day as he left.
There was another woman in the room - a "help" of some sort. She and I looked at each other worriedly knowing that the children's parents were usually drunk, abusive, or both and that perhaps these kids would be better off if someone snatched them away for good.
Interpretation: Perhaps my life is feeling a little dull? Lifeless? (I had my first baby 5 weeks ago and have gone from working girl to stay-at-home milk cow.) Perhaps the man coming to the house was a confrontation on my ability to be a parent? Do I have what it takes to raise these kids?
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