Crazy Day, Crazy Dream and Baseball Parks

It was one of those days when I was so busy the step counter on my fitness watch was calling out in pain, not to mention my fallen aches were doing the same. It was window washing day at the continuum care facility and that generated three appointments for the project. The first at 7:45 AM and I normally don’t get up that early. That one was for the maintenance man to pop out my screens, then another appointment at 10ish for the guys from window washing company to wash the inside of my windows followed by a 12ish appointment for them to come back to wash the windows on the outside of my deck and to pop the clean screens back over the rest of my newly washed windows. In between all this I had a terrible case of diarrhea and the house cleaning service woman showed up on the wrong day and we had to work that out lest she be cleaning around all the stuff that I had to move out of the way of the windows.

After the three window washers/college kids left my apartment I went over to the cafe, had a half a bowl of soup before a lecture titled 'Quirky Baseball Parks' that started at 1:30. I had just enough time after that ended to go back to my apartment, pick up the Mahjong set and deposit the other half of my soup in the refrigerator. Thankfully, the afternoon was diarrhea-free and I won all three Mahjong games.

The craziness didn’t end there. After Mahjong I had a date with three others to go off campus to a popular bar for dinner. And that came about because their usual fourth for off campus adventures was Ms Manners (who moved out) and I happened to be sitting near-by when they planned their dinner so they asked me if I wanted to come (in her place). I really like all three of these women. One is as crazy about Mahjong as I am, one is my neighbor/a retired psychiatrist and the other was a high school English teacher who has the classy wardrobe on this campus. She’s tall and willowy and she could make a potato sack look like Paris couture. All three are in our Tuesday Dinner Discussion group formally known as the Secret Society of Liberal Ladies. Yes, you’d win a bet if you placed it on us toasting the latest criminal indictment of the former president. Speaking of which, there’s a rumor going around that Trump could be offered a plea deal. In exchange for admitting guilt and agreeing never to run for office again he could avoid a trial and a possible prison sentence. Place your bids, ladies and gentlemen, I’m saying he’ll never go for it. He’ll continue putting the country through his circus of flying monkeys until his tombstone reads: “I won that damn election.” 

After I got home from dinner, I put all my furniture and window decor back in place, lined up clothes and plans for the following day then I felt into bed at midnight for a hard sleep that ended at 3AM with a nightmare. I couldn’t fall back to sleep. Finally after playing a dozen hands of Mahjong online, I went back to bed and by morning it came to me what had caused my nightmare. 

In the dream there was heavy wooden door that I kept trying to close and lock with an old fashioned key but the door kept opening up, over and over again---me slamming it harder each time but each time it would open wider than the before. On the other side of the door were ghost-like figures looking menacing like from the movie, Scream. The door in my nightmare---it finally connected in my conscious mind---looked just like the rustic table top at the bar we’d been to.

At dinner the evening before the nightmare the other ladies were all talking about their divorces and how all their husbands had been alcoholics and abusive. And I revealed a carefully guarded detail about my life: The fact that while my husband and I had been a couple for 42 years we were only married for 12 1/2 of those years but the HUGE secret part that I've never shared on campus is that we didn’t live together until after Don's stroke. We had houses a mile apart and our relationship was complicated, hard to explain without a glass of hard cider in my hand and a growing trust factor that I wouldn't be judged. The English teacher said, “You were ahead of your time. That’s the way young people are doing now.” The secret revealed was the broken lock in the dream that wouldn’t keep the door shut any longer.  

By the way, the lecture about quirky baseball parks was interesting and was given by college professor from a local college who was animated and funny in his delivery. Playing field sizes and shapes were not regulated in the early days, he told us, and that contributed to some of the records set by the stars of their era. Some fields where rectangles, others the size of little league fields today and several had uneven distances between their bases---as much as 50 feet! One even had a hill to climb in the outfield. Babe Ruth fell on the hill and quit playing four days later. In a Chicago park there was a small metal sign in the outfield that read: “Hit this sign and you’ll get a free suit at so-and-so store.” One baseball player hit it seven times and got seven tailor-made suits. 

Wednesday are always Mahjong, lunch and lecture day. Wednesday is my favorite day of the week and in no small part because I get to interact with the blog community. Thank you all for reading and leaving comments here.

Until next Wednesday…. ©

 P.S. I won two of the three Mahjong games we played this afternoon. I really love my Wednesdays.

Can’t Stop Thinking About a Dream

I’m at an age when I can’t remember whether or not people have died. So when I see a cousin or friend I haven’t seen in a long time I’m afraid to ask questions like, “How’s your dad doing?” or “Where’s your brother living these days?” even though I’m genuinely interested in knowing the answers. I had a dream a few nights ago that had me trying to remember if a person I’d known since birth was alive or dead. In recent years I’ve made good use of googling a person’s name plus the word “obituary” to get answers to the ‘dead or alive’ questions. As my mom used to say, “There’s more than one way to skin a kitty.” 

That phrase, by the way, first appeared in print in the mid eighteen hundreds when a man was brought before the courts of England in an animal crudity case. He was literally skinning cats alive. Such a gruesome image but since my mom didn’t sit around reading old court records from countries she’d where she’d never been, I have to believe she read it in a Mark Twain book. He used a variation of the phrase as a metaphor in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court in 1889. “…She was wise, subtle, and knew more than one way to skin a cat, that is, more than one way to get what she wanted.” Mom had a related skin-the-kitty phrase she used often when I was growing up and even after her grandchildren came along. “Let’s skin the kitty,” she’d say as she helped us out of our pajama tops and sweatshirts. Heck, even I say it to Levi My Mighty Schnauzer when I peel his winter sweater off his body. And it just dawned on me why he takes off like he’s been shot out of a cannon when I’m finished with the task. The word “kitty” is an important noun in his life. “Is that kitty in the yard again?” “What’s that kitty doing back there?” “Stop barking at that kitty!” He’d probably thinks there’s a cat near-by when I mention skinning one.

Back to my the dream that had me wondering if an old friend---Al---was alive or dead. In the dream I was snuggling up to him and my husband walked by and said, “Well, I guess you’re with him now” and kept on walking. “I am?” I asked Al and he gave me the alpha male predator smile and pulled me tighter to his body. Al and I spent all our summers growing up just four cottages away from each other. Along with his younger sister and my older brother, we spent our days playing cowboys and Indians, hiking around the lake, camping in the woods and walking to the store several miles away for ice cream. As teenagers we played a lot of poker and Monopoly together on rainy days and long nights before TV was invented. And I never, ever had a romantic thought about him in all those years or since so the idea of snuggling with him in my dream shocked me awake. 

I couldn’t let go of the fact that I was dreaming about a person I hadn’t seen in probably twenty years. We’ve exchanged Christmas letters every year, though. He’s a good writer with a better memory than me so I always enjoyed reading the reminiscing he’d shared in his holiday letters. That dream and the fact that he didn’t send a letter this year had me searching the internet. The problem with that is there are fewer and fewer people choosing to put obituaries into a searchable format so the fact that I didn’t find an obituary for Al still leaves a slight doubt in my mind. We used to be able to check the phone book to see if someone is still listed. And if you are asking, “What’s a phone book?” you’re too young to be reading old people’s blogs.

I remember many of my dreams and often look them up in the Dream Moods online dictionary. Here’s what it said about seeing a childhood friend in a dream: It “…signifies regression into your past where you had no responsibilities. Things were much simpler and carefree. You may be wanting to escape the pressures and stresses of adulthood.” Not Shit Sherlock! Have you seen the news lately! But when figuring out the meaning of our dreams the so-called experts say the action in them is the most important part and about getting hugged, the dictionary says, “To dream that someone is hugging you suggests that you need to let down your guard and allow your true feelings to show." It could also mean “that you need to allow yourself to heal emotionally.” But the million dollar question is was it the hugging/snuggling the most important action in my dream or was it the fact that my husband was essentially abandoned me? I’m not sure if I really buy into dream analysis other that it’s a fun diversion but its spooky how often the interpretations fit. For abandonment the dictionary suggests that it may be time to leave past feelings behind and that “the fear of abandonment is part of the healing process after losing a loved one." ©

Note: The photo at the top is of the kids I spent all my summers with growing up. We were at a camp we built back in the woods behind our cottages. I'm the one holding back from watching a snake in the creek. 

Nighttime Dreams, the Gathering Girls and my Poor Ear!

Every so often I’ll go through a streak when I’ll dream of my husband three-four nights in a row. It happened over the Labor Day weekend. I can’t put my finger on what triggers them. Loneliness? Disasters and tensions in the world? Hearing the lyrics of a song? Christina Perri’s, “You put your arms around me and I’m home” did haunt me for a couple of days. In most of the dreams I can see my husband but not talk to him. No surprise there. He’s dead in my daytime life, but not in my dreams. He’s walking around, doing things and I’m watching movie style. Last night was different. We were together in a pickup truck, riding around out in the boondocks when we came upon a place where an army of bulldozers were pushing dirt around, preparing a huge building site. For some reason we thought something secret and sinister was going on and we had to report it. We turned around to do that and suddenly we were being chased.

According to DreamMoods.com to dream of being chased “signifies that you are avoiding a situation that you do not think is conquerable. It is a metaphor for some form of insecurity…Alternatively, you may be running away from a primal urge or fear.” Okay, the ‘avoidance’ makes sense. I just finished updating my Emergency Care Plan book for myself and Levi and I still need to go through my Estate Planning book to update that. I can’t believe it’s been since 2013 when I last did it! The setting of my dream, which most dream books say isn’t the important part, also makes sense when I remembered what I’d been doing before I went to bed. I’d been reading a thread on a political debate site about building codes and land use in Texas, a discussion on whether or not people should be allowed to rebuild on flood plains---as if getting 52 inches of rain over a few short days wouldn’t turn any place into a flood plain. Jeez! But still, people do have a point when they say when federal money is helping to rebuild the same houses time and time again maybe it’s time for a better master plan. God, the world is a complicated place!

I also dreamed about my mother this past week and I hardly ever do that. We were riding around in a car trying to find a Mexican restaurant on a side of town I rarely ever go to. Since the action is the important part of the dream I looked up ‘searching’ and DreamMoods said, “To dream that you are searching for something signifies the need to find something that is missing or needed in your life. The dream may be analogous to your search for love, spiritual enlightenment, peace or even a solution to a problem.” But why was I searching with my mother? DreamMoods has an answer for that, too. (They have an answer for everything including why people dream about M&Ms. In case you’re wondering, M&Ms represent “life's small, but sweet rewards.” But I digress.) About seeing my mom in my dream, they said: “[it] represents the nurturing aspect of your own character. Mothers offer shelter, comfort, life, guidance and protection.” I’m not particularly gaga over Mexican food but the nearest I can figure out is that part of the dream is a reference to holding on to tradition and culture. Dream analysis might all be entertaining bull poop but its logical, entertaining bull poop.

Change of topic: My First Mondays Brunch with the Gathering Girls met on Tuesday this month because of the holiday. We went to Culver’s for a change of scenery and then to an Antique & Artisan Market near-by followed by another stop for dessert. 11:30 to 3:00 on a pleasant weather day. It doesn't get much better than that but we laughed so hard and often at lunch it’s a wonder we did leave seven little puddles of pee in our chairs when we left. We sure know how to play off each other’s senses of humor.

Second change of topic: I finally called the hearing doctor to make an appointment and was shocked that I have to wait 21 days to get in to see him. I should have called a couple of weeks ago but I honestly thought the paper-rattling sound and clicking in my ear would go away on its own but when my ear started kicking my hearing aid out to the point that I can’t wear it anymore I got concerned. I tried some allergy medication and that didn’t help thus the appointment was made. The clicking is happening less often as of a few days ago but only after I got an odd swishing sound in my ear and a sense of air rushing in. Did my ear drum break or do I have an over-active imagination? By the time I get into the doctor I’ll either be completely cured or I will have an inner ear infection and die on the living room floor because I can’t tell which way is up and which way is down and Levi doesn’t know how to dial the phone to call for help. Stupid dog! ©

Dreams, Cottage Pie and Art Shows

Recently I had another dream about my husband cheating on me and it woke me up. That makes four in recent weeks. This time I couldn’t fall back to sleep and by the time the sun came up I was more than irritated with the man. What a gloating snot he was being---the way he told me of his affair! In the dream we weren’t married yet and he had just picked me up for a date when he said, “I have a new roommate.” “I know,” I replied, “I’ve met him.” “I have two roommates, I mean.” The way he was grinning made me ask, “Two? Is one of them a woman?” “Yes.” “Are you sleeping with her?” I asked the question but I knew by the proud cat-with-a-bird-in-his-mouth look in his eyes that he’d answer, “Yes.” If he wasn’t already died, I’d kill him for waking me up before I could slug him with my purse. I am not getting enough sleep! I’m beginning to wonder if these “cheating dreams” have something to do with me looking forward to hang around with my posse of Gathering Girls this summer. Who knows how and why our subconscious brains twist stuff around when our heads hit the pillow.

Three of us Gathering Girls went to an outdoor art show over the weekend. There were two rows of vendor tents flanking a tree covered walking trail that ran between a covered bridge on one end of the show and a performance stage on the other end. It was a beautiful setting for a comfortably cool day where Mother Nature had the good sense not to rain on our parade. We didn’t buy much at the show but we all did purchase English toffee from a good looking, flirtatious guy who kind of reminded me of my husband. He was crushing on one of us and it wasn’t me he gave his business card to. He looked Italian to me and he had a great line of Irish blarney although he claimed he was Dutch. We knew his entertaining spiel was to boost his sales receipts but we didn’t care. It was all good-natured cajoling and we gave it back as good as we got. Oh, and did I mention the toffee samples were wonderful? I’m glad the roofing company that sent an estimator out to my house a few weeks back didn’t send him or I’d be $14,400 poorer by now. I wouldn’t have guessed in a hundred years that a good looking man could make my lady parts tingle at this point in my life. Too much information? 

After roaming by the art tents, we walked to a near-by restaurant and ate cottage pie, salad and ciabatta bread---lots of ciabatta bread. It was bread heaven. I wanted to order the lasagna but I also knew I wanted to blog about the cottage pie because I’d never heard of it before. And saying we sat on the deck of a vintage farmhouse-turned restaurant eating cottage pie sounds so much more summer-quaint and relaxing than saying I had lasagna. (The sacrifices I make for this blog!) A google search says cottage pie shares an English/Irish history with Shepherd’s pie only the former is made with beef and the latter with lamb. Who knew? Probably everyone but me. I also think there should be a law requiring a food with ‘pie’ in the title to have a pie crust. In this case, I made up for the missing pie crust when we got back to our carpool place where we went inside for dessert. I had lemon meringue pie while my partners in crime had hot fudge sundaes. Hanging around these ladies this summer is going to seriously feed my sweet tooth. One of the ladies coined a slogan that often comes up when we’re together: “We have to order dessert, if we don’t they’ll take it off the menu!” That led to me to create my very first meme (below) and now that I’ve found a meme generator I’ll probably paper memes all over my blog.

Anyone who follows this blog knows I love to google. I just googled “dreaming of dead husband cheating.” Ohmygod, it came up with 168,000,000 links to references of dead husbands cheating! That number makes me feel less like an odd-ball widow. A few sites I read claim the dearly departed is coming back to deliver a message that’s it’s okay to move on. Gee thanks, but I've never needed his permission for anything I wanted to do. Another site says it’s “a gentle push to get you to let go of the past.” If I let go of any more of my past I’ll have dementia! No thank you. And another link states: “Dreams about infidelity are rarely about cheating, but rather more about your own feelings of insecurity.” Am I insecure? Yes/no? Oh, who cares! “I am what I am and that’s all that I am,” to quote Popeye the Sailor Man. I quit clicking on links because I realized the quicker I finished writing this blog the quicker I could publish it which means the web would then have 168,000,001 links to dead husbands cheating and because it really doesn’t matter why I dream what I dream. I’m just glad to interact with Don again from time to time although I wish the theme of the dreams would change to something that will have me waking up with a smile on my face---like sharing a piece of pie. That’s not how you thought that last sentence was going to end, is it.  LOL ©