Tornados & Teeth & Books Oh My!

Do you have any repeating dreams? I do.

I have been so intrigued by my dreams over the years that I've read several books on the subject and even talked to one of my college professors who helped me analyze them. It was an exciting experience and she did help take away some of my dream fear by shinning light on what might be causing them.

Here are my most common rerun dreams:

Tornadoes again and Kansas is nowhere in sight.
I've had this one since I was a young child. There are variations on the dream, but basically I see the funnel cloud coming. This dream has been popular for me at times when I'm under stress. My professor helped me to figure out that this one seems to be about feeling as if I have no control over real life events. This made sense because during challenging times this dream would return. I worked on accepting the fact that most of the time, life can't be controlled. I try to put my trust in God and just do the best I can. I also took a storm spotter class so I can spot them before they spot me. ;)

"Help, my teeth have fallen out and I can't pick them up!"
This dream started when I worked as a dental assistant. I'm not sure what this one is about, but it seems so real . I reach up to touch my teeth and realize they are all loose. One by one they start falling out. I rely on my dental skills to hold them in place until I can get to a dentist. But I never make it to the dentist before I wake up. I actually had this one today during my sick stupor. I woke up asking David if my teeth were missing and could he help me find them. I guess this is good practice for the future when he will need to help me find my teeth for real.

The library.
This is my favorite rerun. In this dream I discover an amazing building full of books. The building may look different on the outside, but it always has a curving staircase with round stain-glass windows and stacks of beautiful books everywhere I look. I often wake up from this dream reaching around for the books, and I'm sad when I realize they aren't there.

The perfect broken down house.
In this dream I am visiting or buying a house. As I begin the tour everything seems perfect and in place. There are gorgeous rooms that go on forever. But just when I think I'm at the end of the tour I come across an out of the way door. This door leads me to a side of the house that is full of cobwebs and broken furniture. There are holes in the roof where the sun is shining in or rain pours down. The interesting part is that I feel more comfortable after the broken down part is revealed. I believe this is because we all have broken down parts of us we try to cover up. The transparency is always more beautiful because it lets in the sun or the cleansing rain.

Do you have any repeat dreams you would like to share? I'd love to hear them.

Quoth the pathogen nevermore

With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a late night bleary, while I shivered, weak and weary,
Oversleeping on a couch and furious over my forgotten health,
While I sniffled, nearly napping, suddenly there came a whooping,
As of someone loudly coughing, spewing microbes on my front door.
"'Tis more germs," I muttered, "spewing on my door -
Only this, and not much more."

"Achoo!", repeatedly I exclaimed as the pathogens crept in my door,
And each separate sniffling, hacking coughing cry expelled plague upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished for sanitizer, - antibiotics and those soft little tissues with the lotion inside.
From the germs my body aching - my health lost forever more -
For the rude and rampant microbes whom the devils proclaimed encore-
Germs are here for evermore.

As usual Edgar has cheered me up. Sick always sounds better in poetry.

Not Your Ordinary Sunday

This week I saw a bumper sticker that caught my eye. It read "Not Your Ordinary Sunday". Below was the name of a church. I felt that anyone who advertised their church in that way would feel comfortable talking to me about it, so I asked the driver, a person I'd met about an hour before, to tell me about his church. He explained that I would love his church and they would love for me to visit. I could wear my jeans and listen to the band play contemporary music. He assured me that it wouldn't be like my ordinary Sunday which he assumed, I believe, was me at home not going anywhere. He also wanted me to know that it wasn't what I would imagine church to be. I think he meant stuffy religious types singing ancient songs and then reading an archaic book in Old English until they felt suitably guilty and were allowed to leave.

This fascinated me. I had not said any bad words or made any rude gestures in the brief time we had known each other. I also had refrained from slanderous talk and theft. Possibly he looked at me and assumed I was guilty of gluttony. I guess he missed the Healthy Choice meal I'd eaten for lunch. Unfortunately, I had to leave and end the conversation at that point. But I've continued to mull over his words in my mind for days. And tonight they weigh heavily on my heart; so much so that I feel the need to write about this now.

It's not often that we get to see ourselves through another's eyes. You see, I myself have sported a religious sticker or two before my poor driving habits forced me to remove them out of humiliation. (Not to be confused with humility) I mean, "Jesus is my co-pilot" and "My second hat is a halo" could be down right embarrassing when you are sitting on the side of the road getting a ticket. There is nothing wrong with advertising your beliefs on your trunk, I'm just saying that you need to be ready to back it up if you are called on it. And until I improve my driving, I'm not ready to drag Jesus through the mud with me.

I'm pretty sure that anyone who is reading this knows me, but just in case I'll give the disclaimer here. I grew up attending church regularly. I've participated in organized religion off and on for most of my life. I also believe this doesn't make me holier or "more special" than anyone else. And I know without a doubt that my good will never outweigh my bad. I'm grateful that it doesn't need too. Let me know if you want to hear more about that, but right now I have something else on my mind: I'm thinking about my ordinary Sunday.

In the past few years we have visited 7 or 8 (I lost track, honestly) churches in the quest for the right place. Call me a church shopper if you will, but my heart wasn't about shopping, my heart begged to grow and learn. My heart had gotten stuck in a pothole on the "life journey" road after several years of autopilot living. I'd been on a quest for an "un-ordinary" Sunday. I can safely say I've had many variations of church at this point: Big churches, little churches, multiple denominations, and even televised church. Very convenient for those mornings when I wanted to appear holy without the bother of brushing my teeth.

Here are a few things I learned during those years of un-ordinary Sunday road trips:

1) The preacher's clothing can not be used to determine if he speaks truth. I've heard truth from pastors in jeans and lies from men in suits, and vice versa.

2) There is no one right musical style for worship. Hymns don't get you into Heaven, and neither does contemporary music.

3) The fact that I am a visitor does not mean that I don't know God, any more than your being in the church means that you do.

4) Just because I left church feeling good or bad about myself doesn't mean I "encountered" God.

5) The fact that I have faith in God doesn't mean I am gullible or stupid. Please don't repeat the same sermon every week. I will notice after the fourth Sunday.

6) I've learned not to think too highly of myself or my position in the church. There are a million just like me in other churches and they most likely are doing the same job even better.



Obviously I still have a lot to process. And I don't have all the answers. At this point I've decided that the next step for me is to buy a DeLorean. Because I think going back to the days of the early church would be the only true way to have a "Not my Ordinary Sunday" experience.

Coming Soon:
Not your Ordinary Sunday part II
Dim lights, loud music and dancing: The difference between Friday night and Sunday morning is who you bust a move for.

Smells like Golden Gate & Brown Enigma

Last year I decided that my life needed more color. Knowing that I was past the appropriate age to dye my hair purple, I embarked instead on the grand adventure of painting my walls.

The first walls I planned to renew were in my bedroom. For weeks I mulled over the endless color options. I even became a regular fixture at the paint stores. Soon I knew all the employees by name and had created family trees for them with the ever present paint samples.


"Hey Johnny, you get a haircut?"
"Wanda, when did you say your niece and her husband would be back from Detroit?"

As hours of indecision turned into weeks of lost time, it became obvious that I needed to stop paying attention to the names of the paint. Names were far too distracting. Every name produced a story in my head. If I didn't like the name, it was hard to even consider using the paint color.

Then a few days after Johnny got his new cut, I found it. The one true color my bedroom was born to wear. But there was a huge problem with the name. It was beyond disgusting; Brown Teepee. I realize this name is supposed to bring images of American Indians on the prairie, hunting the majestic Buffalo. But that's not what I visualized. Since I work in a surgery center where colonoscopies are a daily occurrence, I hear the words TP and brown fairly often. And I can say with assurance that I never want to hear them in any way related to my walls. I tried to forget about the color and choose another, but it was pointless. Behr's Brown Teepee was the color for me. It seemed that this would be a wonderful time to put my denial skills to work. As my youngest daughter would say, I decided to "imaginate" that the paint name was Enigma. This name made me think of spies solving complex puzzles on park benches at night while wearing trench coats. I believe the Sherwin Williams guys and I are the only ones who know Enigma is really a matronly shade of lilac. This name change plan worked well for casual gatherings and chats at the water cooler.

"What did you do this weekend?"
"Oh, I painted my bedroom."
"It's called Enigma."

Then I would show off a color swatch in the form of paint splatters on my shoes. If the color didn't cause people to gasp in appreciation, then the name always did.

It's been a few years since I pilfered paint names. And I'd like to think I've matured as a person and now only judge a paint by it's color. I really want to believe that when I chose Golden Gate as the hue for my entry way and family room that my decision was based solely on beauty and appropriateness. It had nothing to do with the vision I have of fog rolling under the GG Bridge as the sun rises over San Fransisco. Yet this evening as I enjoy my newly painted walls, I can faintly hear the sound of a trolley car and smell the unmistakable wafting scent of Rice-a-Roni.

Mark it Zero

Today I almost had a Big Lebowski "Mark it zero" moment. If you have seen that movie you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, be warned there is a lot of bad language, partial nudity and other assorted inappropriate behaviors. But if you can over look that, there are some very funny moments. My favorite, "Mark it zero". You may not be on the Big Lebowski boat. So I'll give you the G rated version. Walter, Smokey and friends are bowling. Smokey steps over the line, which should result in a penalty. He wants credit for his turn and almost gets it, until Walter makes a stand with a gun. "Mark it (cover your ears here) zero."

Three reasons why I appreciate Walter in his own (#%#%#) words.

"Has the whole (insert bleep here) world gone crazy?"
Walter is crazy. There is no doubt about that. But I ask you why is he crazy? Was he born that way or did the world bring it out in him? Obviously Walter has made a poor life choice by pulling a gun on Smokey. This behavior should not be encouraged. The question though is a valid one. Has the whole world gone crazy? Yes Walter, sometimes I think it has.

"Am I the only one who cares about the (inappropriate word) rules"
Smokey made a minor error which could easily be ignored. But you have to wonder if this is a habit Smokey has gotten into. If so Walter is doing Smokey a favor by correcting this pattern before Smokey is possibly kicked out of the competition. Walter has probably seen so many things excused for whatever reason and is starting to feel like the rules only apply to him. That's a frustrating place to be.

"Dude, this is a league game, this determines who enters the next round robin. Am I wrong? Am I wrong?"
Walter has a point. This is the real thing not just practice. He refuses to let himself or those around him cheat at life. Walter even goes so far as to ask for clarification. Is he wrong? Thanks for reminding me that this is the real thing, Walter.

I like to imagine Walter a year down the road. He's gone to anger management classes and vocabulary rehabilitation training. But he still sees the truth in the situation. And this is what he has to say:
"Why have we become so self absorbed? Why doesn't anyone follow the rules? Why do we live as if this is just a practice life? Why don't we hold ourselves accountable and take responsibility for our decisions?" Thanks for the reminder Walter.

Rain Dances with Garden Gnomes

Temp 39

Wind 29 mph

Rain\Wind\Snow?????

Two Weeks Ago:

I heard the fearful whispering and name calling as I pushed my cart through the garden center. I'm used to this now, it no longer bothers me. Every year at this time on a Saturday morning like this one, I head to the garden center determined to plant something, anything. And a few days later the plant dies.....of frost bite. So you see the whispering comes from the plants. They know me and they call me Killer.

One Week Ago:

I arrived home from work to find Ripley's Believe It or Not and Guinness Book of World Records camped out in my front yard. It seems my new plants have survived their first week in the yard. I'm going to water them after the Larry King interview.

Today:
Today I'm dancing with the garden gnomes. We chased big sheets of plastic around the yard in the ancient dance of plant preservation. I have yet to master this ritual, but I continue to practice every year. It starts in late February when I'm overcome by the call of the dirt. The desire to plant something and see it grow is overwhelming. I imagine myself shaking off the confines of my house and walking barefoot through the grass, as flowers bloom and doves coo around me. The picture in my head is beautiful, but the reality is another story. The reality is me in David's old over-sized shoes worn to protect my feet from the errant winter surviving fire-ant and the ever present dog poop. I'm carrying whatever scraggly seedling Home Depot laughingly sold me to it's certain death. Even as I lovingly cover my newest victim with the richest garden soil money can buy, I hear Pee-Wee Herman in my head: "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Then as prophesied, the Oracle appears a week later. The Oracle speaks from the magic box in my home and his words are always the same.

A POWERFUL UPPER LEVEL STORM SYSTEM WILL MOVE ACROSS THE REGION AND RESULT IN WIDESPREAD SNOW...STRONG WINDS OF 20 TO 30 MPH WITH GUSTS TO 40 MPH ARE LIKELY

So to the screaming cries of my plants and the haunting laughter of Pee Wee, I dance....

Running to Stand Still

Temp 65
Wind SE 13mph
Clear

So this is the point where the shoemakers elves are supposed to pop out and write a witty, emotionally charged, post. This of course will cause you to throw roses at your monitor and shout for multiple encores which I will ever so politely and modestly decline before finally giving into pressure and acquiescing.

What is it about a blank page that is so intimidating? Why does looking at all this white space make me want to turn off the computer and cancel my internet service? At this point I'd rather invite Jason, Freddy Krueger and Chucky over to watch "The Thing".

So what am I running from anyway? Well, there's the million dollar question with a trillion dollar answer. I've become so good at running from things that I've considered becoming a professional runner. Close your eyes and imagine......wait....I'm still getting the hang of this blog thing. Open your eyes, read and imagine, me on the front of Runner's World. I'm holding the biggest trophy ever created bearing this diamond encrusted engraving "Reigning World Champion at Running from Everything." Jealous, aren't you? As you should be. Look at me with awe and respect because I'm one of the few to reach expert level at running from and to things simultaneously. I have recently been witnessed running from change so speedy quick that I caught up with it. Once while running from pride, I tripped and fell over vanity. Recently I got so far ahead of aging that while looking back over my shoulder to gloat, I ran into maturity. Even I was shocked by that one. I will stop listing my many accomplishments at this point for to continue showing my superiority in this area would just be cruel.

Hey, I don't know if you noticed, but while we were reading that article in Runner's World, this page filled up with words. And do you know what? The scary factor has greatly decreased. So much so that I might actually go join J, Fred and Chuck in the theater. But first I think I need to finish this last lap around the track. Because change is looking at me sideways again and you know what that means!