Random Thing #1: Bea Arthur and The Titanic

I’m sitting down to blog and have no idea what I’m going to blog about.  

So I’m going to program my computer to post random things throughout the day.

#1

I just woke up from a nightmare. I dreamed that my friend K. was pregnant. (Not Kealoha, another friend). And we were talking about her baby and she said she wanted to name the baby Bea Arthur. “You’re not serious,” I said. “Oh, yes,” she said and rubbed her belly with that warm I’m-so-pregnant smile.

That wasn’t the nightmare part. The nightmare part was there was this shipwreck and I decided to rescue all the people. So I swam down to the bottom of the ocean, looked around the ship (there was an air bubble in there thankfully) and no one was there. There were plates of food just abandoned and music playing….and I guess everyone had escaped already….except for me…I woke up with a gasp because I realized that I had no idea how to get to the surface.

So, Bea Arthur baby and possible drowning. Ugh. What does it MEAN?

Dreaming of Summer (and an extra fantasy)

You know, I’m tired of being angst-ridden and depressed about how life is going. It actually takes a lot of energy to maintain sadness. I wish it burned calories, but I’m afraid the reverse is true. Or, ehm, I’ve had too many nights of strawberry cheesecake ice cream topped with crumbled potato chips. (Have I really done that? No. But it sounds good. I eat a handful of chips, then the a scoop of ice cream.)

So I’ve decided that while I can’t really escape my life and go on vacation to England (which is something I’d really like to do), I can take a little break mentally and go…oh…anywhere I want. I could take myself on a saucy escapade where I’m wearing nothing but a little apron and heels and a hunky guy (a nice ctranger) comes into my kitchen and wants to know what I’m cooking. “Who?” I ask, raising my fingertip to my red, red lip. “Me? Why I’m just cooking a little melted chocolate.” I dip my finger in the chocolate and offer it to him. He’s so hot in the kitchen he has to take his shirt off and….

That was supposed to be a short example of what I’m NOT going to write about. Ahem. Let me take a moment. I’ll be right back….

(Ten minutes later.)

Okay. Phew. Just had to run and eat some potato chip topped ice cream.

What was I saying?

Ah yes. I was talking about summer. Well, not really, but I meant to. Here’s what I love about summer: I love visiting my friends Brendan and George, something I haven’t done enough of in the last years, but I love seeing their cottage and walking on the beach where the waves are sometimes so loud that it drowns out the sound of your thoughts. I love getting sand in my hair and between my toes and in the cuffs of my rolled up jeans.

I love making fresh bruschetta from my garden. I pick the basil and a sun-warmed tomato, chop it fine and add lots of garlic, a little olive oil, pinch of salt, and then pile some homemade bread tall with the stuff. I can eat vats of it. Vats. All while sitting in the sun and listening to some jazz while drinking a nice crisp glass of pinot grigio. I actually couldn’t do that while married because my ex only wanted to listen to NPR…but now…now I can listen to music and close my eyes, imagining the notes dancing across my skin.

I like going for walks around Reed’s Lake. I might not be able to run this summer, but I’ll walk, and maybe there will be someone with me this time, someone more interested in just spending time with me then actually exercising. And maybe, maybe, I’ll stop in the shade, tell him to wait up, and then I’ll kiss him. I’d like that I think.

I like ice cream in the summer, and the sound of kids playing in the neighborhood. I like cars going by playing music that I would never listen to, but for a moment, I do. Sometimes it’s so loud I feel it in my heart.

I like having the windows open and on windy days when I hear the leaves rustle I feel like I’m underwater and that those trees are giant stalks of seaweed. I can imagine being a fish.

I like sleeping with the windows open and hearing crickets and bugs…its own peculiar music. And I like waking up impossibly early because the sun is so bright.

In the summer, my kids play outside. We go on adventure walks and toss sticks into the lake. We look for frogs. I scream. They laugh at me. We go home, exhausted, and fall asleep before it’s even dark.

And this summer, this summer, I’m going to sit on my deck, the deck of the house I will have, and I will put out Christmas lights so that the backyard sparkles like its own universe. I will play music and serve so many appetizers that my friends will wonder if I’ve finally gone over the Edge of Crazy. We will laugh. We will toast to the night and hot breezes. And when they’re gone, well, maybe then I’ll put that apron on…only it won’t be a stranger in my kitchen, but someone I’ve grown to know and love. And we won’t even need melted chocolate to get…

Okay. Someone needs to read a romance novel. And that someone is me. A perfect night to do it…it’s not summer yet, after all, but still frozen winter. But trust me…my life is about to heat up. I’m certain of it.

Night O' Crazy Dreams

I’m sitting in my office currently trying desperately to ward off sleep. Oh, but she’s seductress that one. Sleep. Calling to me. I mean, yes, I did a great work out and then promptly filled my tummy with warm soup; and, yes, I’m sitting in a cozy office trying to write and read; and, yes, It’s 2PM—the Nap Witching Hour. On top of all that though, my daughter was up a good portion of the night last night so I’m feeling pretty much exhausted.

Now that I think of it, I can blame my sleepiness on something else entirely. Last night, my house was freezing, so instead of turning the heat up (as a new heat-bill-payer I’m terrified of the new expense) I tossed on a super-thick super-fuzzy blanket. The only trouble with this was that I became so overheated I was having dreams that were more like hallucinations.

Last night I was supposed to go to Dog Story Theater and watch some comedy shows and then try improv and then go out to drinks. Because my little girl was sick, I ended up staying home, taking care of her and being a good mom. But in my DREAMLAND, I did go to Dog Story. It was super weird. There were tons of people there and everyone was laughing, only I couldn’t understand what any of the performers were saying.

Then I woke up in bed and one of the performers was sleeping next to me, with his arm draped around my waist. WTF? How did this happen?  And why was it this particular performer? (He is cute and all…but…REALLY?)

And then I was trying on a wedding dress because I was going to force this guy to propose to me. (Why in my dreams am I always forcing someone to propose to me? Does it really take coercion?)

Thankfully, I woke up. Discovered that the gentleman sleeping next to me was not said performer but my 5 yr old son, who was snuggled so close to me I had to de-Velcro him from my side. And I wasn’t wearing a wedding dress or forcing anyone to marry me. I was still in my enormous comfy pant pajamas and tank top.

I’ve since taken that blanket off my bed. I’ll try kicking up the heat tonight. As fun as those hallucinations were, I’m exhausted. I need a good sleep. And, sheesh, if I’m going to dream that someone is in bed with me, you’d think we’d be doing more than sleeping. Like maybe he’d be playing with my hair.

That’s not a euphemism, people. Really it’s not.