On Dreaming (#10)

I want to write so many things, share so many thoughts, unravel so many riddles that plague my mind. For the moment, I am weighed down by three nights of merriment, and anchored to a comfortable recliner. I should be searching for relief from this bloating. Or a dark recess of my house in which to crawl and hibernate away the rest of this winter. Instead, pushing through the drumming of blood rushing throughout my body, aiding in much needed digestion, I type away.

In this post-holiday induced haze, I decided to write about some recent dreams. That forced me to discover the last time I shared images from my unconscious realm. May 16, 2021. That is a long time, with many dreams. Well, I read through that old post, and discovered a few things. First, it began with some half-hearted pledge to write book reviews (oh well, maybe in the new year). Second, I provided details about several vivid dreams, all of which showcased inner turmoil, including one that ended in my death. Finally, the first one I described, combined a post-apocalyptic setting, a school, and my departure from teaching. The two recent dreams that I am going to lay out involve a school. But one is set in a post-apocalyptic world, while, in the other, I am not a teacher.

(I love the original. It is beautiful and charming. Every few years, I sit down and watch it. Tried to sit through the remake. Not a fan.)

A Brief Interlude (#16)

For those who were not paying attention, I skipped last week's blog post (for those who were, thank you for noticing!). Something came up, but I cannot remember now. Maybe it was fatigue. Or perhaps disinterest. I know it was not anything serious. But, I am back. Not in full force. Not yet, at least. Christmas is only six days away, and I have a lot to accomplish.

Yet, I want to post something today, so I do not lose my way. So, here goes.

(This time it will be different. This time she won't take the ball away from me. This time I will actually get to kick it. And show the world what I can really achieve.) 

On This Thing Called Writing (#5)

Draft a 50,000 word novel within the month of November. That was the challenge I decided to undertake. For me, it was less about an end product, than about the process. Namely, sitting down each day and reaching a minimum goal of 1,700 words. There were at least six days when I failed. Three of them during the last full week. However, on most days, I exceeded my goal by a couple of hundred words. One day, I even reached 4,000. And during the last two days, I wrote about 2,300 and 3,600 words respectively, in order to cross the finish line. 

I am proud of this accomplishment.

Despite the fact that few, if any, of those words will ever see the light of day.

(Snoopy's prize winning decorated dog house is a stand in for published authors and their novels. You can probably guess who Charlie Brown is and what his special tree represent--in case you can't, it is me and my writing.)

On This Thing Called Writing (#4)

Two days remain of my NaNoWriMo challenge. This morning, after sleeping in until 7 am, I sat down and wrote just over 4,000 words. A new daily record! That also means I only need about 6,000 more words. There is no reason why I can't reach 50,000 by Tuesday. Unless I decide to give up (or something catastrophic gets in the way).   

I'm excited to see how it ends.

(This image is a metaphor for where I am at with my writing goal.)

On this Thing Called Writing (#3)

Tonight will be another short post. Mostly because I feel bloated. Also, I procrastinated. Again. With regards to my NaNoWriMo challenge, this week has been a mixed bag. While there have been some disappointing moments, overall, I am happy with my progress. 38,001 words. There are only nine days left, and I believe I am going to make it. Hopefully I do not regret my prediction. We shall see.

(This image is a metaphor for where I am at with my writing goal.)

On this Thing Called Writing (#2)

I will keep this short, but not so sweet--yes, something new for me. However, I think it is the most effective way to clear up a feeling that has gripped me these past two weeks. A sort of self-doubt, I guess. Or rather a sin I possess. Perhaps, conceit? I am not quite sure, that is why I am spitballing here. Whatever it is, I need to share it so that I can move on with my writing. 

Okay, now to the point. 

On this Thing Called Writing (#1)

This post is a day overdue, because life got in the way, as did a new writing goal. Yesterday I put blogging aside in order to type up seventeen hundred plus words daily exercise. The NaNoWriMo organization sets aside the month of November for a challenge. Each year, members call on amateur writers to sit down and draft their first novels. They have set the mark at 50,000 words in thirty days. That works out to about 1,666 words every twenty four hours (I have rounded it to 1,700). There is no expectation that what comes out in the end is publishable, let alone resembling what you started. Just that you sit down, and each day, write a chunk of a story that has been gestating in your mind.

Meandering Thoughts (#13)

It is 7:30 pm, on Halloween, and I managed to finish this post. Sure, the laundry isn't done. I am a bit bloated from the candy. The image choice is uninspiring. And since I still have a load of candy to give away, I can't just shut down for the evening. So, I don't expect to get much else accomplished.

Yet, I have this blog post. 

So, for the moment, I am happy.

(Okay, I changed my mind. I am going to include a better image. I was looking for a tavern scene, because I mention one below. This one is more rowdy than the one I wrote about. And a lot more fun.)

A Brief Interlude (#15)

Around eleven this morning, I began typing up a blog post. That is very early for me. It should have been a cause for celebration. However, I abandoned the project, partly because I had an errand scheduled thirty minutes later that I could not avoid. But mostly because my heart really was not in it. Well, my heart was there, just the darker part. 

(I know I have used this image before, because, for some reason, I am fond of it.)

Confessions (#16)

Right now I am laughing. I managed to get this post done by 5 pm on a Sunday night, which is on the earlier side for me. If you read through to the end, you will understand why I think this is funny.

This is yet another weekly post on a blog I have managed to maintain for one-and-a-half years. Yes, I missed a week or two, here and there. But at one time I was putting up three posts a week. 

I have to believe each step is leading up to somewhere. Though, skipping a few would not be so bad, right? Maybe even taking the elevator a few times?

Sigh. Step by step, one flight of stairs at a time it is...

(I went searching for images of the "Nine Muses"-- I previously thought that there were just three. The classical versions were disappointing, and I could not find any modern versions. However, through this process, I did discover the artist John Everett Millais. Two of his paintings struck me. I could not decide which one to use. So, I am sharing both. Some day I will produce my own "Nine Muses", either in the form of a story, or a series of drawings. Perhaps both. )

 

On How I Became a Writer (Part 4)

This began as a short piece reflecting on a memorable experience that involved writing. At the start, I assumed I knew how I wanted to conclude it. However, as it unfolded, the substance of it darted off towards the horizon. I started running after. Unfortunately, this all happened at dusk. Now, under evening's darkness, the damn purpose has eluded me. 

So now this post has become a long backstory that ends abruptly--I am too exhausted to pursue it any further. 

(Also, I should be more careful about viewing documentaries about black holes.)

My apologies.

A Brief Interlude (#14)

This is not going to be a pleasant read. But I have studied history. As a result, I hold out hope for a better world. I will strive to act, and do my best to play my part with kindness, intelligence, compassion, and humility.

However, for the moment, despite my optimism, I cannot help but weep.

Thus tonight's post.

(I struggled between three images for this post. The first was way too dark, even for what I had written about. The other two were Norman Rockwell works. I considered his illustration, The Problem We All Live With, for its historical context. However, I thought Ruby Bridges deserved a better placement than today's post. Instead, I went with Breakfast Table Political Arguments. I think it aptly reflects the state of current political discourse. I some times feel like I am the child.)

Meandering Thoughts (#12)

Sigh. I know. I'm writing about the wrong season. However, I wrote about autumn before. Especially about the first month of school. So, I decided to maintain that emotional draw of fall, but relate it to another memory, but one that occurred in the opposing season. Clever, right? Not really. I just started typing away, hiding in one direction. Then I got pulled into a different one. Driven partly by my procrastination, and partly by sheer physical exhaustion (painting, laundry, cleaning, hauling), I reigned in my original idea for this post, reworked it, condensed it. And now I am going to find an image, and be done with it.

(Yeah, this guy again. You'll understand soon enough.)

My Reading Habit (Part 1)

Last week's post was a bit of a downer. However, completing it when I did (early in the afternoon, instead of late at night) was a small, but sharp strike against my procrastination. In addition, getting it out of my head, onto a page (albeit, a digital one) pinned down my self-doubt. Finally, discovering a beautiful image within minutes of searching, was a simple act that snapped me out of my self-loathing.

This week's post should read a little lighter. And probably shorter*. After all, I still have a lot on my mind.

* [Future Me: "Sorry, it ain't shorter... and it may not be darker, but it sure is denser."]

(I love facial expressions. Especially subtle, but noticeable ones. And I love paintings of people reading--I know I have already posted this one by Edward Hopper, or this one by Jean-Honoré Fragonard. So, when I Googled "famous illustrations of someone reading" the one below jumped out at me. It was hidden in a themed Twitter feed. There were quite a few other fascinating ones in there. Seriously, I may have to try reading in the nude.

Whatever this young lady is reading, she sure finds it intriguing.)

Confessions (#15)

Another Sunday night, another blog post to write. That means reflection. Tonight's introspection revealed a series of minor regrets.  Most of which centered on two habits that I have struggled with all my life. And how they interfere with other habits I want to build, and a few I want to restore. Like reading. I want to read more books, especially works of fiction. A few days ago I took a big step that I hoped would motivate me.

I let those two fucking habits get in my way.

So here I am bitching about it.

Sigh.

(At least it inspired a post.)

(I do enjoy looking at Edward Hopper paintings. They make me feel better. Discovered this one today. Maybe not his best, but I like the colors, and the simplicity. Something about that figure, too...)

Meandering Thoughts #11

I almost didn't blog tonight. However, around 9:30 pm, I began working on a Facebook post that would explain my unwillingness to blog. What I thought would be a brief apology, began to evolve into a long winded explanation of a television series I enjoyed watching on Netflix. Then someone's voice whispered "by the time you are done writing, you could have turned it into a blog post."

So, I grabbed the laptop, signed into Blogger, and began typing. It is not much to look at, but it may become an introduction to something better.

Most importantly, I sat down and wrote something.

Confessions (#14)

Skipping two weeks has its price: over compensation. So instead of writing one long post, I end up with three short ones (EDIT: a short one, and two longer ones). However, there is a theme. Therefore, reading all of them should be rewarding.  

TL/DR: I skipped two blog posts, despite writing enough on Facebook to make up for them. I tried to build a new writing habit: I failed. Then I went on vacation, and read a book that was out of my comfort zone. It made me envious, but not jealous (I wrote about this before, but I do not have the energy to link to it now). It inspired me (the book, not the link). But not in the way that you think (you will have to read on to find out how). I am still daydreaming (and I share a few with you). But I am trying to write them down (blogging does not count--actually, it kind of does). Oh, also, I really want to learn how to draw better. That way I could produce my own images for my blog posts instead of finding them on the internet (among other reasons for drawing).

(Some day I will finally edit and proofread my blog post before clicking "Publish", I promise...)    

On How I Became a Writer (Part 3)

What I am about to write is not what I intended for this evening. While the content will be about my writing journey, it will not be the one I initially envisioned. Instead, I will be sharing a short piece of fiction I produced in high school. 

Earlier today, my mind snagged itself on a row of barbed wire surrounding a minefield of controversy. My thoughts were entangled in several social media posts and the ensuing comments. Their ignorance and resentment ensnared me, and I lost myself in rage and resignation, but also self-doubt. That these people were so unwilling to accept the possibility that they may be wrong, or admit that they lack the knowledge to be so certain about their opinions, while I spend everyday questioning my own beliefs, frustrated me. And the ease at which they recite verbatim the talking points of those whom they never bother to question or critique, then call their opponents sheep while ignoring the irony, drives me towards despair. Finally, I begin to doubt my own beliefs, not because they lack evidence or validity, but from exhaustion. 

So, I squandered the time, energy, and focus for tonight's original content on a rant that played out in my mind. A wasted moment. At the very least, I could have written it out. Used it for a future post.

Sigh.

(A "Portrait of a Cossack Woman" by Serhii Vasylkivsky. Why a Cossack woman? Why not. Also, I needed an image.)

On How I Became a Writer (Part 2)

When I was young, I attended two separate Catholic elementary schools. From kindergarten through fifth, I roamed the halls of St. Michaels in relative bliss (at least that his how I remember it). I have this vague memory of the first day of third grade, in Mrs. Murphy's classroom, and remarking to myself just how green the light shown through the trees bordering the the large stretch of windows. Also, of Mrs. Murphy physically demonstrating how babies enter the world, by spreading her legs and making a downward motion with bother arms. Then from sixth until eighth grade, on the second floor of St. James, I was awakened to harshness of judgmental peers and frustrated teachers. During that time, I learned how bullying and pecking orders worked; the power of humiliation, from both children and adults; and how to stand up for myself by quietly rejecting the Church on Ash Wednesday (I refused to walk up to the altar and receive ashes, and I responded quietly to my teacher's stern inquiry, because, well, it was in the of Mass--even when protesting, I still behaved).

On How I Became a Writer (Part 1)

The first post in a series about how I discovered writing as a powerful form of self expression.   

During a text conversation with a good friend, the topic of children's books came up. At some point, I confessed that I had written one for a ninth-grade English assignment. Through the course of the exchange, I attempted to outline the story. It is a rather sad, disturbing tale. By texting the details, I began to unravel quite a lot about the emotions behind this attempt at storytelling. Later on, I began to analyze my responses to her questions, and realized I needed to find this assignment. Furthermore, the discussion pried loose tucked away memories of other creative writing assignments from high school and college. However, I did not act upon this nostalgic feeling right away. Instead, I let it linger, like pieces of a nearly finished difficult puzzle scattered in frustration across a table top. I yearned to pull the pieces back together and finish it, but the bad taste left by my irritation discouraged any attempt to restart the process. 

Meandering Thoughts (July 4th, 2021, Final Version)

Sorry, I skipped last Sunday's blog post. This past week was spent in Atlantic City, NJ, at a dance competition. Most of my readers (six out of ten), will understand what that means in terms of time and commitment. Some day I will  explain to the rest of my weekly audience (the other four), all it means to be a dance parent. Just not today.

Instead, I am going to try and reflect on this most sacred of days in the US calendar. Because of procrastination, I will not be able to present anything involving in-depth analysis. And my lack of confidence in my intellectual prowess and writing ability prevents me from declaring any bold political or cultural proclamations. In the end, dear reader, you will have to be satisfied with a short reflection on July 4th nostalgia.

Scratch that second paragraph. This is nostalgia, with a hint of philosophical revelation, and political cynicism.

Many apologies.

Bittersweet Musings (#1a)

I will keep this post short, and bittersweet. Back in January of this year I made a difficult decision: I was no longer going to volunteer at my daughters' dance studio. This past week, I tied up all loose ends. And that included a final solo visit to the storage unit. 

[Addendum: It is not short, and more bitter than sweet. However, it is lyrical, and, if you read it carefully, you may detect the sweetness. Maybe.]

Confessions (#13)

Sigh. It is the middle of June. This is my garden. That tall, green thing is a lettuce plant. It has grown from seeds I put in the ground a year ago. At the beginning of the pandemic. Now, it has decided to grow. And I have done nothing to take care of it. Nor have I decided to harvest it when it would have been at its tastiest. Most of the leaves are now bitter.

It is a metaphor. 

However, so is the fact that it is still the middle of June, and most of my garden has been cleared away--except for the grass. If I act this week, I can still get some good harvests before the summer ends. Especially of cucumbers. So I can make my pickles. Which would make me very happy. 

Again, all this is a metaphor.

Meandering Thoughts (#9)

Yet, again, I am not going to write what I intended to say, because I did not take the time to plan it all out. The subject matter is complex; my skills, not quite up to the task. It would require several drafts, maybe even a few rewrites, in order to get my thoughts across cohesively. Otherwise, my words would have been a hot mess: an incomprehensible rant of a middle-aged man.   

Sigh. I procrastinated, and with only one hour to put something together, the following is the result. 

(Actually, I have wasted another ten minutes since typing that last line. So, fifty minutes to go.)

(Yes, I am recycling this image. Not just because I have run out of time, and need something. But also, it is a good metaphor for my current situation. However, I can't decide if I'm the girl, and the boy is Procrastination. Or, I am the boy, and the girl is you, the reader. BTW, it is a Norman Rockwell painting.)

Confessions (#12)

Today I enjoyed a meal of ribs and wings with a side of biscuits; good conversation with my wife, children, parents, and a sibling; and a quiet evening sitting down, typing up a blog post. The week itself, started off rough:  I was knocked out for an entire day by my second Covid-19 vaccination. But I was fine by the next day, and settled into a week of talking and texting with friends, and getting things done. Oh, and reading books. 

So, why tonight's post? Well, memories are a funny thing, and this one is no exception. It has been on my mind for some time, and I needed to release it. Maybe this will help me feel better. Or inspire me to take some sort of constructive action. At the very least, putting it into words will force me to confront it. 

Here goes...

(I am going to pass on sharing an image. I am not in the mood.)  

Confessions (#11)

Well, it was supposed to be a short post, but it turned into something a tad bit longer. Though, not anything close to my lengthier tomes. 

Fortunately, I managed to explain the included image. 

Unfortunately, it requires you to read to the end. 

Enjoy!

On Dreaming (#9)

A few days ago I finished a book about politics, and soon I will be done with one comparing John Brown and Abraham Lincoln. Both books have inspired a ton of thinking, including self reflection. The joy I that have felt tearing through those books has been a reminder. I need to read a lot more. Too often I prioritize the wrong things, or allow certain habits to steer me away from other tasks I enjoy, especially reading. But these past few weeks I set aside time to delve into these books. And I was well rewarded. 

At some point I want to write about them. I would like to regularly post book reviews. It would help me to work on my writing skills, and incentivize more reading. Those are two habits I would love to improve.

But writing good reviews requires a bit more effort on my part. Research and rewrites will be necessary, so I would like to avoid procrastinating. This week, I am going to take a shot at a review, by working on it daily. I will see how it goes, and get back to you. Hopefully there will be something to show by next Sunday. 

  

In the meantime, I have had a series of enlightening dreams: the first about the end of one thing, the beginning of another; the second involving Kevin Bacon; the third, involving death; the fourth, what will come to pass.

(The last dream described reflects this Vincent Van Gogh painting.)

Meandering Thoughts (#8)

After last week's rather depressing post, I have decided to bring a little more levity and brevity to today's writing. Well, more of the latter, as I am not very good at the former. Hmm... I may need to work on the latter as well. Sigh. 

(A birthday card I received from my wife while were dating. It cracked me up so much, I LOLed before LOLing was even a thing. And I have been cracking up about it every since. Seriously, the look on that cow's face. Love it! For the longest time I thought this was done by Gary Larson of the Far Side comic strip. Apparently it is a greeting card design from Leigh Rubin.)

Confessions (#10)

"While still I may, I write for you

The love I lived, the dream I knew.

From our birthday, until we die,

Is but the winking of an eye;

[...]

I cast my heart into my rhymes,

That you, in the dim coming times,

May know how my heart went with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

  ~  To Ireland in the Coming Times by William Butler Yeats

While searching for a quote about birthdays--as an introduction to my birthday post--I discovered this particular gem. At the time, I did not share it. Instead, that day, I settled on Franz Kafka and Mark Twain, because they were lighter and simpler, though no less deeper. I saved William Butler Yeats' more somber and complex verses for today's confession. 

(I just love her gaze. Plus, I am stuck on all things Russian right now. Maybe I'll even learn the language someday...)

A Brief Interlude (#14)

"What has mood to do with it? You fight [write] when the necessity arises—no matter the mood! Mood's a thing for cattle or making love or playing the baliset. It's not for fighting [writing]."

  ~ Gurney Halleck, Dune

Apologies to Gurney Halleck and to my readers (all six of them). Yes, I used this quote before, and for the same purpose, but I cannot help myself. Certain quotes just pop into my head when I hear specific words, no matter the context. Mood is one of those words, and this is the corresponding quote (with the necessary insertions to shift its meaning for tonight's topic).

And, if you have been reading this blog carefully since the beginning, you will remember I used this quote to introduce a post that I had written on a night when I was not in the mood.

Well, this is another such night.

(I did not draw this picture. Explain the image in the post.)

Meandering Thoughts (#7)

"Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

  ~ Mark Twain 

"Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old." 

  ~ Franz Kafka 

I don't mind, and I can still see beauty, so I should be okay.

It's that time of the year. Forgive me, but I need a moment to figure out how old I am. In the meantime, here is some background concerning my general indifference towards my birthdays.

(IIRC, I shared Pierre-Auguste Renoir's A Dance in the Country before. I enjoyed looking at it so much, I decided to share it again. But in my search for a new link, I discovered that it was part of series. The two other paintings are nearly as beautiful, though a special fondness remains for the woman in a Dance in the Country.)

One Year Anniversary!

Okay, so while doing some preliminary research for this post (i.e., searching through this blog), I discovered something interesting and funny. For the past few weeks I have been anxious about not reaching my 100th post on the one year anniversary of this blogging.  You can read about it here and here. Yes, it is not that important, but it would satisfy a certain part of my mind to have those two numbers align.

Well, I am happy to report I discovered a post from back in September, a Weekly Checkup, that seems to have been reverted to "draft" status. Well, I republished it just now, and found the total number of current posts to have finally reached ninety-nine. 

Today's post is going to bring my to one hundred!

Sigh. I feel relief. And regret. 

Read on to find out why.

(BTW, for the more observant of you, yes, my first two blog posts were published on April 5, 2020. And, yes, this blog post will be published on April 4, 2021, around 10 pm. Unfortunately, for complex reasons, I need to officially publish the weekly blog post on a Sunday night around 10 pm, and quickly follow it up with a Facebook post linking to the blog. Hence the discrepancy in the dates. Trust me, it is complex, but it is worth it.)

(I have shared a lot of beautiful and powerful paintings on this blog, but this is the earliest, and one of my top ten favorite ones.)

Meandering Thoughts (#6)

An older monk and younger one were traveling along a road. They came upon a shallow but muddy stream. Beside it stood a beautiful woman in a pretty dress. Without hesitation and ignoring his vow to not touch women, the older monk picked up the woman, carried her across the stream, and placed her down on the other side. Without a word, he continued on down the road.

The younger monk, shocked and angered by his mentor's actions, quickly crossed the stream, and fell in line beside him. Hours passed, and neither spoke. However, the young monk, still disturbed and appalled by what he had witnessed, finally said something.

'Why did you carry that woman, knowing that you were breaking a vow?'

'I did carry her, but I put her down immediately, and left her there by the stream. That was hours ago. So, why are you still carrying her?"

~ Old Buddhist Story

I do love that story. For years I have been trying to develop a version that has a middle-aged monk in there, stirring shit up. Because life is not that simple. And it takes a person in his forties to point that out. Haha.

(I can always count on Norman Rockwell. Seriously, check out these images. There are some real gems. I chose the two below because they reflect different aspects of my current mood. I think they are both powerful, but in subtle ways.)

Meandering Thoughts (#5)

April 5, 2021, will be the one year anniversary of this blog. But if I continue my pace of one post a week, I will end up celebrating with my ninety-ninth post. Since I prefer that numbers align neatly, I will be forced to take action. Therefore, I will be writing up something extra during the next two weeks. So, what should I discuss? The subject of my 100th post will of course be an "anniversary" piece. Next week's will most likely address another special event happening that Saturday. So, that leaves the topic of tonight's post and the extra one to be determined. 

And, thanks to an inspiring event this past week, I am all set. 

That floating post, to be published some time over the next two weeks, will be a book review.

And tonight's will uncover some of my reasons for doing it.

(Seriously, my treadmill has several stats it records during my routine: time, distance, elevation traversed, and calories. When they don't end in zeroes, especially the time and distance, it drives me nuts.)  

(I found this painting beautiful, especially the colors, but also amusing, for some reason. There are more paintings of women reading at this link. It includes one of my personal favorites, Jove decadent by Ramon Casas. And one of a nude woman reading. I am sure we have all done that at one time, right?)

Confessions (#9)

On April 5, 2020, I published my first blog post. Well, it was two posts. Because I could not decide the best way to introduce this blog, I published two on the same day. Also, it was not my first blog post. Over six years ago, I tried blog every day--that did not go very far.

This time around, I have been a bit more successful. I am fast approaching the first anniversary of this second round of blogging. In addition, I am four shy of my 100th post. However, after tonight, I only have three Sundays left before celebrating my blog's birthday. Being a stickler for aligning numbers (seriously, you should see my treadmill stats--the miles, time, and elevation have to end in zeroes, or else I feel like a failure), I have to find a way to publish four more posts by April 5, 2021. 

Yes, I am not right in the head. Never was. Most likely, never will be. 

And here is another post to prove it. 

(There is something about the movement in this painting, the colors, and the contrast of the figure in the foreground and the one in the background, that caught my attention. For some reason, it reminds me of a dream sequence I once found in an animation series.)

On Dreaming (#8)

As I mentioned in an earlier post on dreaming, I keep a daily journal where I record such things as inspirations, revelations, and reflections. And since my dreams are constantly filled with these three things, I make every effort to record them. My last post on dreams had to do with beaches and my struggles with them. I must admit, before sitting down to write this post, I thought I was experiencing a drought of vivid dreaming, broken only by the three I experienced Thursday and Friday night of this past week. However, thanks to my journal entries, which I just now reviewed, my memory was easily refreshed. Over the past three weeks in question, I chronicled quite a few lucid dreams:

• One involving a messy litter box, and my attempt to clean it up (the dream occurred the night before I had to visit Walmart);
• Another had me setting up for an event, doing something wrong, and trying to lie about it to one of my peers (a debate about permanent and dry erase markers were somehow a part of it);
• In a barely remembered one, I found a child locked in an otherwise empty van, and I decided to break in free them (by driving around in circles in the parking lot);
• In a strange one, I went from cleaning a green pool with a former student, to feeling sorry for a group of young people running a concession stand alongside an empty field (apparently, my former mentor had required that they remain working, even though there were no costumers);
• Then there was the time Major Houlihan from MASH inspired me to march in a parade that ended up with me standing in a line outside a crowded pub (my party left me at the door, as they managed to find a place inside--I finally woke up just as I walked away disappointed);
• One night I dreamed I was in a car with someone who took a detour against my better judgement (we ended up driving through a crowded baseball field outside a school that was letting out for recess);
• Another night I dreamt of a conversation between my sister, my father, and me, about the film, The Godfather, and Edgar Allen Poe (the whole time we were outside in the pouring rain trying to get my sister into her car so she could drive home--I had an umbrella, which I used to keep my sister dry, but none from my father, who did not seem to mind);
• Finally, I experienced a dream where I found myself outside my friend's house at the end of a party, struggling to find a place to urinate. But, I was desperate to get it over with as quickly as possible, so I could spend some time with my friend, whom I was not able to hang out with at all that night (I ended up finding an extremely tight bathroom on the second floor, where I managed to start peeing, only to discover, halfway through, that the toilet was filled with children's toys--yeah, I'll spare you the details. After I cleaned up the mess, I went downstairs, and found my friend. Excited that I still had time, I began to speak. Suddenly the dream ended, and I woke up.)   

That last one had me feeling quite disappointed. But I could be reading too much into it. After all, that night I did end up having to get out of bed and use the bathroom. There may have been something else to that dream!

Anyway, now that I am aware that I have not experienced a draught these past two week, I can share my last three dreams. However, this review has not been in vain. It has given me some context in which to evaluate these past three dreams. Trust me, there is plenty to think about.

Confessions (#8)

"Sometimes you can think someone is totally cool, but you never become besties."

    ~ Finn to Prismo, Adventure Time

"between two people."

    ~ the bottom half of my fortune from the only fortune cookie that was in the order (the top         half was cleanly cut off)

My two daughters and I were able to experience a tradition this past Wednesday night: order in Chinese food and watch episodes of Adventure Time. While the food was not as good as our usual fare (we decided to try an old place, because it delivers), the entertainment was every bit as good as I remembered. A quote from one particular episode from that night stuck out. That is why I  shared it above. I guess I never caught it the six other times I watched it. Maybe my mind was not ready to make the necessary connections until that night. Perhaps my soul was finally willing to listen to such a profound and humble truth. But, at that moment, I came to realize the countless times I tried to fight against that truth, and how it caused me and other people pain. 

Jealously can blind you; resentment can paralyze you; bad expectations can lead you astray. 

However, with the help of this blog, and some experiences these past several years, I have been able to come to terms with this essential truth. 

But that is not what today's post is about. I will save the above revelation for another day. In the meantime, here is another confession. In the form of a dialogue... between two people. One is cool. The other wants the first to be their bestie.

(Came across this painting by Edvard Munch--the one who did the famous "The Scream" painting--when I did a search for famous art works of friendship. I find the image below both beautiful and relevant.)

Meandering Thoughts (#4)

On Wednesday, February 17, 2021, an influential man, seventy years of age, died from lung cancer. Millions adored him, while other scorned his very existence. Controversial in life, his death would inspire people to praise his accomplishments, and rant about his sins. I have spent the past four days dwelling on what his death means to me, struggling to put into words my thoughts about him and his deeds. Please forgive me. Being neither particularly witty nor skillfully clever, and desiring deeply to meet tonight's deadline, I leave you with the following.

(Although it is not necessary, if will help if you read the NPR article linked above, especially a quote near the beginning given during a 2007 NPR interview.)

On Dreaming (#7)

There is something awesome about the sea. Although I have never ventured out onto it, I understand when sailors say it beckons them. Throughout my childhood, I would dig deep into the sand.  By throwing a heavy towel over it, I would hide myself away from the world. The droning sound of crashing waves muffled out the cacophony of anxieties, expectations, and responsibilities. There, in that makeshift emotional grave, I would flee the coils of the real world, and embrace the comforting realm of daydreams. When adulthood arrived, the covered pits in the sand became too small to hold my body and imagination. Instead, they were replaced by late nights lounging on dark balconies beyond the tides' reach, but still in earshot of the pounding surf. With the veil of those childhood beach towels long discarded from my view, I basked in sights as well as sounds:  the dying stars above, glowing lights of night life in the distance, bouncing points of flashlights moving along the dark beaches, and the near endless stretches of blackness punctuated constantly by the white crests of passing waves. With a wall of glass to deafen the sounds of TVs and voices from within the room behind me, and the several stories of floors below me to keep out the handful of adventurous souls walking the beach at night, I would, just as in those moments as a child, lose myself in daydreams.

No wonder my most vivid dreams involve the sea.

(Two paintings from the Spanish painter, Joaquin Sorolla. The composition of this particular one contrasts sharply with the rest of the post. I shared the second one, because I love the way the girl in the red jacket stands out in an already beautiful scene.)