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In times of old, The Furies protected Mother Right. If a mother (or any woman) was harmed, The Furies swooped down and took their vengeance. They were one of the last vestiges of a world that existed before the patriarchy. When we feel righteous anger, it is The Furies who are calling out to us to make what is wrong right again.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sweet Dreams
The other morning I fell back to sleep and I dreamed I was standing in this room, my room, where I write and meditate, and my mom was here. She was younger, with her hair still black, and she was swearing a blue sweater. I said, "Look, Dad, Mom is back!" I was so happy. I put my arms around her, and I could feel her! I could smell her! It was the most wonderful experience. In dreams, I usually can't feel other people—or things, really. And here I was hugging my mother.
In real life, I didn't hug my mother much. She wasn't a physically demonstrative woman. We had to kiss her on the top of her head (germs, I think), and she just wasn't a huggy person. My other sisters are much more physically demonstrative with our parents than I am. I remember being quite young and my mother wrote me a note about something. I remember thinking, "Too little, too late." I was so young to be so unforgiving. Eight or nine? What a harsh judgement for me to have made. And I think I felt like that as I was growing up. I felt like my parents—especially my mother—were always failing me. I don't know why. I had a good home, and they cared for me and about me. But I was an angry little girl, and I grew up into an angry young woman.
Sometimes I think it's the Orson Welles syndrome. Everyone told him he was a genius from the moment he was born and when his life didn't pan out quite the way he thought it should—when he was not crowned king of the world—he wasn't able to rise to the occasion. I haven't been crowned the queen of the world, so I pout?
It really doesn't matter.
The Mom dream slipped into another dream where I was driving home in the dark and my car stopped working. A group of immigrants (it was a dream; what can I say) piled out of a van and pushed my car to get it going. It slipped and slid on the road and then I was driving again, going down a narrow road. I realized I was going in the wrong direction so I turned around and was then walking inside an office building. There was sand in the hallway with animal prints in it. I said, "Oh, this is a dream because real buildings wouldn't have this. If I follow the tracks of the animal, I'll find an animal that'll help me." I walked into an office. There was a red rock on the desk. I said to myself, "If I can feel this rock, then it's not a dream." So I put my hand on the rock and I could very distinctly feel the rock under my fingers. More happened, but the funny part was that I asked a woman why there was sand in the hallway, and she laughed and said it was to cover up a fly and a dead moose.
Sometimes dreams are so bizarre and amazing.
That was one of my very few almost lucid dreams.
Now I'm off to work on The Blue Tail which I am just loving, although it is difficult to write sometimes. Serena Blue is in the thrall of a boy. I always want to save my characters and make it all right for them. (This is a freaking thang with me—in real and imagined life.) But she has to take her journey, just like the rest of us, so even though I could write her out of it, I have to wait and see what she wants to do.
Maybe I can delay work, and go up and take a bath in my relentless search for comfort. I called my father to see what he thought of Edwards dropping out. Then I told him about the dream, and we both cried. I hate making my dad cry. I know it's good for him—I guess—but I know he misses my mother so much. He has to walk through it, too. Wish I could make it better.
(This reminds me: when I was in high school, I said something to my father—some smart ass teenage remark—and he started crying. He said he was trying so hard to be a good father. I hugged him then. And I cried. Then I went to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of aspirin and I went into the back room and started eating aspirin. I felt so bad that I had made him cry that I decided to kill myself. Luckily, I figured out that killing myself would probably really make my father cry. I also thought that eating a bottle of aspirin probably would just make me sick. I put an end to that suicide attempt. I was a sensitive troubled girl. I'd go back and give her lots of hugs if I could.)
A ton of snow just fell off the roof and scared the bejesus out of me. Guess it's a sign that I should go to work.
Or take a bath.
Or maybe it just means it's getting warm out.
Ah science.
(The photograph was taken a few hours after the above dreams. The (crow?) prints were at the bottom of our steps.) 0 comments
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Home
Last night in the rain and the near dark, Mario and I, along with another woman, and our tracker friend (did I say her name is Linda?) went out into the forest. Way into the wild. We walked, with our packs, until Linda pointed and said, "You sit there. Click with your tongue if you see something." And she demonstrated. Then the three of us walked until she said to me, "You're small. Crawl in through there." She showed me a rip in the metal fence—as though some comic book character had come and pulled apart the fence to create this entrance or exit into or out of another world.
I went through the door and sat under an evergreen. By or upon elk poop. It was raining, and I was dressed in a plastic bag and three layers of coats, a shirt, a camisole, and two pairs of slacks. Mario and Linda walked on, but I didn't see where they went. I sat in the falling darkness, alone, still, quiet, watching and listening to the forest, the meadow, the sky. I looked out at giant hemlock trees that towered over all the other trees, slightly bent at their tops, as though they were bowing or in prayer. It grew dark. The rain began earnestly, keenly, dedicatedly, falling from the clouds like a veil, a veil that fell again and again, gorgeously, sensually, creating a cradle song for me, for us, for the world. A lullaby that went like this, "Husssshhhhhh." Little child, you are home. I don't know if I've ever heard anything as wonderful as this rain falling on the forest. I watched the hemlocks take the rain, breathe it in, and I did the same. I sat on the Earth amongst the wild things. I am most at home where the wild things live. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep with my body next to the Wild Mother. Mothers. As I watched the darkness come, I thought, this is where I should be all of my life.
When we walked back to our cars, Mario said Linda told him that the bears ripped the hole in the fence. "The forest service comes out and fixes it, and the bears keep ripping it open." I wondered if I would have sat there, just feet from that opening, if I had known who created it. Yes, I decided, and I would do it again.
At home, I slept hard. Dreamed hard. In one dream, I am in my hometown where I grew up, yet I am with people from where I live now. I decide to stay there. I say I'll get a job. A friend of mine says, "But you don't know how to do anything." I begin to list to her all the things I know how to do. I explain to her all the jobs I have had. And then I begin weeping, sobbing, that kind of crying when your whole body moves and grooves and dances with your sorrow. I put my head down on the table and weep and say, "I want so much to go home."
I awoke and lay in my husband's arms for many hours. Home.
Got out of bed. Sad. Unable to smell. Mario took me out to the forest. Everything is possible there. We saw signs of the wild everywhere.
At the Tao of Tea later, I began writing a novel on a yellow pad of paper. Writing as I had written for so many years. Putting pen to paper. "June 25, 2007. The Riverbend Refugee. The young white man walked down the dirt road on his way to work that morning..." I am most at home where the wild words live.
Later still, I imagined those hemlock trees drinking in the rain, dancing in the twilight. Me silently cheering them on. I learned their genus name is Tsuga heteraphylla, which means "Mother Tree." I thought of my friend Cate who talks about the Wild Mother. She would laugh to hear I was out with the Mother trees last night and that I felt like I had come home.
Why is it that so many of us feel homeless?
Three of my novels end with the word home. I've told you that before. I didn't do it on purpose.
I want so much to go home, my dreamself said. Or did I cry, "I want so much to be home?"
It's way past time to sleep.
I wonder if the hemlocks have a different cradle song tonight?
Hush. Can you hear it?
Sing along, babies, sing along.
I went through the door and sat under an evergreen. By or upon elk poop. It was raining, and I was dressed in a plastic bag and three layers of coats, a shirt, a camisole, and two pairs of slacks. Mario and Linda walked on, but I didn't see where they went. I sat in the falling darkness, alone, still, quiet, watching and listening to the forest, the meadow, the sky. I looked out at giant hemlock trees that towered over all the other trees, slightly bent at their tops, as though they were bowing or in prayer. It grew dark. The rain began earnestly, keenly, dedicatedly, falling from the clouds like a veil, a veil that fell again and again, gorgeously, sensually, creating a cradle song for me, for us, for the world. A lullaby that went like this, "Husssshhhhhh." Little child, you are home. I don't know if I've ever heard anything as wonderful as this rain falling on the forest. I watched the hemlocks take the rain, breathe it in, and I did the same. I sat on the Earth amongst the wild things. I am most at home where the wild things live. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep with my body next to the Wild Mother. Mothers. As I watched the darkness come, I thought, this is where I should be all of my life.
When we walked back to our cars, Mario said Linda told him that the bears ripped the hole in the fence. "The forest service comes out and fixes it, and the bears keep ripping it open." I wondered if I would have sat there, just feet from that opening, if I had known who created it. Yes, I decided, and I would do it again.
At home, I slept hard. Dreamed hard. In one dream, I am in my hometown where I grew up, yet I am with people from where I live now. I decide to stay there. I say I'll get a job. A friend of mine says, "But you don't know how to do anything." I begin to list to her all the things I know how to do. I explain to her all the jobs I have had. And then I begin weeping, sobbing, that kind of crying when your whole body moves and grooves and dances with your sorrow. I put my head down on the table and weep and say, "I want so much to go home."
I awoke and lay in my husband's arms for many hours. Home.
Got out of bed. Sad. Unable to smell. Mario took me out to the forest. Everything is possible there. We saw signs of the wild everywhere.
At the Tao of Tea later, I began writing a novel on a yellow pad of paper. Writing as I had written for so many years. Putting pen to paper. "June 25, 2007. The Riverbend Refugee. The young white man walked down the dirt road on his way to work that morning..." I am most at home where the wild words live.
Later still, I imagined those hemlock trees drinking in the rain, dancing in the twilight. Me silently cheering them on. I learned their genus name is Tsuga heteraphylla, which means "Mother Tree." I thought of my friend Cate who talks about the Wild Mother. She would laugh to hear I was out with the Mother trees last night and that I felt like I had come home.
Why is it that so many of us feel homeless?
Three of my novels end with the word home. I've told you that before. I didn't do it on purpose.
I want so much to go home, my dreamself said. Or did I cry, "I want so much to be home?"
It's way past time to sleep.
I wonder if the hemlocks have a different cradle song tonight?
Hush. Can you hear it?
Sing along, babies, sing along.
Labels: dreams, nature, Riverbend Refugee, tracking
4 comments
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Lions, Millet, and Bears, Oh My
Last night we had our first tracking and wilderness safety class. A woman in town who lived for four summers with the grizzlies in Alaska and who works with search and rescue as a tracker in our county is teaching the class. She'll have a book out eventually about her experiences with the bears, and I'll let you know when that happens. She's an amazing woman.
She had great stories last night and today. What I have realized is that all my so-called paranoia is perfectly suited to this subject. Many of the things I've been doing on trails for years is exactly what I should be doing. I look at the cars in the parking lot to try and figure out what kind of people are on the trail. I also leave if something doesn't look or feel right to me. I lie on the trail all the time when people ask me questions. I never say I'm alone. She also suggests we don't park at the trailhead; park someplace else and walk to the trail. Also, always park so you can get right out.
Afterward, I thought I'd dream of bears or psychos. Instead I dreamed of millet and the Old Mermaid Sanctuary, the one in Arizona we visit in the winter. In the dream, I put millet in all kinds of shapes. I remember most vividly a beautiful spiral. In the Old Mermaid Sanctuary part of the dream, it was time for Mario and I to go home. I said to Mario, "But it seems like we just got here." He said, "We did. It's only been two weeks." And then we wandered around looking for a place to go. I think this means I need to do a millet post. And the other: we're looking for a new Old Mermaid Sanctuary for the winter, so that's probably what that part of it was about. *sigh* (Anyone know of a beautiful, affordable, and environmentally safe place in the Southwest on in Mexico where Mario and I can go to write for part of the winter?)
Today, we went out into the woods near to Falling Creek, in the Giff where I hike all the time. We tracked in high grass and then in the forest, without grass. That was much more difficult than tracking in the grass. After lunch, we walked on a trail and looked for signs of animals. It's different to walk on a trail when you're actually looking around and being aware than just trucking through the forest to get exercise. I found fresh bear claw marks on a tree. A drop of gold sap gleamed from one of the claw marks—so it was fresh. Then I found some tracks that turned out to be cougar tracks. I would have never known that but our tracker told us what they were. Plus we saw where a porcupine had been gnawing on a tree; old claw marks that could have been bear or cougar; and a couple of smaller trees shredded by antlers.
To me, tracking is reading a story without words. I love it, and I've been wanting some training in this area for such a long time. It was great fun. Tomorrow night, we're going out into the woods in cougar country and sitting still. In the dark. In the night.
Oh my.
She had great stories last night and today. What I have realized is that all my so-called paranoia is perfectly suited to this subject. Many of the things I've been doing on trails for years is exactly what I should be doing. I look at the cars in the parking lot to try and figure out what kind of people are on the trail. I also leave if something doesn't look or feel right to me. I lie on the trail all the time when people ask me questions. I never say I'm alone. She also suggests we don't park at the trailhead; park someplace else and walk to the trail. Also, always park so you can get right out.
Afterward, I thought I'd dream of bears or psychos. Instead I dreamed of millet and the Old Mermaid Sanctuary, the one in Arizona we visit in the winter. In the dream, I put millet in all kinds of shapes. I remember most vividly a beautiful spiral. In the Old Mermaid Sanctuary part of the dream, it was time for Mario and I to go home. I said to Mario, "But it seems like we just got here." He said, "We did. It's only been two weeks." And then we wandered around looking for a place to go. I think this means I need to do a millet post. And the other: we're looking for a new Old Mermaid Sanctuary for the winter, so that's probably what that part of it was about. *sigh* (Anyone know of a beautiful, affordable, and environmentally safe place in the Southwest on in Mexico where Mario and I can go to write for part of the winter?)
Today, we went out into the woods near to Falling Creek, in the Giff where I hike all the time. We tracked in high grass and then in the forest, without grass. That was much more difficult than tracking in the grass. After lunch, we walked on a trail and looked for signs of animals. It's different to walk on a trail when you're actually looking around and being aware than just trucking through the forest to get exercise. I found fresh bear claw marks on a tree. A drop of gold sap gleamed from one of the claw marks—so it was fresh. Then I found some tracks that turned out to be cougar tracks. I would have never known that but our tracker told us what they were. Plus we saw where a porcupine had been gnawing on a tree; old claw marks that could have been bear or cougar; and a couple of smaller trees shredded by antlers.
To me, tracking is reading a story without words. I love it, and I've been wanting some training in this area for such a long time. It was great fun. Tomorrow night, we're going out into the woods in cougar country and sitting still. In the dark. In the night.
Oh my.
Labels: dreams, Falling Creek, food, nature, tracking
4 comments
Friday, October 27, 2006
Shhhhhh
I'm completely absolutely resting today. No work. No computer time. Nothing. So don't tell anyone I'm on the computer or that I spent part of the morning doing library work. We have an issue at work that is concerning me about patron privacy so that has been occupying my brain. I am a staunch defender of patron privacy and Intellectual Freedoms, and I find it disheartening when these issues no longer become important to the institution, and librarians and library workers are afraid to speak out because they are afraid of losing their jobs. (I'm speaking generally here, not specifically about any library.) When library administrations and library boards become regime-like, when dissent is no longer tolerated, we are all in big trouble. Oh wait. We are all in big trouble.
I was originally hired as a branch librarian nineteen years ago. My library district was known throughout the United States for its patron service and its stance in Intellectual Freedom issues. That's why I came to work here. I was hired precisely because of who I am, because I spoke up, because I asked difficult questions, and because I was a good manager and I was great with the public. I loved my job. I became sick when a new carpet and new linoleum were put in my branch. I had to quit being a branch manager, and I continued my work as a selector, from home. The rest, as Sister Faye Mermaid would say, is...mystery.
I love libraries. I love the potential of libraries. I love that libraries can change the lives of individuals for the good. Just because the institutions and the people who run them and work there don't always live up to these high ideals doesn't mean I don't still love 'em.
But I'm not supposed to be on the computer...
I am making soup even as we speak. I had soooo many dreams last night. I hadn't slept the night before, or much the night before that, so last night I said I was going to bed at 10:00 p.m., which is when my naturopath says is the best time to go to bed, so I did that. (Okay, 10:15.) And every time I woke up in the night I made myself go back to sleep. In one dream a petulant child was really, really hungry and she just wanted to eat sheets of nori. I told her I would make her a soup: with mushrooms and onion and lots of sea vegetables. So guess what kind of soup I'm making for that petulant child in waking time?
(Beware: I'm about to do the equivalent of showing you pictures from my vacation...oh wait, I already do do that.) I also dreamed I lived in a frozen wasteland. Everything was frozen, my bed, my walls, my feelings, the people. I decided to leave this wasteland and go into a more watery juicy world. (I'm not kidding.) But someone tried to shoot me, so I was running for my life.
In another, I lived in this big trailer or mobile home. Huge! Originally six people were going to come with me, and then I allowed for another six. I went wandering around this town or fair or something and when I came back, the house/trailer had been taken over by all these obnoxious people. And they were partying and making a mess, and they wouldn't leave no matter what I did. I went back to the fair and called all the people from my home (via a loudspeaker) to come and meet me at this place. They came and I talked and said only the original people could come back. The invaders weren't very nice, and they refused to give up the house/trailer. We got on a bus to return to the house/trailer, with me resigned just to live with them and the situation. I got on first and stood near the driver. Then the first six got on near me, then the second six, then the invaders in back. The bus started forward and everyone was quiet.
Then I said, "Look, this is like a microcosm for what's happening on the planet. If we all go back there and live together the sewage will back up, the air will be foul. It won't be good for any of us." They didn't care! So I told the bus driver to stop. I said, "Well, I'm not going to be part of it." I stepped off the bus. I didn't look back. I heard people behind me so I thought my first six were following. I laid down on a big glorious rock to go to sleep. It was so nice. Two women did follow me, but they weren't from the bus. I didn't know them. I held them like they were my daughters. A policeman came to roust us, informing me that the two women were con artists.
I can't believe I told you the whole thing. Ah well. I'll be ashamed of using my blogosphere space up with this later. Right now I'm gettin' off the bus.
May You Dream in Beauty!
I was originally hired as a branch librarian nineteen years ago. My library district was known throughout the United States for its patron service and its stance in Intellectual Freedom issues. That's why I came to work here. I was hired precisely because of who I am, because I spoke up, because I asked difficult questions, and because I was a good manager and I was great with the public. I loved my job. I became sick when a new carpet and new linoleum were put in my branch. I had to quit being a branch manager, and I continued my work as a selector, from home. The rest, as Sister Faye Mermaid would say, is...mystery.
I love libraries. I love the potential of libraries. I love that libraries can change the lives of individuals for the good. Just because the institutions and the people who run them and work there don't always live up to these high ideals doesn't mean I don't still love 'em.
But I'm not supposed to be on the computer...
I am making soup even as we speak. I had soooo many dreams last night. I hadn't slept the night before, or much the night before that, so last night I said I was going to bed at 10:00 p.m., which is when my naturopath says is the best time to go to bed, so I did that. (Okay, 10:15.) And every time I woke up in the night I made myself go back to sleep. In one dream a petulant child was really, really hungry and she just wanted to eat sheets of nori. I told her I would make her a soup: with mushrooms and onion and lots of sea vegetables. So guess what kind of soup I'm making for that petulant child in waking time?
(Beware: I'm about to do the equivalent of showing you pictures from my vacation...oh wait, I already do do that.) I also dreamed I lived in a frozen wasteland. Everything was frozen, my bed, my walls, my feelings, the people. I decided to leave this wasteland and go into a more watery juicy world. (I'm not kidding.) But someone tried to shoot me, so I was running for my life.
In another, I lived in this big trailer or mobile home. Huge! Originally six people were going to come with me, and then I allowed for another six. I went wandering around this town or fair or something and when I came back, the house/trailer had been taken over by all these obnoxious people. And they were partying and making a mess, and they wouldn't leave no matter what I did. I went back to the fair and called all the people from my home (via a loudspeaker) to come and meet me at this place. They came and I talked and said only the original people could come back. The invaders weren't very nice, and they refused to give up the house/trailer. We got on a bus to return to the house/trailer, with me resigned just to live with them and the situation. I got on first and stood near the driver. Then the first six got on near me, then the second six, then the invaders in back. The bus started forward and everyone was quiet.
Then I said, "Look, this is like a microcosm for what's happening on the planet. If we all go back there and live together the sewage will back up, the air will be foul. It won't be good for any of us." They didn't care! So I told the bus driver to stop. I said, "Well, I'm not going to be part of it." I stepped off the bus. I didn't look back. I heard people behind me so I thought my first six were following. I laid down on a big glorious rock to go to sleep. It was so nice. Two women did follow me, but they weren't from the bus. I didn't know them. I held them like they were my daughters. A policeman came to roust us, informing me that the two women were con artists.
I can't believe I told you the whole thing. Ah well. I'll be ashamed of using my blogosphere space up with this later. Right now I'm gettin' off the bus.
May You Dream in Beauty!
Labels: dreams, libraries, sleep
1 comments
Thursday, August 10, 2006
A Dog Named Joe...
...and A Girl Named Whiny and Tired.
I took a bath. Nearly fell asleep in the bathtub while reading Animals in Translation. As I was sleepily stumbling into bed and Mario was covering me up (since he was awake and beginning his day), I asked, "Is designing humane ways to slaughter animals the same as say designing so-called humane ways to kill people." (The author designs "humane" slaughterhouses.) Mario said it is manifestly different. How? Because they're not people. I closed my eyes. "But it's so creepy." "Yes, it is very creepy." He left and I heard rainddrops on the roof. I was out of bed and downstairs in a jiffy, outside nearly naked on our front porch for all the world to see with my arms spread wide and my face uplifted to this rain which wasn't much more than cloud sweat. Still. It was nice.
But I'm very cranky. And sick to my stomach. And tired. Too many crises yesterday.
I had a funny dream. Not last night. Last night I didn't sleep. But the night before. (And yes, with all that's going on in the world, I'm writing about my dreams. That's the way it is.)
I was trying to get home in the dream, but it was dark and the ground was squishy and watery and I could see if I went much further I'd fall into the water. So I turned back. Just then a man appeared. "Oh," I said, "I asked the Universe for help and you appeared. I asked for someone who was not a psychopath. Are you a psychopath?" I don't think he answered but he offered to take me to Lenore's house. I pretended to know who Lenore was and went with him. A dog named Joe came with us. He was black and white. A mutt. Even in the dream I thought it was funny his name was Joe. It was daytime and sunny and snow was everywhere. I saw a white bear. I was glad we were going inside so the bear wouldn't see us. But the bear found us once we were inside the flimsy house, and I could hear him snuffling outside the door. I looked for a place to hide inside the house. I knew the bear would tear the place apart. I decided if I ever built a house it would be made from stainless steel so that the bear couldn't get in. I don't remember what else. But it's interesting the bear has returned to my dreams. (I understand it is probably only interesting to me.) Last week I dreamed of a white cat. I am being visited by white animals.
Did I mention that the hummingbirds (or bird) come to the feeder when I am outside? Mario will sit on the back porch and often no hummingbirds will come. I go outside and say, "I'm here. Come on down." Almost instantly one will appear. I mean literally an instant. One day I was back there by myself and a hummingbird flew right up to me, about a foot away. It was the most extraordinary thing. I wondered if, like the bees, the hummingbird was mistaking me for a flower.
Well, as Bobby said on King of the Hill, "This flower is wilting."
I'm going to eat, throw up, or sleep. Or all of the beside. 0 commentsAll photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.
I took a bath. Nearly fell asleep in the bathtub while reading Animals in Translation. As I was sleepily stumbling into bed and Mario was covering me up (since he was awake and beginning his day), I asked, "Is designing humane ways to slaughter animals the same as say designing so-called humane ways to kill people." (The author designs "humane" slaughterhouses.) Mario said it is manifestly different. How? Because they're not people. I closed my eyes. "But it's so creepy." "Yes, it is very creepy." He left and I heard rainddrops on the roof. I was out of bed and downstairs in a jiffy, outside nearly naked on our front porch for all the world to see with my arms spread wide and my face uplifted to this rain which wasn't much more than cloud sweat. Still. It was nice.
But I'm very cranky. And sick to my stomach. And tired. Too many crises yesterday.
I had a funny dream. Not last night. Last night I didn't sleep. But the night before. (And yes, with all that's going on in the world, I'm writing about my dreams. That's the way it is.)
I was trying to get home in the dream, but it was dark and the ground was squishy and watery and I could see if I went much further I'd fall into the water. So I turned back. Just then a man appeared. "Oh," I said, "I asked the Universe for help and you appeared. I asked for someone who was not a psychopath. Are you a psychopath?" I don't think he answered but he offered to take me to Lenore's house. I pretended to know who Lenore was and went with him. A dog named Joe came with us. He was black and white. A mutt. Even in the dream I thought it was funny his name was Joe. It was daytime and sunny and snow was everywhere. I saw a white bear. I was glad we were going inside so the bear wouldn't see us. But the bear found us once we were inside the flimsy house, and I could hear him snuffling outside the door. I looked for a place to hide inside the house. I knew the bear would tear the place apart. I decided if I ever built a house it would be made from stainless steel so that the bear couldn't get in. I don't remember what else. But it's interesting the bear has returned to my dreams. (I understand it is probably only interesting to me.) Last week I dreamed of a white cat. I am being visited by white animals.
Did I mention that the hummingbirds (or bird) come to the feeder when I am outside? Mario will sit on the back porch and often no hummingbirds will come. I go outside and say, "I'm here. Come on down." Almost instantly one will appear. I mean literally an instant. One day I was back there by myself and a hummingbird flew right up to me, about a foot away. It was the most extraordinary thing. I wondered if, like the bees, the hummingbird was mistaking me for a flower.
Well, as Bobby said on King of the Hill, "This flower is wilting."
I'm going to eat, throw up, or sleep. Or all of the beside. 0 comments
