The Meaning of Dreams

My mom has started having recurring dreams. This is the second time she's asked me what they might mean, and last time I did some research on the computer, and couldn't find anything that might apply to an 88-year old great grandmother who doesn't do any childcare. Maybe someone who reads this can help.

Some of these dreams are calm, but many of them are terrifying nightmares. They're all about small children. Most of the time she's looking for the little ones. They're either lost or stolen, and she can't find them. Sometimes she sees them in the distance, but no matter how hard she runs, she can't catch them, and they disappear into the distance. Sometimes she can't see them, but can hear them screaming. She says a few of the dreams have had her chasing the kids, and they're running away from her. She's not angry, she's scared, but the children are afraid of her and they don't understand that she's trying to catch them in order to protect them.

Whenever one of these dreams wakes her up, which is now about two to three times a week, she can't get back to sleep. The first time she mentioned it to me was about six months ago, so I think it's gone on long enough. She won't talk to the doctor about it, because she thinks it's "just dumb." 

Anybody have some ideas I can give her? This has really got her spooked.

My Valentine

We've never really celebrated Valentine's Day. Don't get me wrong. I always buy a nice card for John, and a little gift of some kind, but that's as far as it ever goes. It doesn't really show up on our radar beyond that. It's never bothered me, because as a kid, Valentine's Day was the worst holiday on the books.

Being the new kid in class was traumatic if you arrived just before Valentine's Day. Back when I was young, it seems like every teacher would have the kids bring Valentines with names on them, and everyone would have a little bag on their desk. Kids would go around and put the cards in the bags. If they didn't know the new kid, usually me, then the new kid didn't get a card. It wasn't unusual for me to leave my class of 30 to 35 kids with only two to three Valentines in my bag. It was a mighty ugly feeling. Because of that, I got used to being a Valentine giver, not a receiver.

Last night I was sitting in my chair watching an old black and white movie, "Topper," on television while I worked on knitting the cabled sweater vest for my mom. John came in and stood there watching me. I paused the movie and the knitting needles. 

"What do you want to do for Valentines Day?" he asked. Obviously I was surprised. We never do anything. 

"Do?" I asked.

"Yes. Let's go out to lunch or something."

And that's what we did. We had a late lunch at the Cracker Barrel before going to church. It was really nice. I felt very special, and let him know how happy I am, living my life with him. These days, that man is just full of surprises.

Room With a View

We do have lots of room here, and each room has a view. We love being home. I remember when we'd look forward to being on the road. I craved travel when we lived in the suburbs of California, just the chance to go anywhere. Now there's just nothing quite so fine as being home—unless it's being home with friends or family here to enjoy it with us.

These photos reflect just two of the mornings that have blessed us since we've been back from our last trip to California. The first was taken just before daybreak one morning. The other was taken a few days later, just after the sun came up. Both these photos were taken looking toward the hills in the West, so the sun is rising behind the house, and I'm

on the front deck. The crisp air smells so fresh 

and clean.

                   

 

It's a grand way

to start

a new day. 

My Biggest Smiles

So many things make me happy. Those who know me are no stranger to my smile. Perhaps the one thing that makes me the happiest, though, is when I make a gift for someone and it turns out to be just right. 

On our recent trip to California, I spent a couple of weeks sitting on the bed in our hotel room, following a sweater pattern line by line as I made sweaters for my two granddaughters. When I saw the pattern picture, I knew the girls had to have these sweaters for Easter. They have inset tulips along the bottom, front and back, and the tulip has always been their mother Ruth's favorite flower.

Whenever I make something like that, I realize that several things can go wrong. I've made things that weren't to people's taste. I've even made things that didn't fit. My friend Stacey's baby Hanne got one of the little outfits that Kate outgrew before it was finished. It was an old fashioned jacket with a lace bottom. 

I'd never done lace knit before, and kept having to start over. It was pretty confusing, but both little girls finally ended up with their jackets and hats. I don't have photos of my granddaughter yet, but got a few of Hanne, so I'll include them. 

Of course, the sweaters I started in California weren't finished there. I completed Ashley's, and finally finished Kate's. When I made Kate's, though, I figured out a better way to make the buttonholes, so I took Ashley's apart and re-knitted the front section and sewed it back together. What's another week to a Grandma when you're retired, anyway?

Well, I'm smiling now, because the sweaters arrived at Ben and Ruth's home today, and they not only fit,

but Ruth loved them. 

Ashley wore hers today, and Ruth says it looks like Kate's will fit as well. When she said they were the nicest things I'd ever made for them, my smile was as big as it ever gets. You sure can't buy that! When Ben called later to add his thanks and say how pretty he thought they were, I was practically dancing.

There's little enough a Grandma can do from so far away for family and friends she loves. This makes me happy. I'm so glad it makes others happy, too.

Time to Wash Out My Ears

Talking with my friend Sherrie tonight on the phone, we covered a multitude of subjects, from our grandchildren, all girls, to time zones, and how our television programs come on Central Time, even though we're actually in the Mountain Time Zone. When something starts at my house, it'll start two hours later at her home in California. The early programming is nice, especially on nights when a body might get tired earlier. That could happen. Some day.

Out of the blue, Sherrie shocked me. I couldn't believe my ears. 

"Have you ever been unfaithful?"

"No, I've never been unfaithful. Why would you ask me that?"

She started to laugh. Finally I understood. She hadn't said what I heard at all. She had asked, "Have you ever been on Facebook?" 

We had a good laugh. I guess my ears are as congested as the rest of me. It's just a good thing I could honestly answer the way I did, or we wouldn't have ended up laughing about the misunderstanding. It's always good, though, to have that one person in your life who could actually get away with asking you anything. She could if anyone could. I just wasn't sure why she'd want to, for a minute there.

The Brain is Working

Today I forced my still-sick body into the car to go for my annual neurology checkup, and found out my brain is still working. That's always good to know. I lost a considerable amount of memory tracking after the last seizures, and I'm beyond grateful to have been referred to Dr. Joseph Schmitt in Loveland, Colorado. 

He saw me frequently at first, and ran so many tests I knew he wasn't leaving anything up to chance. He asked questions about my childhood. He adjusted medications. He explained why listening to audio books would help reconnect the synapses that weren't connecting in the communication center of the brain. I felt like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, singing, "If I Only Had a Brain." 

Today the only question I missed was, "What day of the week is it?" I sure thought it was Wednesday, but it was only Tuesday. Being sick probably had something to do with that, but as I told him, since we retired, the day of the week doesn't mean much to me anymore. My knitting needles don't care what day it is. Neither do my books or camera. And when I write, it doesn't matter at all what day it is. If I had to miss something, that would be the least problematic. I can get the day of the week from my watch. 

Now I don't have to go back for a year, unless I start having seizures again. He'll call in a few days to let me know the results of the blood test. It determines whether or not my medication levels are still correct. He takes good care of me. And it's nice to know that my memory hasn't gotten worse from a year ago. Some days it seems like it has. I suppose I just forgot how much I didn't remember then.

Queen For A Day

When I was quite small there was a television program called "Queen For a Day" where several ladies would be featured. They would each have a sob story, some reason their lives were really hard, tragic or pathetic. At the end of the half hour, one of the ladies would be crowned Queen for a day, and given many gifts to ease her life and bring her joy. That show always fascinated me. I got my turn this week, but not on television.

We arrived home from California just in time to celebrate my birthday. It had to be the best birthday I've ever had. If I said that last year as well, then just accept the fact that my life just keeps getting better. The morning was split, partly with my knitting needles, working on sweaters for my granddaughters, and later with a wonderful novel. It's Melissa Mayhue's newest Highlander novel, and when she combines magic and Scotland, it's a perfect read.

John took me to lunch at the Olive Garden. We gallivanted around town for hours, then had frozen custard at Culvert's, and finally went over to the Cracker Barrel to pick up take out dinners (in case we ever got hungry that night). He did. I didn't. Mine kept until the next night. And we were home enough for just about every person I love to call and wish me a happy birthday. I think those calls, and the cards I received, just made the day all the more special. 

I had realized on our way home from California that I might be getting sick. My chest felt congested. Luckily, I didn't really get to feeling nasty until the night after my birthday. I got up during the night and took some cold medicine, and have been under the weather since, but I don't care. I'm still happy. At least I'm home.