Monday, February 21, 2011

Anyone Named Daniel or Joseph?

I was acting strange and Brandon was very concerned, so he took me to the doctor. We found out that I had a hormonal imbalance that caused me to become emotionally unstable at times. Hence the reason I was trying to stab myself.

My friend (remaining anonymous) was a bridesmaid in a wedding and I was helping her get ready, which included doing her hair, make-up...and helping her shave her legs.

I was driving with my grandpa and some little kids I was babysitting on a road that went through a hospital when I passed a couple stunt guys with dirt bikes. I found out that I was being filmed in an action movie, but couldn't discover which one.

No, these things didn't really happen. They are just clips from three of my dreams I've been having the past week. I don't remember clearly enough what some of the other ones were, or I would give you more examples.

I don't dream in black and white. I don't dream in slow motion. I don't dream that I'm falling. And I never have any type of dream that could be considered "normal". These examples may seem extreme but they aren't any crazier than others I've had. If my dreams have any meaning, I need an interpreter the caliber of Daniel or Joseph!

I once dreamed that Brandon was a sheep-herder, taking an enormous herd of fluffy animals from Texas to North Dakota to be slaughtered. The weirdest thing? He liked it! Or how about walking around a huge maze in a corporate office. Not too strange - until you realize you're the size of a Lego person pushing a tiny shopping cart around.

Still, nothing surpasses a very vivid dream I had several years ago. Here's the full story.

Something was strange. I was walking in the mobile home that has served as my family's home for eight years, but it was deserted. I reached the front door and slowly turned the handle. The off-white, plastic door creaked open and I stepped out onto the metal grating that served as our porch, three feet off the ground. All seemed normal, including the moat that surrounded the mobile home. 

I inched towards the edge of the six-by-six foot porch and leaned over the still, dark water. Shuffling a little closer, my toe caught in a crack and I fell! A resounding SPLASH and I was enveloped in a green murkiness. In that split second of touching the water, I felt my body transform. My arms stuck out differently, my elbows making vertical right angles. A very long snout was in front of my eyes and I distinctly felt a long, powerful tail behind me. The scales, the claws... No way! An alligator? It couldn't be...but I was was! I was an alligator, swimming in our moat. 

"This is the weirdest..." I didn't get any further in my thoughts because something was speeding towards me. I instinctively knew that danger was approaching and braced myself. A flash of teeth and whiskers and then BAM! a leopard seal slammed into me, sending us both reeling head over (literal) tail. I curled a scaly fist and landing a punch on its strong body. A whack across my head was the response I got and soon we were fighting like mad animals, landing punches wherever we could. 

The leopard seal was so strong! I felt like I was fighting in slow motion, hampered by the water. I wasn't used to fist fighting in water, I had only been an alligator for a few minutes! But my opponent didn't care, landing punch after punch. He moved like lightening and as we tumbled in the dark waters, I could feel myself losing. No! I can't lose, I must fight! Another hit to my jaw...

And that's where I woke up. I was very relieved to find myself a human, living in our real house, with the knowledge that the moat had never existed.

Does anyone have any divine inspiration on the meaning of these?

Monday, February 14, 2011

Be Mine

Today is Valentine's Day. It's so different this year, since I'm now married and living in New York (for the time being). Surprisingly, the one difference that really comes to mind isn't because I can celebrate with my husband, but that I can't celebrate with my Dad.

No one in our house ever made a huge deal (i.e. spent lots of money) over Valentine's Day. A card from Dad for Mom and some of her favorite chocolates. A card for Dad from Mom (and probably more that I didn't know about). And Dad always had something small for the boys (and Amy last year) and I. A heart-shaped box of chocolates or a box of Reese's Pieces. Not much. But enough to make memories that make me want to cry.

I made a lot of mistakes in my teen years, probably ones most teenagers do. Attitudes of rebellion and selfishness. Pushing boundaries set for my own protection. My will clashed with my dad's many, many times. Our relationship had its rough times and almost always because of me, but despite all of this, I have a wonderful relationship with my dad. Thank God for my slow-coming maturity! (Still a process, always a process...)

My dad was my first Valentine. In so many ways I will always be his girl. My stubbornness comes from him. My love (not obsession!) of Star Wars and love (almost obsession) of Lord of the Rings started with him. And if it weren't for his constant teasing I wouldn't be able to live with my husband!

As his first child, in some ways my dad had to lay his own life down in order to be my father. My first protector. My imperfect, yet incredibly meaningful example of God the Father. Dad showed me who Christ was and was there when Christ entered my life. He showed me an example of the love my future husband should have for me, through his love for my mom.

My dad is the best dad. I love him and miss him, just wanting to get a hug.

Dad, will you be my Valentine?

(Um. Right, I'm married...well, at least one of them?)

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Simply Thoughts and a Slightly New Direction

Life can be boring to write about. Or sometimes it just seems to follow one theme. I was thinking I should rename my blog "Escapades in the Kitchen" because the only exciting things that seem to happen is food jumping out of the blender, sour milk (four cups of it) splashing onto the floor, and a glass pie plate literally exploding across the kitchen behind my back. (Yes, I'm fine and we just ate the top of the pie, not the bottom which was iffy with all the broken glass underneath it.)

I've found that writing in third person about yourself, unless it is simply humorous, is hard because you have to be brutally honest. Struggles that are intensely personal will come out. And if you haven't learned your lesson yet, you can't end the story on a positive note. How do you write about a revelation that has come to you, if you are currently refusing to apply it to your life?

The most engrossing part of a person's life is the inside struggle. But to reveal yourself and just how stubborn and prideful you really are isn't something most people want to do. At least on a real-time basis. You're not nearly so vulnerable about lessons learned in the past as you are about the current ones you are still fighting.

This is part of the reason why my posts have been so few and far between. Third-person is very fun to write with but too personal to use for many parts of my life at the moment. Much of it is left to whatever happens to be funny, hence the cooking disasters that keep coming to my mind (and the kitchen). So I will be using a couple different writing styles on my blog now. First-person for those instances and ideas that don't transfer well to a "story" format (um, wait...that's called a blog post, isn't it?) and third-person for the times I feel especially inspired (and dramatic!).

I hope that I'll be able to expand more thoughts, more real-life on the road, this way. For those of you who read, thank you! And any ideas you have are welcome, as long as I don't lose any friends if I decide not to use them. That would be "poor," to quote my husband, since I live too far away to fix it. *Insert chuckle*