A storm is rising at the beach. I am the daughter of my ex boyfriend. He's going to launch the boat into the water. It's on the ramp, on the trailer, behind the corvette, but the corvette is nose first into the water. I ask, "Do you want me to drive the corvette out?" "Yes." It feels unsafe...like a set up...like he intends to destroy something and I'm going to be held responsible.
I get into the corvette and make a u-turn out of the water and up a ramp loading into the back of a moving van...it was also parked in the water, sideways, on the boat ramp. "How did I do?" I ask. There is no answer; he's abandoned me. I follow up the ramp and onto the beach.
My son Isaac is my brother. He's playing with friends on the rocks above me. I am looking for lost items washed ashore. I notice but only secondarily, beautiful fish peaking out of the rocks on the sides of my path. Then I look up, my ex/father is above going through found items. I look to the side and see my brother. I wonder how to get up there and notice the path and the koi, crawling between rocks, climbing to the top, they are so beautiful.
"Get the camera for me" I call to my father/ex. My brother/son races me for it and beats me there. I'm so angry. It's my camera, and I asked for it, but it is given to my brother instead. I scold my father/ex for being such a weak person who would not stand for what is right and instead spoil my brother and forsake me. I call him a coward and go to take my camera from my brother. It is out of film....
Doug is there (I have promised to marry him when we turn 80). I'm surprised. He says that he and Rachel are in the park. He warns me to stay sharp. I don't understand. He is talking about being aware of my father/ex, "Just stay sharp." It is like there is a plan Doug knows about that I do not. I think about Doug and do a little dance...it feels good enough to wake me from my dream.
I should call him today. He had surgery this week, too, and doesn't know about my ankle.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Tourists on Telephone
I'm a peace officer...everyone seems to be in my dream...on the watch for suspicious characters, vagrants, people making "deals" for drugs and sex, tourists on telephones. Yes, tourists on telephones...they can be found in booths, European style, sitting on tall wooden stools, backs leaning against bi-fold, glass fronted doors, smoking cigarettes and tapping the ashes into glass trays, like those from hotels, propped up on narrow wooden shelves, speaking foreign tongues...I know they are all innocent...just tourists missing home, sharing news on telephones.
Frog Song
My friend, Lynn, and I are at an adoption center for children. We seem to be employees/social workers there. There is a particular child that belongs with Lynn but I have to get her to connect the child with herself through a song. The child is supposed to sing the song...a 70's r & b...the child looks like a frog with pretty diamonds across the brow.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
vicci henderson
mixed media dream...beautiful
click the pic for the photo album on Art, Artists, Artwork
Waiting for the one
click the pic to link to Nathan's photo album
I broke my ankle and have had my dreams stolen by vicodin. But I've found this wonderful painting by Nathan Spoor and when I read its title I knew it was related to the Snow in Summer dream
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Pressure Washing
Must have been a fire.
I'm inside an apartment trying to get everything out before the washers come. Stuff is charred. I get interrupted by visitors; several older ladies of the Moose. A lot of clothes and glass and antiques; a lot of soot and burnt wood.
These aren't lady visitors, they ARE the cleaners. Woooooosh! Huge pressure sprayer in my kitchen so strong it removes the paint from the cupboards....hey I kinda like that look! Wow so easy if I want to refinish the furniture....please spray this dresser.
Outside I've gotten almost everything. There's a clogged hose. How did all this gross stuff get in it?! What are all those little things moving around in there...totally creepy. Wake up and clean something!
I'm inside an apartment trying to get everything out before the washers come. Stuff is charred. I get interrupted by visitors; several older ladies of the Moose. A lot of clothes and glass and antiques; a lot of soot and burnt wood.
These aren't lady visitors, they ARE the cleaners. Woooooosh! Huge pressure sprayer in my kitchen so strong it removes the paint from the cupboards....hey I kinda like that look! Wow so easy if I want to refinish the furniture....please spray this dresser.
Outside I've gotten almost everything. There's a clogged hose. How did all this gross stuff get in it?! What are all those little things moving around in there...totally creepy. Wake up and clean something!
Monday, August 10, 2009
No new dreams lately. I thought after the wonderful day I had yesterday, and the spicy meal, and the sangria, and the oysters, and the beer, and the sweet tea, and the friends, and the pool, and the bloody marys, and the hangover from the night before I would certainly have something interesting to remember this morning....
Oh, I guess I just did!
Oh, I guess I just did!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Snow in Summer, Ice Skating on Sand
I'm in a house with my son. His father is next door and there are unexpected visitors. My hair is up in curlers, I am not fully dressed, the house is a mess, and the brother is here with his new wife. He's the popular brother. I watch a DVD memory of his wife and him on a huge boat. The wife swims with a killer whale, like some people swim with "trained" dolphins. It is amazing for her...and for him. Isaac! You've got to see this!
They are moving out next door. I'm relieved. I look out the window at the view of the coast from high above on my craggy mountain top. It's beginning to hail on this August day. As it turns to snow I gather my little dog in my arms to experience the outside. No shoes on my feet we watch the highway below and as the snow plow slows the passing mail truck we hitch a ride on the hood, feeling undiscovered. As the mail truck passes the snow plow and picks up speed it turns sharply into a gated drive to the left, quickly and abruptly enough for us to slide off the hood. "Hey, you can hitch a ride any time, you don't have to hide, that is what I'm here for. All you have to do is bang when you want me to stop."
We walk to the back of the mail-truck which has become a touring trolley with open sides and dollhouse benches and toys inside for kids. My little doggy is now my four year old son. He finds a little girl to play with. I sit next to a young mother with strawberry colored hair. "You are so lucky to be so rich," she says, "someday I'll have that too." "Really?" I replied, "You think I'm fortunate?! Thanks. Thanks for proving my suspicions...this is proof that you are what you think you are."
"I am a single mom. No traditional job. No income. Section 8 housing subsidy and unemployment sustain me when I'm not selling my lamp work beads. But I am happy. My son is happy. My life is happy. I appear to you to be what I think I am." But I am lonely.
I get off the bus and walk into the park. I am alone. I am thin. I am self-conscious of being unpresentable, too casual, a little to bohemian styled. I walk by a small group of young, "hip" people, noticing a man a little younger than me, who has also noticed me. I walk by several times. I love the little sundress of yellow but feel the need to continually adjust it around my breasts. "You're wearing it all wrong, " he says.
I'm shocked by his first words so slightly inappropriate and feel just as slightly shy. "Look at the binding; it's all wrong, let me fix it." We are alone. He fixes my dress. I am momentarily exposed. I say not a word in the exchange, but feel every thought. I'm scared of feeling this, he's elated. He calls someone. "I won't be back. I'm in love."
Another day. I'm in the park. I'm on my period, and again exposed and embarrassed, as much by my condition as I am with my attempts to cover it. He's so happy. He is thin, tall, curly haired and mustached, and he smiles and when he does I can hear laughter and joy. He has a friend. She points out the error of my ways. He laughs and says, "Let's just take care of that," and does. His friend is a blonde woman and she is teasing him about his giddiness, and points out that they are wearing the same clothes. "Were you channelling my closet?!" They laugh. My first words, "They look better on her. Your pants are too big."
He is not insulted. He turns around, "Doesn't my ass look better than hers?" as he pulls the black leather chino's forward to fit tightly in the rear. I laugh. He finds pins to keep them looking tight, intent on pleasing me. He disappears. His friend is still there, no longer the tall, Blondy with long hair, but now a short, voluptuous woman with rounded cupie face, and curly red hair. She lay next to me and whispers words of confidence and kisses me on the mouth; a sweet, juicy "smak!"
I know he's coming. He's looking for me. I wonder if he will find me as I take a walk outside the hotel rooms of the beachy resort. There is water and sand on the ground as if at the edge of the shore, but the ocean is not in sight. The water floats slightly above the thin layer of silty softness, creating a liquid ice rink. I test out my skills not to slip as I simply walk. He's here. He's behind me. He's watching. I can feel him. I begin to skate, gracefully, back and forth, not acknowledging but knowing, performing little loops and figure-8's. I stop at the edge of the causeway where two women are jogging. He stands next to me. I'm happy. Complete. I don't say anything. I don't have to. I look at him and I look at joy, and I'm excited and wondering...how long will this last, how long can I keep my silence?
The phone rang me to reality. Wow, that was nice.
They are moving out next door. I'm relieved. I look out the window at the view of the coast from high above on my craggy mountain top. It's beginning to hail on this August day. As it turns to snow I gather my little dog in my arms to experience the outside. No shoes on my feet we watch the highway below and as the snow plow slows the passing mail truck we hitch a ride on the hood, feeling undiscovered. As the mail truck passes the snow plow and picks up speed it turns sharply into a gated drive to the left, quickly and abruptly enough for us to slide off the hood. "Hey, you can hitch a ride any time, you don't have to hide, that is what I'm here for. All you have to do is bang when you want me to stop."
We walk to the back of the mail-truck which has become a touring trolley with open sides and dollhouse benches and toys inside for kids. My little doggy is now my four year old son. He finds a little girl to play with. I sit next to a young mother with strawberry colored hair. "You are so lucky to be so rich," she says, "someday I'll have that too." "Really?" I replied, "You think I'm fortunate?! Thanks. Thanks for proving my suspicions...this is proof that you are what you think you are."
"I am a single mom. No traditional job. No income. Section 8 housing subsidy and unemployment sustain me when I'm not selling my lamp work beads. But I am happy. My son is happy. My life is happy. I appear to you to be what I think I am." But I am lonely.
I get off the bus and walk into the park. I am alone. I am thin. I am self-conscious of being unpresentable, too casual, a little to bohemian styled. I walk by a small group of young, "hip" people, noticing a man a little younger than me, who has also noticed me. I walk by several times. I love the little sundress of yellow but feel the need to continually adjust it around my breasts. "You're wearing it all wrong, " he says.
I'm shocked by his first words so slightly inappropriate and feel just as slightly shy. "Look at the binding; it's all wrong, let me fix it." We are alone. He fixes my dress. I am momentarily exposed. I say not a word in the exchange, but feel every thought. I'm scared of feeling this, he's elated. He calls someone. "I won't be back. I'm in love."
Another day. I'm in the park. I'm on my period, and again exposed and embarrassed, as much by my condition as I am with my attempts to cover it. He's so happy. He is thin, tall, curly haired and mustached, and he smiles and when he does I can hear laughter and joy. He has a friend. She points out the error of my ways. He laughs and says, "Let's just take care of that," and does. His friend is a blonde woman and she is teasing him about his giddiness, and points out that they are wearing the same clothes. "Were you channelling my closet?!" They laugh. My first words, "They look better on her. Your pants are too big."
He is not insulted. He turns around, "Doesn't my ass look better than hers?" as he pulls the black leather chino's forward to fit tightly in the rear. I laugh. He finds pins to keep them looking tight, intent on pleasing me. He disappears. His friend is still there, no longer the tall, Blondy with long hair, but now a short, voluptuous woman with rounded cupie face, and curly red hair. She lay next to me and whispers words of confidence and kisses me on the mouth; a sweet, juicy "smak!"
I know he's coming. He's looking for me. I wonder if he will find me as I take a walk outside the hotel rooms of the beachy resort. There is water and sand on the ground as if at the edge of the shore, but the ocean is not in sight. The water floats slightly above the thin layer of silty softness, creating a liquid ice rink. I test out my skills not to slip as I simply walk. He's here. He's behind me. He's watching. I can feel him. I begin to skate, gracefully, back and forth, not acknowledging but knowing, performing little loops and figure-8's. I stop at the edge of the causeway where two women are jogging. He stands next to me. I'm happy. Complete. I don't say anything. I don't have to. I look at him and I look at joy, and I'm excited and wondering...how long will this last, how long can I keep my silence?
The phone rang me to reality. Wow, that was nice.
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