Six mornings ago I woke in mourning. I had miscarried a second child. I was sure of it. I knew I had been dreaming. But the line between wraith and reality had been blurred. I no longer knew where fears-turned-dreams ended and memories began. What is it called when you…
Ethos Organic Boiled Peanuts
Ok, so I feel like my last post was a cop-out. Really I just wanted to post the link to the bag thing. Sorry about that.
The past couple weeks I’ve been slammed, both at work & at home. We’ve been trying to wrap the August issue of Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue by TOMORROW so that I can have copies in hand for the release party/back yard concert I’m holding on the 7th.
I’m feeling doubtful that it’s going to happen. Again, I feel like I’m doing more than my share of pushing to wrap this. I know a lot of our staff has had a lot of crap to deal with lately, but for Pete’s sake, would it kill a person to drop an occasional email, even if it’s to just say “no” or “ain’t gonna happen” outright?!?
Stephan, if you’re reading this, let me know who you have to take over layout next issue. The only thing I want to do with the next one is the cover. (I’m working on getting someone else to do the internal art.)
So that’s been stressing me out a bit.
Then there’s the concert. Yeah. I must have been nuts when I decided to do that. That’s stressing me out a bit as well. Not the actual hosting, mind you. I really don’t care what people think about our place, so I’m not stressing over cleaning or home improvements, etc. (though the plan IS to finally have the deck stained before people get here). What’s stressing me about the concert is the fact that I haven’t gotten a single confirmed “Yes.” And I was hoping for about 50. AGHHHH!
That stuff aside, our littler munchkin officially turned two over the weekend. Fortunately, at two he doesn’t expect much: cupcakes with sprinkles in Bob the Builder liners were exciting enough, and his favorite gift came from a yard sale.
No wonder I’ve been having weird dreams.
Take last night for instance. Let’s start with the fact that I went to bed later than I probably should have, coupled with the fact that I actually did some reading before I tried to go to sleep. I finally turned off my light to crash, but my dear husband was snoring up a storm. Eventually he shifted and I drifted off to sleep.
I don’t remember what the dream was about, but I do remember a business card and the man it belonged to. It was weird. In the dream, I met this guy and we were both like, “Don’t I know you? You look SO familiar!” Then we figured out that we had gone to the same college and had met at registration. He looked kinda like a young Bob Marley, but wore a cool Hawaiian type shirt in light blue cotton. His name was Jamie. And he was a part-time student, full-time business owner. His business: “Ethos Organic Boiled Peanuts,” which he sold here in South Carolina.
The dream and that “don’t I know you?” factor felt so real that I want to track down this mysterious man with the chocolate skin and demeanor just as sweet to tell everyone in the market for boiled peanuts to buy from him.
Weird, huh?
A few years ago, I had another similar dream experience. That time I woke up with a specific name in my head, a full name that I immediately looked up when I woke. The search turned up a veteran who died in the Gulf Conflict. It was eerie.
Anyhow, yeah.
"Do you sing?"
A few nights ago — or mornings, rather — Jason Mraz met me in my subconscious again. Even as my husband spooned me in the stolen moments before the alarm went off, I couldn’t help but savor the interactive screenplay in my head.
In my dream, I was at an outdoor concert, one where the parking lot was a field constrained by woods. It was nearing the end of a clear summer day. Near the woodline, I could feel the cool breath of evening, but still, the air was heavy with the heat and humidity of late July in Pennsylvania.
The concert was nearing an end, and Jason had just “disappeared” from the stage though the show continued; most of the crowd was still at the stage. I, however, was in the parking lot. I had missed the very end of Jason’s set in hopes of catching up with him at the bus. Sure enough, as he sprinted to the bus, somehow without an entourage or gaggle of starstruck fans, I was able to catch him. He had a huge, black afro wig in hand, presumably to disguise himself as he made his great escape. (At this point, we could hear that the crowds were on their way.) I asked if he had a minute before he got on the bus. He obliged, stressing though, that it needed to be quick. I introduced myself as being a huge fan, and thanked him for his influence and inspiration.
He was sweet and thanked me. And then he asked:
“Do you sing?”
I started babbling, “No, I mean, I was in chorus in high school, but not because I was any good, just because they needed people for the ensemble.”
As I did what I do in real life, talking myself in circles, he slipped the hilariously conspicuous “disguise” head piece onto his head.
And right about then, my alarm went off.
I hit snooze and tried to go back to dreamland. Alas, it was gone. All but that line:
“Do you sing?”
That’s really stuck with me. Even as I babbled in my dream, I knew I wasn’t answering the question my subconscious-posing-as-mraz asked.
***
As a kid at Sts. Peter & Paul Catholic school, Mrs. Zana, our music teacher once told the class, “When you sing, it’s like praying twice.” I didn’t know then that she was paraphrasing, St. Augustine: “Qui cantat, bis orat” or”To sing once is to pray twice.” Years and years later, Mraz raised the point again in his “1000 Mother******s.”
The sentiment has stuck with me along with Psalm 100:1: “Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.” Take those along with the image of God as Loving Father, braid those three thoughts, and you have one of one of my deepest “faith roots.” It makes me smile to hear someone at church singing loudly off-key. (Often I’m just hearing myself.) It makes me think of how much I love to hear my children (neither of whom could be mistaken for members of the Von Trapp family) sing with abandon. I think their songs are something like what we give to God, when we sing with our hearts.
But I noticed that I haven’t really been singing lately. I mean, yes, I sing at church, along with the radio, and every word of “We Sing We Dance We Steal Things.” But I haven’t really been singing with intent, with my voice or otherwise. Really, my life has been a lot of humming lately.
I want to change that. I’m just not sure what song to sing.
So now, I ask you:
“Do you sing?”
Pregnant Nightmares
I woke up this morning in the middle of a pregnancy-driven nightmare. I’ve had weird dreams and nightmarish ones before with this pregnancy and the last, but this one really had me shaken. Sometimes when you have a nightmare, you realize while you’re dreaming it that it’s just that, a dream. But this was one of those that leave you with your guts in a knot and sure that it was real.
This one involved the baby coming too early — NOW — 4 months ahead of schedule. I was going into labor, knowing something wasn’t right, trying to get SOMEONE to get me to the hospital, freaking out. No one else understood the urgency. (For some reason, DH wasn’t around, just my immediate family.) They were getting ready to take me, but weren’t rushing at all. Meanwhile, the baby is starting to come out breeched, (and this part is absurd, I know, but it was real in the dream) and at the end, the one leg kept popping out and I kept pushing it back in, crying and crossing my legs.
I’m sure it can be interpreted that it all means I just don’t feel prepared yet for this child — and in a lot of aspects, I don’t. But that aside, I’m still shaken by and feel sick to my stomach over it.
I’m glad I woke up when I did, because 10 minutes later and Jonathan would have already left for work, and then I would have been even more freaked. I’m also grateful that this little bugger is a kicker and was bouncing on my bladder when I woke — never has THAT sensation been so comforting.