Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Sh-Boom (1954)

Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here.

1) 70 years ago this month, the Crew Cuts were singing that life could be a dream. When you awaken, can you recall your dreams? I'm glad I remember Thursday night's dream because it was so ridiculously random! My favorite ballplayer, Anthony Rizzo, and I were sitting on the sidewalk, our backs up against a brick wall. (I don't know where we were.) He was making me laugh. Then a car pulled up. Apparently we were waiting for my former coworker, Jamie, to pick us up. Only Jamie wasn't driving, he was in the passenger seat and beckoned us to get in. Alan Alda was driving. Of course he was.

2) The lead singer refers to his girl as "darling," "sweetheart" and "baby." Have you used an affectionate endearment lately? If yes, who were you speaking to? I just called my cat "Baby Girl."

3) Two members of this Canadian quartet are brothers, born 15 months apart. Do you have siblings? If yes, how close in age are you? One sister is just over a year older, the other is 8 years my junior.

4) A hit in Toronto, the Crew Cuts traveled by car to appear on TV in New York. How are your wheels? Would you give your vehicle a tune up before embarking on a 1,000 mile (500 miles each way) road trip? Since Alan Alda drives me places, I'll leave this decision to him.

5) In 54 and 55, they had five Top 10 hits. Then the Crew Cuts fell off the charts. Founding member Rudi Maugeri suspects it's because they were a "teen act" and teenage music tastes can change fast. Who did you listen to when you were in high school? I listened to the Beatles and Barbra Streisand. None of my classmates did, though. They were all into Elton John, Fleetwood Mac and James Taylor.

6) A well-maintained crew cut should be trimmed every 2-4 weeks. Is there an appointment with a hairstylist on your calendar? I may be at the stylist as you read this.

Let's look at the summer of 1954.

7) 70 years ago, Chicago Bears great Walter Payton was born. Today more than 1200 students are enrolled in Chicago's Walter Payton College Preparatory High School. Was your high school named after anyone? No, it was named for the town.

8) J.R.R. Tolkien's Fellowship of the Rings was published. It's the first of three volumes in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Have you read the books and/or seen the movies? Nope.

9) Sports Illustrated was first published. As a special promotion, the premier issue included baseball cards. With the introduction of online communities and trading apps, collecting baseball cards continues to grow in popularity. Are there any card collectors in your life? Not personally, but I feel like I do. Jen, my coworker at the card shop, gave her husband a display case for his baseball cards as a Father's Day gift. She agonized over choosing the right one.

 

Saturday 9

 Saturday 9: All I Have to Do Is Dream (1958)

Unfamiliar with this week's song. Hear it here.

1) Did you dream last night? My sleep has been fitful lately. Stress at work has caused me to have dreams about literally losing my way: I can't figure out how to get out of a strange house, or I've gotten confused in a new town and can't find my way back to the hotel. Never anything too scary, no real menace. But stressful and frustrating.

2) In this song, The Everly Brothers dream of kissing "lips of wine." Do you prefer red or white wine? Since menopause, I can't drink any wine any more. Even a thimbleful gives me a migraine.

 

3) In 1975, Rolling Stone ranked Phil and Don #1 on their list of the greatest duos of all time. Name another musical twosome. Salvatore Philip Bono and Cherilyn Sarkisian.

 

4) Mike Love has acknowledged the influence The Everly Brothers had on The Beach Boys' harmonies. What's your favorite Beach Boys song? Not really a Beach Boys fan. Song after song about cars and surfing. But this one has always made me happy.

 

 

5) The pressure of touring took its toll on the Everly Brothers' personal relationship, and those stresses spilled onto the stage. They once had a fight in front their audience that ended with Phil smashing his guitar and storming off. Have you ever busted something in anger? Not that I can recall. I've thrown things, and I've slammed doors. But I don't think I've broken anything.
 
6) One of Don's friends was author/storyteller Garrison Keillor and that's how the Everly Brothers came to perform on Keillor's radio program, A Prairie Home Companion. Do you often listen to the radio or to podcasts? I like TCM's The Plot Thickens and The History Chicks.

 

7) The brothers chose to live in different cities and held opposite views on politics. Don said, "Everything is different about us, except when we sing." Do you have siblings? If so, are you more alike or different? One sister is year older, the other is 8 years younger. We have very little in common.

8) In 1958, the year this song was a hit, Americans were doing the Cuban dance, the cha-cha-cha. Do you ever dance or sing when you're home alone? Yes. Badly.

 
9) Random question -- Do you believe we each get one true love? I don't think love is finite, and so I believe we can each love many times during our lives. But I think there may be one that stands apart. As John Lennon sang, "In my life, I loved you more."

 

 

Two down, two to go

My sleep has been fitful these days. Nightmares. Somehow my ankles are locked together and I can't walk. Or I'm in my old hometown, trying to get to my mother's house, and I can't -- roads torn up, no sidewalks, mud ...

I wake up exhausted. That's nothing new. I've been tired for literally years now. But the nightmares are new. I'm sure it's because I'm worried about my health.

I had blood taken for labs on Wednesday. Four tests in all.
•  Complete Blood Count to screen for anemia, infection, inflammation, bleeding disorder or cancer
•  Comprehensive Metabolic Panel to check for kidney and liver disease and diabetes
•  Hemoglobin A1C, which is another diabetes test
•  Lipid Panel for high cholesterol

The first two came back this morning. I went over the results over and over. My values are within "the standard range."

I am so relieved and grateful!

I'm not done yet, of course. At the end of next month, I'm having my mammogram, which will shed greater light on everything, and a sleep study.

Any day now, I should get work on my cholesterol and blood sugar level. Since I haven't been exercising since Covid19, I'm not expecting those results to be cause for celebration.

But at least right now I have little less to worry about, and that's good, good, good.

Another bad dream

Any dream that features a Trump loyalist is, by definition, a nightmare. And I just had one with Rudy Giuliani in a starring role. For some reason, he was in a position of professional authority over me. In my dream, he didn't approve of the work I'd just done for my client. "We can do better. No, YOU can do better!" He just kept yelling and yelling at me.

This is my second nightmare in three days. My slumber is not usually disturbed like this. 

I discussed this with Patrick, who mentioned his dreams have been "weird," too. We compared notes, and agree that it's because both of our lives are changing.

I haven't been in the city since mid-March. I haven't gone this long without the sights of the Loop since Peter Frampton was on the charts. I miss it. I also haven't done any in-person socializing in two months. It's been an unreal existence, but I've eased into this unreality. It's become comfortable. And every day I receive another email from corporate:

•  How comfortable are you returning to the office on June 15?
•  How do you feel about taking public transportation?
•  Read the new procedures for cleaning and disinfecting the office. 

I know these messages are meant to make me feel more secure, but they don't. They remind me that I live in a county where nearly 60,000 have died of the corona virus. I am trying to keep things in perspective and remind myself that most people don't get virus and that most who do aren't hospitalized. But that 58,457 number is sobering.*

I appreciate how lucky I am to have a job in this economy, but I can't be unreservedly happy because there is something real to fear outside my front door.

Part of me is afraid to go back to work. Hence, the nightmares.

Patrick is  the maître d of a high-end restaurant in Portland, Maine. After Thanksgiving, when the weather gets rough, business drops off precipitously. They don't need a full-time maître d and he goes back to waiting tables. He doesn't make much money doing this and they really don't need another waiter, either. They just give Patrick that wintertime option because they appreciate how much he adds to the dining experience when they are busy, and they want to keep him happy.

Patrick has worked it out with his boss that he take six months off without pay. All they have to do is keep his job open for him when the busy summer season starts. He then moves down to Key West, moves in with Reg and Henry, and waits tables during South Florida's busy season. It's hard work, but it pays so much better than serving in a half-empty Portland eatery. Also, Reg likes having Patrick around. They have been friends for decades, and Reg appreciates Patrick's support as he deals with Henry's traumatic brain injury.

Well, Covid19 changed all Patrick's plans. He's been unemployed in Key West since mid-March. He has yet to receive payments from Florida's overburdened unemployment system. Yet he couldn't go back to Maine. While he's in terrific shape -- you can bounce a dime off Patrick's derriere -- he has serious health problems. He's HIV positive and he has a defibrillator implanted in his chest. Flying at the height of the pandemic was inadvisable. PLUS the restaurant in Portland closed because of the virus. He had no job there, either.

He wants to go home. He's eager to go home. Being locked in that house with Reg and Henry isn't conducive to good health. He wonders about his backyard in Portland. He worries a lot about money. He has a tenant and they need to talk -- face-to-face -- about finances, since his tenant is currently out of work. 

Restrictions are starting to loosen. His boss hopes to reopen the Portland restaurant in July, and says he's welcomed back if he quarantines himself at home for two weeks. He's booked his flight. He's going home (I think) June 1.

But he's scared to expose himself to all the other passengers as he navigates his way back to Portland. So he's been having weird dreams, too.

Restful sleep: one of the forgotten victims of the corona virus.

*As of 5/18/20.

What was Michael Douglas doing in Marquette County?

My traveling companion

I had a bad dream Saturday night. It woke me up with a start and left me terrified. And, like many nightmares, it sounds stupid in the retelling.

I Googled the resort my family traveled to every year when I was a kid, just because I was curious about it after all these years. (See Q.5 in Sunday Stealing.) The kitchens and bathrooms have been renovated in the intervening decades, but the cabins and bar/restaurant are all recognizable as the place I hated all those years ago.

In my dream, I was back there! As an adult, not a child or a teen. Apparently as the guest of Michael Douglas. Now why would Michael Douglas be at a tiny, rundown resort in Marquette County, WI? How did Michael and I know one another? If you going to be analytical, we'll never get anywhere in this dream.

You know who else was there? My friend Kathy and her crazy-lady friend. Kathy's friend doesn't -- to my immense relief -- exist in real life. Her friend tricked Kathy into leading her to Michael and me. This friend had a mass of dyed yellow blonde hair, wore flannel shirts and was convinced Michael Douglas would marry her if not for me. (I suspect Crazy Lady was kinda based on Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, only shorter and pudgier and very likely related to the guy on the porch in Deliverance.)

I don't know where Kathy and Michael were, but Crazy Lady was chasing me between the cottages at night. I saw the orangey-red color of the clapboard. I felt the wet sand and stray grass and stones under my bare feet. Crazy Lady said she was going to kill me. I was desperate.

Kathy suddenly appeared and intervened. I woke up with my heart beating through my pajama top.

Come to think of it, I never saw Michael Douglas in my dream.

Dream logic says being chased in a dream tells me I am running from my emotions. OK, I'll buy that. I am a WASP, after all.

Saturday 9

I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen (1975)

Chosen because St. Patrick's Day is Tuesday.

 
Unfamiliar with this week's song? Hear it here.


1) This week's song is widely considered a traditional Irish ballad. Are you of Irish descent? I've got a wee bit of Irish blood, maybe 10%. My dad's mom was 1/4 Irish. Except for Grandma's branch, the rest of my family tree is, as far as I know, German.

2) It's a song from a groom to his homesick bride. Who did you most recently serenade? (Yes, "Happy Birthday" counts.) My cat, Connie. I work her name into songs all the time. As in, "Connie, how I love ya, how I love ya, my dear old Connie!" She's very patient with me.

3) Kathleen considers "home" her mother's cottage. How about you? Is "home" where you live now, or is it where you grew up? This condo. I've lived here since 2001. Though when I dream, I am alternately living in parents' home, or in my previous apartment. I wonder why that it is.


4) St. Patrick is credited with driving snakes out of Ireland, and to this day the Irish report there are no snakes on their land. Ophiophobia is the fear of snakes. Do you suffer from ophiophobia? Nope.

5) Irish Americans held the first St. Patrick's Day parade on our shores in New York City in 1766. Does your town host a St. Patrick's Day parade? Chicago has two freaking awesome St. Patrick's Day parades. (The south side throws their own.) But alas, not this year. With the coronavirus outbreak, they have both been cancelled.

6) Leprechauns are a symbol of St. Patrick's Day. These small Irish fairies are said to live in the forest, guarding their gold. Do you more often wear silver or gold? Silver. I worry about what all that Purell will do to my ring!

7) The signature color of St. Patrick's Day is green. Will you wear green next Tuesday? Probably. I may not have to go to work on Tuesday. (Coronavirus. Or layoff?)

 
8) This week's featured artist, Elvis, was the idol of millions. But not the Songfellows. In the early 1950s, a young Elvis auditioned for this gospel group and they refused him. Just as well, as the King of Rock 'n Roll did rather well for himself as a solo. Like Elvis, did you ever interview for a job that you didn't get? Oh, good goobies, yes! This one still bugs me: An executive secretary from a small but reputable agency out in the suburbs called me. 

She called me. Remember that.

She said her boss really wanted me to come in. This agency was known for its digital work, and at that time I had no web experience. I mentioned that to her.

"He really wants to meet you," she insisted.

I told her I was quite busy with my current job and now wasn't a good time.

"He really wants to meet you," she insisted again.

Naturally, I was flattered. I took a vacation day, got all dressed up, took a train and a bus, all in 80º+ heat and humidity, for this interview. He casually flipped through my portfolio and said, blandly, "You don't have any digital here."

I refrained from clawing his face.

I did, however, ask why he wanted to meet me. Seems an old boss of mine had recently become his next door neighbor and gave him my name. Literally, over the hedge. 

He was so remote and bored that it was clear he felt I was wasting his time. Never mind that he had wasted mine. I wanted to yell, "Don't be such a cheap bastard! Hire a recruiter or an HR rep who knows how to screen people properly!" But it can be a small world so I didn't. I did, however, make him find me a Coke before I headed to the bus ... and the train ... in 80º+ heat and humidity.

The upshot was, he sent me a rejection letter. As though that was necessary. The last line was, "We reserve the right to call you in the future."

And I reserve the right to not pick up!


9) Random question: Do you believe women are more emotional than men? No. I think women are freer to express those emotions.

Fitful sleep

I had a disturbing nightmare Monday night, that left me upset when I awoke on Tuesday. It won't sound terrifying in the retelling, but really, it caused me much anxiety.

I was away from home, and I had to keep my cat Reynaldo with me. For some reason, I was unable to use his carrier. I had to keep him in my arms. As I went from place to place, trying to get home, he wriggled in my arms. I was terrified that he was going to get away. He was going to get lost, or hit by a car, and it was going to be all my fault.

I checked out a dream analysis site, and it seems that Reynaldo was a proxy for Henry. Protecting a cat or kitten in peril could "represent a desire to help someone get on the right path in life." Makes sense. I had a long, and exhausting, call with Henry Monday evening. All he wanted to talk about was his most recent hospital stay. He was proud of how he fought with the nurses and the attending physician in Miami. He was furious at his local physician for not being immediately available to him upon his return to Key West. Oh! How Henry was going to yell at him during his next appointment on Wednesday!

I kept repeating that all I want is for him to be strong, healthy and independent. Why can't he just cooperate with those who care for him? Why can't he participate in his own treatment, instead of fighting it? I told him I wished he would just get out of my dear Henry's way so Henry could get better!

I might as well have been speaking Swahili.

I fell asleep feeling frustrated and sad and dreamed of Reynaldo.

Reg insists that the traumatic brain injury has left Henry is frightened and childlike. I must keep that in mind. Perhaps aggression is Henry's way of keeping the demons at bay. But he should listen to me about getting out of his own way. The drinking ... the resisting the medical professionals ... this is not going to advance his recovery.

And he is going to get better. Even with the seizures, he's better than he was a year ago. And a year from today, Henry will be better yet. I know it.

I don't hate Hillary Clinton

She doesn't look scary.

I don't like her. Never have. But I don't hate her. If I drove and she was in front of my car, I would brake.

Which is why last night's dream scared me. I was trying to pay my property taxes in person -- something I always do electronically -- and the government employee behind the desk was HRC. Only she wasn't. I mean, in dream world, she wasn't Bill's wife, a former First Lady, Senator and Secretary of State. She was a garden variety bureaucrat.

And she was so mean to me! Just unremittingly nasty. She let my check fall to the floor on her side of the desk and denied she ever had it. In dream world, I was going to be evicted because of mean old Hillary Clinton!

Remind me to never again fall asleep watching Presidential debates.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: (There's) No Gettin' Over Me (1981)
 
Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here.

1) Ronnie Milsap sings about how worrisome it can be when you realize you forgot to pay a bill. It's happened to all of us, hasn't it? Tell about about a time you accidentally missed a payment. Here's why I hate 5/3 Bank: Back in December 2010, I misplaced a bill. It fell behind my desk. I found it the day after it was due. 24 hours! I called Fifth Third and told them what happened. The customer service rep was sweet as could be. She asked me how much I would be paying, told me she was noting it on my account, and recommended I drop the check in the mail right away. She did not tell me to take it to a branch, or use FedEx. She did not offer to take my payment over the phone. She instructed me to drop it in the mail. Which I did. Because of Christmas, and no mail collection/delivery and banks being closed, the payment wasn't credited to my account for a week.

So I'm at the airport in Tampa, having lunch as I'm switching planes en route to Key West to ring in the New Year with friends, and my 5/3 credit card is rejected.

When I got to Key West, I called them and was basically treated like a criminal. Because of one missed payment, which I handled as I'd been instructed to. They even had the temerity to assess a late charge! It took tons of phone calls and nasty letters, but the late charge was finally reversed and my card reinstated. 

But no, I didn't close the account. I still have it. I use it every now and again for a small purchase, which I pay in full. I know enough about banks to know I'm more expensive to them this way -- as a non-lucrative open account on the books -- than I would be if I closed it. Yes, I am that petty and I'm still that angry.

 
2) He also references a dream that keeps him awake. Do you have any recurring dreams? More than once, I have dreamed about trying to rescue a dog from The Chicago River. The dog changes -- sometimes it's white with black ears, sometimes it's a brown mutt -- but it always ends the same way. I'm always hanging onto him with one arm while clutching the bottom of the Wells Street Bridge with the other. All things considered, that's a happy ending so I don't think we can consider this a nightmare, even though it is stressful.

3) He sings about the face you see in the crowd. Tell us about someone you see regularly, but don't really know. Ah, that would be "Cancer Lady." I used to ride the el with the same woman, day after day. She would crush a cigarette before going up to the platform, and light one as soon as we got off, just a half hour later. She disappeared for a month or so, then returned. No longer smoking, now wearing head scarves. In time she abandoned the scarves, and her once-black hair was now close cropped and gray. I surmised that she'd had cancer treatments. The day weeks later that I saw her light up again, I wanted to slap the weed out of her hand and yell, "What are you doing?" But then I remembered, I don't know her. (I started taking a later train, so I don't know if she's OK or not.)

4) He mentions the book that you just can't put down. What's the last book that you finished? The last book I finished was a Spenser mystery a month ago. I've had a hard time paying attention to my read these days. It seems I'm interminably distracted.

5) Ronnie Milsap is a big fan of new technology, and believes the advancements make both his professional and personal lives easier. What about you? Do you embrace new technology? Or do you long for the good old days, when we weren't so connected to personal devices? I'm conflicted. At times, I'm amazed by convenience and how much they help me accomplish. On the other hand, I rue my lack of productivity because the internet is such a time suck. (Did that make sense?)

6) As a child, Ronnie used to surreptitiously listen to late night radio, especially gospel broadcasts. When you were a kid, what rule did you break again and again? I just remember my Icky Grandmother always, always repeating to keep my voice down.

7) Country star Blake Shelton says Ronnie Milsap was a big influence on his music. Do you watch Blake on The Voice? I'm sorry, but I couldn't care less about Blake or The Voice.

8) In May, Ronnie appeared at the Choctaw Casino in Grant, OK. Do you enjoy games of chance? Yes. Which in no way implies I'm any good at them.

9) Random question -- When did you last "do it yourself" and repair something around the house or yard? Just this morning, I glued the wood finial back to my bedpost.

My friend Sandy

I had the most vivid dream last night! And my, it was weird.

I was supposed to be in our condo association meeting. I'm on the board now, and there are things about it that weigh on me and I guess my concerns bled into my slumber. Anyway, for some reason we were meeting in the community center that Will rents for our movie group.

The community center (both in real life and in my dream) has two big screening rooms. One is near the front entrance, the other is down a long hall. I thought our meeting was in the one in the front. I went in, and found it filled with strangers. So I headed for the one down the hall and found it locked. For some reason, I don't knock and I don't ask anyone for help. (It's a dream; logic doesn't always apply.) According to Dream Moods, being locked out suggests that I am feeling alienated and have trouble getting in touched with my feelings.

That could well be, because now I'm beyond sad because I should be in there. Fortunately, my friend Sandra Bullock is at the refreshment counter. We sit down with croissants and hot chocolate and I tell her all my woes.

Sandy is a very good listener, and I feel better. People come piling out of both screening rooms and Sandy and I disappear into the crowd and exit into the night.

Funny, but I always thought my celebrity gal pal was Jennifer Aniston. But my subconscious tells me otherwise.

Nightmares

My sleep is usually dreamless, at least as far as I remember. Which is why it's noteworthy that over the last 10 days I've had three rather vivid nightmares.

1) The Work Dream. The Powers that Be at the office replaced the Chocolate Covered Spider with the one person I want to see less: my older sister. Because our last names are different, they didn't realize what they'd done until it was too late. And suddenly I find myself having to put up with her hostile crazy on a daily basis all over again.

2) The "I Broke a Heart" Dream. There's a party at church today at 4:00. It's for all of us in the Secret Pals program. I meet the little girl (code name: Pink Giraffe) that I've been corresponding with this month. Judging by her handwriting, she's about 5. For this afternoon's party, I have purchased her favorite food (Hostess chocolate cupcakes), printed out line art of giraffes for us to color, and found this "gemstone excavation kit" for just $5 (the dollar limit assigned by the church). That's all reality. Now for the nightmare: I lay down after lunch for "just a minute" and wake up at 9:00 PM -- hours after the party ended. I imagine Pink Giraffe sitting there, dejected, surrounded by adults and children and wondering where I am. I hate myself.

3) The Purse Dream. I'm on vacation in a touristy outdoor park, like Venice Beach. One of the street vendors is a woman who gives doggie pedicures. She has her own adorable little white mutt there -- painted nails, oversized glamorous sunglasses -- to drum up business. I drop my bag and fall to my knees to pet the pup and when I'm done, my purse is gone. So is my wallet, my ID, my phone, and the Epipen I need in case of bee sting. So I'm stranded and feeling completely vulnerable in a strange city.

No wonder I woke up this morning with a zit. Lately being asleep is as stressful as my waking world!

I couldn't make this up

I mentioned last month that I have rediscovered Bonanza. I began watching the reruns when I was home sick with a summer cold and find I really enjoy it. Partly for nostalgia's sake, partly because it's pretty good. Also, between Me-TV and it's sister channel, Me-Too, it's on almost whenever I want to watch it.

I have developed a crush on Adam, the oldest brother, who has a hairy chest and a dry wit. He did not play much of a part in the episode I fell asleep watching last night (Little Joe was about to get into a gunfight to avenge his mother's memory) but he did have a starring role in my dream.

I dreamed that I time traveled back to the 1860s to marry Adam Cartwright. I remember little of the dream except that I was glad to move onto the Ponderosa because one of the benefits to sleeping with a man back then is he didn't expect me to shave my legs or prune my bikini line.

No, really.

Weird Dreams Are Made of These

It's been more than a week since I've heard from my best friend. He's pissed at me, I'm pissed at him. Usually when we reach a standoff like this, I continue to keep the lines of communication open because, as the Lads sing, "Pride can hurt you, too." But I don't feel like it this time.

It feels different this time. I'm growing weary of the 8th grade-level snitty aspect of our relationship. There are many, many wonderful things about this man, but he is awfully sensitive about his own feelings at times while being awfully careless about the feelings of others.

In my dream Friday night, he morphed into Frasier Crane. The friction between us sprang from the play A Chorus Line. I don't remember the details in the dream, but the quality of our discourse disintegrated pretty quickly and included a lot of "how could you do this to me NOW" vs. "how could you do this to ME now?" It seems in the dream we were both unemployed. In real life, he has been since late last summer, and I fear I soon will be.

Why couldn't I have been an only child?

My kid sister suspects the estate sale coordinator she hired has walked off with some of my mother's more valuable pieces before this weekend's sale. Well, what does she expect me to do about it? He wasn't my choice,* I've never met him, and that house was so full of stuff, I have no idea what was there and what wasn't. Oh yeah, and I don't care. This was never going to be a massive money maker for us anyway. I thought it would be neat if we could have simply said, "Get all the stuff out and give us $500." But this is the path we're on.

Then there's my bitch of an older sister. Remember, she is not involved in this -- not in terms of money, except for $1,000, nor in terms of time. Yet she seems to think I'm willfully mismanaging everything and has relayed to me, through my kid sister, that she insists on "real receipts, not post-it notes" for everything. Oh, PUH-LEEZ! There is no fortune. At the end of the day, we'll probably just break even. She's just trying to insert herself into the process and give herself the illusion of control. I'm reimbursing her for her princely sum of $1,000 today, out of my own pocket, hoping to stave off any battles going forward. But it's hard to know how to pacify a crazy person.

I had a dream the other night that my mother came back from the dead, for just a few hours. I had so many questions for her -- not about the afterlife, but about our relationship and what she thought of the service we had for her. Then, even in my dream, I toyed with asking her to sign a check so we could get the money out of her checking account. In the dream scenario I stopped myself because I didn't want to waste our short time together on money. But that's how much I hate this process! It's even permeating my dreams.

Image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici / FreeDigitalPhotos.net


*She could have hired the woman my oldest friend used to empty her house prior to moving cross country. I would have preferred that woman because we know what her services are and had a credible reference. But my sister didn't like her and thought she wasn't worth the extra expense. I let my sister make the choice and here we are.

I had a dream

Some of my most productive thinking seems to be happening while I'm asleep these days.

First I had a kick-ass, inspirational conversation with my imaginary best friend, Elizabeth Edwards, who shared her secret to resilience -- forgive yourself your past, accept it, and then concentrate on the present. She convinced me that my happy future will come from a focused present.

Then last night I dreamed, strangely enough, of doing floor exercises. Fireplugs*, to be exact. Because of a client conference call I missed my lunchtime workout. But I felt so good in the dream that I made healthier choices at lunch -- egg salad with lots of lettuce from the buffet rather than eggs benedict from the pancake house -- and I have no doubt it will inspire me to work out tonight in front of the TV. I want to feel good again, like I used to, before I became such a moo-cow.

*You know -- you're down on all fours Keeping your right knee bent, you lift it a little off the floor and then lift it to the right without straightening it or changing the level of your hips. Then bring it down slooooowly.

A Visit from the Dear Friend I Never Met

I dreamed last night about Elizabeth Edwards.

She is a heroine of mine. Her books touched me deeply, and I mourned her death. I selfishly miss her because I think she still had things to teach me. There was something about her unsparing candor and inherent dignity that got through to me and made me hear her. I think that's why I dreamed of her.

An ex has been on my mind after a decades-long respite. He contacted me out of the blue in 2008 and has continued to do so with regularity -- through a friend, through Facebook, through my work email (that really freaked me out). He wants to talk to me, to apologize, even visit me in person to gain my forgiveness.

I don't forgive and I don't trust him. The cruelty he was capable of (both physical and emotional) was breathtaking. The insensitivity he shows by continuing to approach me, even though I have given him no encouragement whatsoever, indicates he's still narcissistic and heedless of my feelings.

I came upon his name and photos of him this Thursday because a national newspaper did a front page human interest story about him. At first it awakened my inner cynic -- I wondered how many asses he kissed, how many he had to dazzle with his obviously still-potent superficial charm, to get that kind of exposure.

Then I kept returning to it. The same way you can't keep your tongue out of a cavity. Staring at his picture, remembering his voice.

And last night I heard from my buddy Elizabeth. We were sitting together in in her Chapel Hill home, and she was telling me to just let it go. That the past is pfft! gone. That I have to live in the here and now, and he has no place in my here and now. That I have to accept the scars -- visible and invisible -- forgive myself for falling for him, and concentrate on my own life.

How wise of her! And how resilient of me to call upon her.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Sleeping to Dream

1. Do you ever go to sleep to simply dream? No. I have never needed much sleep. My oldest friend, my mom, my cat, Joey ... they all loooooove napping and would probably heartily endorse this "sleeping to dream" concept.

2. When you’re having trouble staying awake, what are some things you do to make sure you don’t drift off to sleep? This really isn't a problem for me.

3. What’s most likely to cause you a prolonged period of not enough sleep? Deadlines!

4. When you’re going through a prolonged period of not enough sleep, what parts of your daily routine are likely to change, and how? As my days get longer and my personal time gets shorter, I find I have less and less opportunity to "decompress." That's the important part of my day where I'm alone to think and replenish my personal battery.

5. In what ways does your personality change when you go through a prolonged period of not enough sleep? I talk louder and faster, a result of the extra caffeine I consume to stay alert.

6. Who in your life seems regularly to have not enough sleep? Sorry, no one comes to mind.

7. When you’re sleeping, do your closer friends tend to be male or female? Why do you think that is? I have a lot of dreams about famous men. Quite often Bruce Willis. I think it's because I'm horny. (You asked!)

8. If you could wake up tomorrow with a new talent, what would it be? I'd sing like Streisand.

9. In a dream, is your past something that you can go back to? The dreams I remember tend to be complete fantasies. Quite often about Bruce Willis. Specifically Moonlighting-era Bruce Willis. Does this mean I want to go back to the 1980s?

Oh, my!

Lately I have been having many fascinatingly unusual bad dreams while on pain killers, but last night I had a fascinatingly unusual good one. Very good. That's emphasis on the VERY and added emphasis on the GOOD.

What made it unusual was the complete lack of romance. I can't tell you who I was dreaming about -- not because I'm repressing his identity, but because it simply didn't matter.

Nightmares

My pain pill only covers me for six hours, so no matter how I time it, every night there comes a time when it wears off when I'm asleep and I wake up in discomfort.

And every night I recall the gruesome nightmare I was having right before my eyes open.

They all have to do with my helplessness in a rescue situation, and I conclude that in dream symbolism the one I'm trying unsuccessfully to save from harm is ME. My subconscious is saying, "Wake up and take the damn pain pill."

The worst dream had me saving a tortoise shell cat and a black and white dog from the Chicago River, only to have them race into Wells Street traffic and get squished.

Another had me searching for my mother, who had slipped away from me in a crowd, and I knew she'd never be able to figure out how to get home on public transit without me.

And tonight, the one that awakened with a start in time for this latest dose, had me all miserable and panicked because I was in love with Charlie Sheen. I am not kidding! The codependent's Mission: Impossible. Even when I'm asleep, I crack me up.

"Invest in a Dream"

That was one of my concepts, presented a couple weeks ago and chosen by the client before the Labor Day break. And it was the last thought I had before I woke up with a start just now. Why should I be awakened by a dream about a relatively small project that went well? Why can't I turn off my mind and sleep at night but I can doze off on the sofa and waste an entire afternoon? Why is this fucking cough still plaguing me?

This blog is becoming a chronicle of how I'm unraveling before surgery, isn't it? Sorry about that. But I promised myself this would be an accurate reflection of who I am at any given moment, and right now my stapler cyst is casting a huge shadow over my whole life.

It's not all bad. I'm reminding myself to find the things that make me happy in life. Sunday, returning from the store, I walked behind a mom and her two little girls. They were close in age, perhaps twins but not identical, dressed the same. Gray blouses, pink jumpers and gray tights. Black sandals that kept coming undone. Dangling little white circles from their ears. I suspect that either the ear piercing or the longer earrings were relatively new because the one with the straight hair kept trying to keep hers still, pressing them against her head as she walked. It caused her to lag behind. It touched my heart and fascinated me to see two little girls appear so similar and yet in that moment I could see how individual they were.

My nephew and I talked on the phone -- he has a cough, too, and we didn't want to make one another sicker. He's very excited about his creative writing class. His teacher -- a man! still a glamorous exception in the sixth grade world -- handed out magazines and instructed the kids to cut out random pictures. Their weekend assignment was to write a paragraph about each photograph. My nephew was proud that his paragraph about the photo of a farmer and cow wasn't about the farmer and the cow, but about how good milk tastes on a hot summer day. He's confident his teacher will be impressed by the spin he put on the assignment and I'm happy he's excited about this class. After all, I turned creative writing class into a career, maybe he will, too.

OK. I have coughed, taken my temperature (still 97.1, which is normal for this Gal), dosed myself with cough syrup, swigged some oj and FB'd & blogged. This has taken a little over 30 minutes. I think I'm ready to try to sleep again.

Oh, how I wish this was all behind me and I was looking back on it!