Last night I had a disturbing dream. Andy gets bored when I tell him my dreams, so I’m going to tell you (three readers + Mom) instead. It’ll be like that other time I told you my dream, only more violent but not quite as sad. (Goody!)
I don’t remember the whole thing, just a few images.
I was in a house (I don’t know whose, but it was “home”) at night with a few people (I don’t remember who). One of them was a paternal figure who looked a lot like David Hasselhoff – only he wasn’t David Hasselhoff. I don’t think he was supposed to be my dad either.
In the dream, all of this was normal.
We looked out into the darkness of the yard and spotted a possum on a tree stump. Along came a baby deer, I was calling it “a bambi”. Someone said something about the bambi not being safe near the possum. Within seconds, the possum bit the bambi near its ear and pulled its skin and fur off down to the waist.
We all cried out with helpless disgust. And the bambi fell down to the ground.
I thought, It’s not dead, it’s suffering.
I don’t remember what happened next. Later, other animals did finish off killing the deer. I went out into the morning light to see its skinless body.
Yesterday I read the opening of an LA Times article called, “Coming to terms with sadism”. It starts by telling of a 39 year old orphan of the Khmer Rouge attending a video conference between other survivors and a few of the men who had participated in the killings.
I saved a pdf and promised myself to read the whole thing. After that dream, I think I’ll read it today.
But what’s going on with you, Ruth?
The flowers aren’t blooming yet.
Aside from the bells, I haven’t bought a single Christmas gift. My shopping endeavors this week are happily devoted to finishing up a baby shower present for The. Most. Adorable. Couple. This. Decade.
My nephew’s 12 and a video gamer, so I’m not even going to try to be creative with his gift. I would say, “Sorry, buddy”, about that fact but I think he’ll appreciate the gift cert. more than an NFL Redskin themed juice tumbler filled with Gatorade coupled with maroon and gold fleece and flannel garments.
My niece is still in the hospital. Incidentally, she was one of the wheel-chaired people who heard Mrs. Obama read The Night Before Christmas the other day. I suspect that all she wants for Christmas is her health, freedom, the ability to eat food and a time machine so she could get back the last few months of her senior year.
We can’t get any of that at the mall.
I’ll try to spend some time today thinking of creative ideas for the adults in my life. I’m inspired by the way people have been taking care of my brother and his wife while they cope with the long hospital stay.
- One neighbor created stationary pages shaped like autumn leaves, distributed them to my niece’s friends and had the notes sent back to her to decorate her hospital room. That was when we thought she’d be home by Thanksgiving.
- The same neighbor worked with other folks and decorated my brother’s home with Christmas lights, so that when my sister-in-law returned from the hospital late one night, her new house was lit in white.
- Knowing of a traditional crafty gift my sister-in-law usually makes for teachers & neighbors, one woman whipped up a whole batch on her behalf. Gifts for my sister-in-law to bring to the nurses.
It’s uplifting to see the way people have shown such thoughtful generosity. I’m grateful for the modeling at a time when my emotional energy is feeling otherwise occupied.
For right now, I have to be where I am.
Where is that? Oh, right, the killing fields.
After I finish with the LA Times’ article, I’ll move on to this great website www.ordinarycourage.com, which I suspect is exactly what I need to be reading this week.