Showing posts with label author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label author. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

The Adventures of Green Camo




I've come to realize I have a lot of influence on the Boy. For example, I recently bought him a humidifier because he has a rotten cold and can hardly breathe at night with the heater running so much. Next morning I asked him how he slept and he said, "Much better and I really like Gordon."

Me: "Gordon? Who's Gordon?"

Him: "My new humidifier."

He looked at me like I was completely clueless not to have known he named it.

I only wish my influence over this kid extended to him getting organized and remembering the basics, such as where he put his jacket and his toothbrush, and why he should listen to me when I tell him not to leave his shoes in the road. And that it's important for him to treat his lunchbox with a little respect, since that is the source of his lunch. 

His lunchbox is green with a camouflage pattern. Hmmm. Maybe that's why he can't find it. It's a hand me down from the Boy's cousin. His cousin never cared much for it, but the Boy LOVES that lunchbox, probably because the alternative is a small, flat, pinkish-red girlie looking one I keep around for backup during those times when Green Camo is AWOL.

Since the beginning of school, the Boy has left Green Camo on the bus twice on the way home, and both times the bus driver saved the Camo and gave it back to him in the morning. Another time the Boy went to his aunt's house after school and forgot it there, so he didn't have it for a few days. Last month he was walking to the house from the bus stop and flinging Green Camo high in the air and catching it--most of the time. Just as he reached the house, an errant throw landed Green Camo on the roof--and we have a two story house. The poor lunchbox slid toward the edge and hung up in the gutter. 

Well, I am not about to climb twenty feet up a ladder on any day of the year, so there Green Camo stayed. Neighbors kept stopping me and pointing it out.

"Did you know there's a lunchbox on your roof?" As if the thing had dropped from a low flying plane or possibly a UFO.

A lunchbox on my roof? Really? I simply must get new eyeglasses.

Several of them suggested that maybe a high wind would dislodge the lunchbox from the gutter.

It might. Any idea how I can conjure up a hurricane? No? Well, since I don't have that kind of control over nature, I'm not going to stand out front holding a catcher's mitt waiting for a wind to come along and do its job.

Another neighbor suggested a fishing pole with a big hook. He offered to loan me one. I declined. I could envision myself hooking the gutter and pulling it down on top of my head.

The Boy excitedly volunteered to go up the ladder, and of course I said no. Any kid who could can't even throw a lunchbox straight is not coordinated enough to climb twenty feet up a ladder without mishap.

After ten days, my husband came home from a job out of state. He went up the ladder and snared Green Camo. 

I figured the Boy had finally learned his lesson. I figured wrong. 

About two weeks ago he left the Green Camo on the bus on the way to school, so of course his lunch was in it. One of the middle schools uses that same bus. In the afternoon, the Boy didn't ride the bus, since I picked him after school. Next day the bus driver, a sub, didn't have the Green Camo and hadn't seen it. The school Lost and Found was another dead end.

The Boy resigned himself to carrying the Girlie Red for the rest of the year because I told him I was not buying another lunchbox for a careless boy. A week later his aunt called and said that her son had been called into the office at his middle school because they had his lunchbox. The cousin's name was written on the outside of Green Camo from the year before. Naturally his cousin said, "It's not mine. There must be another kid in the school with the same name as me." I had to call and ask them to handle the care and well-being of Green Camo for a day or so until I could bring him home.

I went a few days later in the bitter cold with the wind whipping around and the temp well below freezing. I almost got hypothermia on the way in from the outer reaches of the parking lot. I mean it. It was like the tundra and I was not happy. 

Green Camo was empty when I looked inside. I don't know if some hungry middle schooler ate the Boy's lunch or if the Lost and Found lady threw it out. I suppose I'll have to add this question to my list of life's mysteries.

The Boy was ecstatic to see that his lunchbox had returned home. But where will poor Green Camo end up next?

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Misuse of a Lucid Dream



Lucid dream: a dream in which the dreamer is aware he is dreaming.

I have long been a fan of lucid dreams. Though my own have been rare, occurring maybe once or twice a year and lasting for a matter of seconds, I love them. And why not? During lucid dreams I can be or do whatever I want. Cool, right? Usually I fly.

Because I am a fan, I also enjoy reading about lucid dreams. Now the authors of some books claim you can easily learn to lucid dream. Upon reaching this happy state, the universe is yours. You can saunter into the hall of Akashic records--accompanied by angels or guides--and read all about yourself and all your past lives. Presumably this would help you to shape up in your current life. Perhaps you would like to control the dream so you could be a famous actor or meet famous people. It’s all there for the asking as soon as you master the techniques in your current lucid dreaming book.

Sadly, none of the techniques in any of the books have ever worked for me. Maybe I haven’t been persistent enough. In any case, I’ve had to content myself with the regular type of dream in which random things happen to me and I’m not the least bit aware these happenings are dreams until I wake up and say to myself, “Thank God that wasn’t real. Me confronting a gun wielding criminal with only an umbrella for a weapon while my car rolls backward over a cliff? I don’t think so.”

But rare as they are, I still think about lucid dreams and try to prepare myself for the nights when they actually happen. Okay, now what do I actually want? A visit with a great master? Maybe a meeting with Einstein when he, having finally worked out the theory of everything, passes the knowledge on to me so I can enlighten the world. Yeah, that sounds like something I could handle. Or maybe a reading with Edgar Cayce in which he recommends a simple treatment that will rejuvenate me back to the body I enjoyed as a twenty-year-old. That would be good.

Okay, so after all this contemplation you’d think I’d be prepared for a life changing event next time I was so fortunate as to become aware while sleeping.

Unfortunately, you would be wrong. Last night I had just finished a dream in which I was helping the FBI catch a bunch of criminals. Don’t laugh. At least that’s better than one of those “naked on stage” dreams. The feds thanked me and said I could leave now that the case was solved. As soon as I turned to go, I discovered that not only was my car missing, but the road back home was blocked. I reversed course, intending to take another direction and ran up on a huge pile of steel pillars that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Perplexed, I said, “Okay, I am not going to be stopped by all these barricades.” Bam. I was lucid. I was instantly filled with excitement and at the same time warning myself to get calm and to think what I wanted to do. I conjured up some random people and asked them where the door was. They led me into a huge banquet hall in what looked like a luxury hotel or a castle.

Sweet. So far so good. My helpers asked me who I wanted to see. Here was my cue to ask for Einstein, Cayce, maybe George Washington to appear and share their wisdom.

I opened my mouth and said, “I want to reach a new level with my writing. Could I have a writing guide.”

“Sure. Who do you want?”

My mind spun with possibilities. I could have any famous author I wanted to come look over my shoulder and guide me to greater heights? Be still my beating heart.

“Umm,” I said. “I couldn’t choose. Could you just bring me someone who would be best for me?” Oh, so humble.

“Wait right here.”

“Not a problem.”

While I waited, I looked around and spotted small cakes piled on tables all around me. Lovely, though in real life I don’t eat sugar because I get too hooked on sweets.

But hey, this was a dream, I was lucid, and I could do whatever I wanted. I proceeded to stuff myself with vanilla cream cakes and then I discovered the cheesecake on the next table. Let me tell you they were delicious, every bit as delicious as if I had been eating them in real life.

Still stuffing myself, cake frosting and cream cheese smeared all over my face, I glanced up to see my helpers returning with my writing guide.

She looked like no writer I recognized. I would describe her as a plumpish, gray-haired woman in her mid-sixties wearing a frumpy, pigeon colored dress.

“Whoops. Sorry about pigging out on the cake. I don’t get to eat sweets in real life.” Darn. Why was I greeting this person with cake all over myself?

“That’s perfectly all right.” Her voice was kind and melodious. “I’m here to help you.”

“You’re my guide?”

“I am.”

The lucid part of the dream suddenly ended. The next thing I knew, I was awake and wondering what time it was. And wondering why I’d wasted my golden opportunity.

My grandson wanted to know the same thing when I told him about the dream. “You ate cake?” He shook his head sadly. “I would have asked for the lotto numbers.”

Doh! And I'm positive I gained three pounds during the night.