Dreams
I know not whether the stress of life has gotten to me more so lately than it has in the past, but my dreams have become quite disturbing. Of late, they are dark, almost menacing, and leave me with a sense of doom and foreboding.
Last week they were filled with images of the devastation from the hurricane, including the torment and suffering of those left behind. Listening, watching, and reading what so many are having to endure renders my miseries almost insignificant in comparison.
Last night was one of fractured sleep for me as bleak visions continued to crowd my head with an intoxicating intensity that had me questioning my sanity.
Sometime around 2:00 a.m. I finally got up for a glass of water and purposefully checked on the girls to exorcise these demons and remind myself of my reality.
The house was quiet and dimly lit by the moonlight and glow of a few stars shining through the multitude of windows throughout. There was no need for proper lights.
The wee child was sprawled across her bed with a wayward foot sticking out from beneath her covers and an angelic smile spread across her sleeping face. The sweet child was tightly cocooned in her bed beneath an always moving ceiling fan. Her dog rested at the foot of her bed.
My only conscious companion as I wandered through the resting house was my faithful Voodoo, the cat. To herd me and bend me to his will he usually runs ahead to lead the way and when I stray from the obligatory path, he dashes behind to swat at my heels to right my course. Should I stop for more than a moment, he rubs against my feet and calls for me to pick him up.
There is great comfort in the warmth and affection of another living, breathing creature.
After I returned to bed, I closed my eyes and willed myself to focus on a small bright spot on the not too distant horizon. In October, best friend Susan and I will travel to Tuscany. As I drifted back to sleep, I thought of the adventures in store for us.
When I next awoke my heart was lighter and I briefly replayed a very pleasant fiction which had graced my unconscious.
Susan and I were in Florence doing all the things tourists do. We visited museums, enjoyed gelatos, and took countless photographs of the people, buildings, and countryside. We had somewhere we needed to be and somehow time had escaped us. Frantic to attend our appointment we knew we could not rely on public transportation to get to where we needed to be.
As Susan searched for a taxi, I approached a couple of Italian men on motorcycles. In my very best broken Spanish, I asked them to take my friend and me where we needed to go. I offered to pay them, but one of the gentlemen tried to explain to me in Italian he would not take payment, but would ferry us for what I thought he said was a kiss.
Taken aback, I explained to Susan what the gentlemen required. She was insistent that we take the deal and assured me it was only a kiss, but not to give it to him until he were at our destination.
As each of us mounted a motorcycle and hung on for dear life, I began to replay the discussion in my head from English to Spanish and Italian to Spanish to English and had the certain feeling my ability to translate and communicate had failed me; however, moments later we arrived at our destination safe and sound.
Standing again of firm ground the gentleman began to approach me. Susan squeezed my arm and whispered in my ear it would be fine, just give the man a kiss and all would be well.
I turned to her and tried to explain that I was not certain it was a kiss from me the man really wanted. Before I could explain further, he scooped my friend into his arms and planted a big one on her shocked lips.
Releasing her, he smiled at us both, and departed.
***
I think I need to work on my Spanish, as well as my Italian quite a bit more.
Last week they were filled with images of the devastation from the hurricane, including the torment and suffering of those left behind. Listening, watching, and reading what so many are having to endure renders my miseries almost insignificant in comparison.
Last night was one of fractured sleep for me as bleak visions continued to crowd my head with an intoxicating intensity that had me questioning my sanity.
Sometime around 2:00 a.m. I finally got up for a glass of water and purposefully checked on the girls to exorcise these demons and remind myself of my reality.
The house was quiet and dimly lit by the moonlight and glow of a few stars shining through the multitude of windows throughout. There was no need for proper lights.
The wee child was sprawled across her bed with a wayward foot sticking out from beneath her covers and an angelic smile spread across her sleeping face. The sweet child was tightly cocooned in her bed beneath an always moving ceiling fan. Her dog rested at the foot of her bed.
My only conscious companion as I wandered through the resting house was my faithful Voodoo, the cat. To herd me and bend me to his will he usually runs ahead to lead the way and when I stray from the obligatory path, he dashes behind to swat at my heels to right my course. Should I stop for more than a moment, he rubs against my feet and calls for me to pick him up.
There is great comfort in the warmth and affection of another living, breathing creature.
After I returned to bed, I closed my eyes and willed myself to focus on a small bright spot on the not too distant horizon. In October, best friend Susan and I will travel to Tuscany. As I drifted back to sleep, I thought of the adventures in store for us.
When I next awoke my heart was lighter and I briefly replayed a very pleasant fiction which had graced my unconscious.
Susan and I were in Florence doing all the things tourists do. We visited museums, enjoyed gelatos, and took countless photographs of the people, buildings, and countryside. We had somewhere we needed to be and somehow time had escaped us. Frantic to attend our appointment we knew we could not rely on public transportation to get to where we needed to be.
As Susan searched for a taxi, I approached a couple of Italian men on motorcycles. In my very best broken Spanish, I asked them to take my friend and me where we needed to go. I offered to pay them, but one of the gentlemen tried to explain to me in Italian he would not take payment, but would ferry us for what I thought he said was a kiss.
Taken aback, I explained to Susan what the gentlemen required. She was insistent that we take the deal and assured me it was only a kiss, but not to give it to him until he were at our destination.
As each of us mounted a motorcycle and hung on for dear life, I began to replay the discussion in my head from English to Spanish and Italian to Spanish to English and had the certain feeling my ability to translate and communicate had failed me; however, moments later we arrived at our destination safe and sound.
Standing again of firm ground the gentleman began to approach me. Susan squeezed my arm and whispered in my ear it would be fine, just give the man a kiss and all would be well.
I turned to her and tried to explain that I was not certain it was a kiss from me the man really wanted. Before I could explain further, he scooped my friend into his arms and planted a big one on her shocked lips.
Releasing her, he smiled at us both, and departed.
***
I think I need to work on my Spanish, as well as my Italian quite a bit more.
posted by Feisty at 9:05 AM
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