I Dreamed a Dream or Two

I have really vivid dreams. It used to be that I slept so deeply that if I dreamed, I didn't know it. But since I've been married, I remember my dreams every night. I didn't realize this until I started telling my husband about my weird dreams--they are always weird--and he commented about how often I dream. I didn't believe him, so I started keeping track and found out that he was right. I dream every single night.

A few weeks ago I dreamed about going back to school, but instead of going back to college for a graduate degree or another bachelors, I went back to junior high and then high school. And all the people I went to school with--all the people I thought I never really wanted to see again--were in my dream. It was almost a nightmare. And that's just one example.

A few months ago, I dreamed about my sister-in-law Catherine. In my dream she'd written me a note, and since I apparently have a junior high mentality, I had to write one back. But when I gave her the note, she took one look at it and said, "You spelled my name wrong. See?" And actually, I had. I'd spelled it "Cathirine," which is a ridiculous way to misspell her name. You'd think that I would have spelled it with a K or left out the first E instead of changing it to an I. But she actually wasn't concerned about the I. She was concerned that I'd left the accents off of both of the Es. I gave her the weirdest look while she showed me because all I could think was, "Wouldn't the accents make your name sound like Cath-ay-rin-ay?" But she didn't notice my confusion; she just said, "Usually I don't worry about the accents because it just confuses everyone. But I thought you should know." Since we're family, you know.

I think I'll address their Christmas card to John and Cathériné Rains.

But the point is, last night I had another very strange dream, this time about my little brother, who is serving a mission for our church in Ohio.

At first Paul (my little brother) and I were out wandering around a park with some other people at night. I'm not sure why, but we were. But while we were out there, this little tiny lamb comes frollicking along from behind a bush. It was like a pygmy lamb--I'm not sure if those exist--because it was so tiny and cute. It was all alone at first, but soon a whole lamb family followed. The lambs were grazing, and most of us were just watching the lambs, but a few were playing with and cuddling the small sheep. All was happy, until we realized that there were wolves nearby, and we had to protect the lambs. (By the way, what were pygmy lambs doing in an urban park, wandering free and wild? And also, if you had a pet pygmy lamb, and you took it for a walk in the park, would you need to obey leash laws?) So we gathered in a circle around the wolves (Why? To my awake self, this seems stupid. Apparently my subconscious is extremely unintelligent, or has a death wish) with torches, to scare them back into their cave. Which actually worked, after some snarling and barking from both sides.

But then the scene changed--dreams are so bad at transitioning smoothly--and I dreamed that we were at college, and Paul was a sophomore who somehow got assigned to senior dorms. So I went to check on him, 'cause, you know, that's what older sisters do. And of course Paul and his roommates were playing video games. (Do college boys do anything else? Okay, they chase girls and play video games. In my experience, those are almost the entire extent of their extracurriculars.) So my friends and I (oh, yeah, I had friends--crazy dream) started to check out their place (Again, why? College boys have never been known for their tidiness or concern with sanitation. Again, evidence that my subconscious has a death wish), which had three floors, by the way, but the tiniest living room known to man. When we made it to the basement, what did we find but a rack of old bridesmaids' dresses (which, of course, were the ugliest I have ever seen) and formals and one wedding dress. What were they doing there, you ask? I never got to hear the reason--I'm sure Paul had one--because Jason's uncle woke us up by pounding on our bedroom door before 9 am. This, I told Jason, is why we will never actually live with his grandpa like his aunts want us to so much: we will never have privacy. Someone will always come pounding on our bedroom door early in the morning, and I will always want to poke their eyes out with a rusty fork. It wouldn't be good for familial love.

Anyway, when I wrote to tell Paul about the dream, I made sure to point out the silver lining in the dream: obviously, I've been thinking about him. The bad news is that I've apparently been wanting him to fight wolves and cross dress. Maybe simultaneously.

I told you I have weird dreams.

Dove Strikes Again

Last night Jason, Traci (his sister and now mine!), and I went to the cheap theater to escape inevitable encounters with certain persons. But that's not the point. The point is, we took candy! Yes, I always sneak outside food into theaters. Cuff me, officer; I'm a criminal.

Back to my point. We took candy, specifically, Dove chocolates. And you know how I love Dove chocolates. All that creamy goodness wrapped in blue aluminum with jokes on the inside! When the movie sucked, I was suitably entertained by my illegal treats. Let me share with you a few of Dove's better jokes:

1."Smile when you want to, cry when you need to, laugh whenever possible." Thanks for permission, Dove. I wasn't sure I was allowed to feel, but I'm glad the physical manifestations of my emotions meet with your approval.

2. "Think of every day as a Sunday." What does that even mean? Okay, it makes some sense in a Christian context, but it's not PC right now to make overt Christian references on candy wrappers. After all, it's not Christmas. (That was a hint to you, Walmart, Fred Meyer, JoAnn's, and all the rest of you retail outifts trying to gloss over the fall holidays like redheaded stepchildren during a family introduction.) So Dove probably doesn't mean this in a Christian way.

But it also evokes the thought of Sunday drives, general laziness, naps, and maybe barbeques. Is Dove telling me to do these things every day? Should I tell my boss (I know I don't actually have a job and therefore don't have a boss; this is hypothetical. Stop rubbing my failure to become gainfully employed in my face!) that I can't come in to work because I have to treat every day as a Sunday, so I'm having a barbeque instead? That I can't finish that important project on time because I have to go for a long, slow drive? Thanks for getting me fired from my hypothetical job, Dove. Jerk.

3. And speaking of failures, my personal favorite: "Remind yourself that it's okay not to be perfect." Translation: "You suck. I don't even know you, and I know that. But you can call it 'imperfection' and talk of 'tolerance' and 'human nature' if it makes you feel better, Screw Up."

And those were the nuggets of wisdom Dove had to offer during this economic crisis, all for a whopping $3.99 a bag. Now run along and buy a bag yourself so you, too, can "Share a chocolate moment with a friend." If you have any, that is. Loser.

Of Fads and Food Blogs

I try not to get into fads too much, and not for the reason you might think. Though I like being original just as much as other people, I am not about to sacrifice my Harry Potter collection on the altar of Individuality. No, I don't like getting into fads because it is too detrimental to my bank account to keep Practical Tina—a version of myself I dislike only slightly less than Fitness Tina—occupied quietly in the back of my mind where I like her. But despite my best efforts, I've fallen in with a fad that I am hopeless now to resist. Like collecting mini Beanie Babies from McDonald's when I was young, I will continue to read food blogs avidly until they are replaced by something made of plastic or I die of obesity.

At first I just took a quick gander at the first recipe on the page. If I liked it, I copied it into Word and went on to the next site. But now, sites like the Smitten Kitchen have me reading through their posts and copying recipes that include foods I hate, like matza. And I blame it on the pictures. I don't know of any recipe I would not try if I saw that it was slathered with chocolate ganache. It's my kryptonite, or Superhero Tina's, anyway.

Okay, well, the pictures are a big part of it, yes. But the real reason I am so enthralled by food blogs is, I think, that food blogs, with their recipes for foods like fudgy brownie cookies and lemon cheesecake, offend Fitness Tina. And there's almost nothing I like more than spitting in her skinny face and kicking her in her sculpted buns. And since eating is a necessity, Practical Tina doesn't put up too much of a fight at my buying obscene amounts of cream cheese, baking chocolate, and strange spices. And if Practical Tina isn't going to put up a fight, well, I'm certainly not going to complain. To the baking aisle, Superhero Tina!