Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Dream Blog: Look Out! A 10-inch Komodo Dragon!

I've missed my dreams lately. I don't think I'm getting enough sleep to remember them. Oh, I'm dreaming alright, but the dreams are as fuzzy as the thoughts springing from my head all day long. If I have to drag my thoughts back to me all day by repeating tediously to myself, "Now, what was I doing? What was I doing?", imagine how hard it is to haul my dreams back up to the top level of consciousness.

But lucky you are! I did remember one of them with a fair degree of color this week.

This dream took place in a house.The house was quite nice, but it was like a sitcom house. You know, the front wall was missing, so the audience could watch the actors.

Everything in the house was neutral like a show house, and there were some big trees in the yard that offered a good deal of shade to the wall-deficient front of the place. But this house had a really big problem. Or I should say, moderately-sized big problems. Lizards, lizards everywhere! Creeping from beneath the tables and sofa, crawling over one's feet. Constantly on the move, in fact.

I've had dreams where I had to navigate houses and sometimes whole neighborhoods full of snakes, but never lizards. I was freaked out by them, but in a subtle way. It was more like a mounding feeling of anxiety with each new lizard that scuttled across the floor. But it was their heads, I think, that "done me in". These were not cute minature lizard heads. They were Komodo Dragon heads!

You may wonder how I would know what a Komodo Dragon's head would look like up close. Well, I'll tell you, Smarty-Pants. Our zoo just added a Komodo Dragon exhibit. There's a male and a female, but my friend Camille told me the zoo keeps them in separate enclosures for fear they'll eat each other. Here is what they look like:



But don't worry. The mini-komodos didn't eat my toes or grow like Clifford The Big Red Komodo Lizard. The other people inhabiting my dream seemed perfectly content to be around them, and I finally remembered that Matthew and I had a road trip to take, so I began to pack Mexican 4 Cheese Blend shredded cheese into the cooler in the car. Then I panicked because I didn't have enough.

So what did the dream mean? Oh, this is always the best part. Well, it meant:

A) We eat too much Mexican 4-Cheese Blend in this house or

B) A road trip is the only way to escape a lizard infestation or

C) I am terrified the Komodo Dragons at the Zoo will mate or

D) There were lizards in bed with me last night

Now before you discount D, I must tell you that there truly was a lizard in bed with Matthew one night a few years ago. He felt it running up his leg, and he hit it away from him so hard, it flew all the way into the closet. He and I were afraid to search too deeply for the carnage, so we went to bed. For a year or more, I wouldn't move anything on the floor on my side of the closet, afraid the ghost of that lizard would rise up and demand recompense for our brutal rejection of his company. When I did finally clean out the closet, though, there was nothing-not even a little lizard skeleton.

At any rate, I really must go with D; there were lizards in my bed last night. Let's just hope they were nothing like the 10-inch Komodo Dragons of my dreams.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Tetanus Shots and Other Horror Stories

 
One day I told my kids not to do something. I said in a stern voice, "Don't play that way, because if you do one of you will slip and fall and hit your head. Then you'll pass out, and you'll be bleeding profusely. I'll have to take you to the hospital, and we'll be waiting three hours. No money for the vending machine, and a strange old man with an unpleasant odor will be sitting by us trying to give you candy. But you won't get it, because you never know! And that's why Mama always checks your candy on Halloween!"

At the end of this speech, Matthew, my husband, is shaking his head and giving me the look that says, where did I get you-Mars?, and my children are staring at me in a daze, terrified of they don't know what, because they've forgotten what I've told them not to do in the first place.

They do have one question, though.

"What's passing out?" asks Ana.

"Well..." I begin but Matthew practically burns me with a look that reminds me I've already performed my motherly duty. So I just smile at them and say, "Never mind. Now run along and play, you little monkeys!"

Then I turn to Matthew and shrug as I tell him, "I know, I know. I always say too much."

But maybe that's because I think too much. For instance, if I find a pair of scissors on the floor, I don't just think, Ooooh, that's not safe. Better put those away. No, a whole scene of the tragedy that might occur if my preschooler got a hold of those plays out in my mind. I can see her discovering them while I'm, say, in the bathroom reading the newspaper or something. "What nice sharp blades you have, scissors!" she might say before she runs around with them, laughing maniacally, opening and closing the blades with gusto like some midget Edward Scissorhands.

No pens, pencils, knives or scissors, I think as I pick up the scissors, passing my hand before my eyes, and put them away with a shudder.

Matthew, of course, is the one who left them on the floor in the first place. There are no mini-tragedies playing in his head. And he can simply say to the kids when necessary, "No, you're not doing that." or "No, you can't play with that. It's dangerous!" If they ask him why, he simply responds with the classic, "Because I told you so!"

But I don't know where to stop. And if they ask me why, I'm likely to give them a gruesome, full-bodied answer, and this doesn't just apply to questions concerning their own safety.

Not long ago, Berto brought me my book on ancient Egypt and pointed to a picture of a mummy.

"How did they make mummies?' he asked.

I stared at the picture. I understand his fascination. But what to say, what to say? It never occurs to me to lie and say, "I really don't know son. I believe it was a complicated and mysterious process-which nobody does nowadays, so don't you worry!"

"You really don't want to know," I say instead.

"Oh, come on. Tell me, Mama. Come on!"

"Well...alright then." I laugh and make room for him on the couch so we can enjoy a long cozy chat about mummification. "Okay, first they took a long metal hook which they inserted into the nose of the dearly departed, and then......"

The other day I saw the kids playing with a splintery old board. They had it propped on their playset, using it as a see-saw. Then they leaned it on the slide, so they could scamper up to the fort.

I walked outside. "Hey, hey, hey!" I yelled. "You get that board off there right now!"

"Why?" said Berto. "It doesn't have any nails."

"Yes, it does," I answered. "And they're old and rusty, too. Do you want a tetanus shot?"

"What's a tetanus shot?" he asked nervously.

"It's a shot, and it hurts," I said in brilliant explanation. "You have to get it when a rusty old nail goes through your foot, and the needle they give it with is, like, a quarter inch thick. Last time I got one, I passed out. Then I went home, and I passed out again. My arm hurt for days. I ran a fever, too."

Berto looked at the board, finally spotted the nails, and pitched it over the slide as if it were on fire.

I nodded my head in approval and went back inside. Another successful warning given, another tragedy averted. But next time I should think about cautioning them with a story that doesn't involve passing out in excruciating pain. I should tell them about stitches, perhaps.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Kelven's Riddle is Changing Hands

My dad's books, the first and second in the Kelven's Riddle fantasy series, are now in my favorite bookstore here in Arizona. And that bookstore, Changing Hands, is by my favorite pastry shop, Wildflower Bread Co., and that pastry shop introduced me to the idea of pumpkin and chocolate together in a muffin which was a glorious epiphany for me, I can tell you.

But where was I?

Ah, yes...I'm very excited for Dad's books to be in this healthy independent business that my children and I have gleaned so many books and so much pleasure from. Plus after gazing at them on the shelf for many minutes in pride, I can go eat a pumpkin chocolate muffin and think about how my dad would just love to have one, too, but he can't because he's all the way in Texas.

Also, I've been thinking, if Dad's books ever got made into a movie (we do not dream small, my family; it's a cursed blessing), I know just the song that should play at the closing scene of The Walking Flame when Aram is on Burning Mountain with Thaniel and the small army from Derosa, and Ka'en is waiting for his return.

This song, The Only Promise That Remains, reminded me of Dad's books the first time I heard it, and I recently listened to it again on a road trip. It was dark on the highway except for the car's headlights, and I began to visualize the last minutes of the horrific scene on Burning Mountain with now and then a shot of Ka'en standing on the terrace of her home looking toward the smouldering horizon, heartsick, waiting for Aram to come back as he promised he would.

But considering that this song is sung by Reba McEntire and Justin Timberlake, I'm not sure Dad would approve my choice at all.  It's from a Reba Duets CD. It reminds me of a Loreena Mckennit song with its melancholy Celtic-like beauty.

And after all, it does not have to be sung by Reba McEntire and Justin Timberlake. It could be sung by Toby Keith and Lady Gaga (that's a joke, folks).

Here's to this great story you've begun to tell, Papa. And here's to the speedy completion of Book 3, because I expect it by Christmas.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Vacancy in the Basement: But Not for Me, I Hope (Gulp)

One thing Matthew kept reminding me of as we journeyed home from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and I kept saying, "this stinks" or "that stinks" or "that other thing plus another thing stinks" was that the trip as a whole had been successful, just the journey home was abysmal.

While we were in Albuquerque, Berto and Ana went fishing with their grandpa and papa and caught their first fish.

And Berto had his first birthday party with his cousin (their birthdays are only a week apart). The cakes I made were edible, and they didn't collapse, get smooshed, catch on fire or cause anyone to be ill. Plus, once Matthew decorated them, "Hello Gorgeous!"

The other bonus was, of course, that I did not destroy one single piece of furniture or square of carpet while I was at my in-laws. I didn't even break something valuable and irreplaceable. To those relatives in the know about my tendencies to destroy major appliances and break all things glass this comes as a shock, but I swear it's true.

There was a time not long ago, though, when my father-in-law jokingly suggested that I stay in the basement the next time I visited. Chances were good that the suggestion would cease to be a joke if I committed one more act of destruction in their beautiful home.

Let me state my defense. They have white carpet - beautiful plush carpet that human toes love to curl around, that a grown person could fall asleep on in a matter of minutes. Still, it's white, and we all know that the human race is split into two camps: those who embrace the white fabric of the world and are experts at maintaining its purity and those who are deathly afraid of it and cannot help but destroy it by some terrible means.

One Christmas, Matthew polished my old knee-high, square-toed boots for me. My dad had bought those boots for me in my senior year, I believe. They were looking a little worn, but I loved them still. So I had brought them on the trip to visit my in-laws in their new home at Christmas.

They looked not bad after he applied the polish, so I yanked them on, glad to be reunited with their supple leather. A few minutes later I sat cross-legged on the floor in the guest room, playing with my daughter. Then I crawled around the carpet, chasing her.

Matthew came into the room.

"What's all over the carpet?" he cried.

I looked around, bewildered by the long black smudges that had seemed to appear by some strange voo-doo magic on the white flooring.

"What is that?" I wondered aloud, but even as the words left my lips, my little leprechaun was tapping my brain with his walking stick. "Uh, Hello!" he was saying.

 "Oh, no!" I cried. "The boots!"

Matthew looked at me bewildered a moment, and then the knowledge flooded his eyes all of a sudden, and his head hit his hand.

That was not the worst thing I ever did, however. There are greater enemies to carpet than plain black shoe polish.

It was the evening of my brother-in-law's rehearsal dinner. I was almost ready to go out and mingle. I had changed into a nice pair of slacks and a brown shirt. My make-up was done. My hair looked fine. There was only one thing I hadn't been able to do before we left home: paint my toenails.

It was summer; I was wearing open-toed heels. They had to be painted, you see. But I took precautions. I laid out the baby changing mat over the white carpet to protect it. I had thought about doing them in the bathroom, but it would be cramped. As long as I was very careful....

Ana came in while I was painting them. Toddlers are exorbitantly fascinated by fingernail polish; in their little hearts they know this stuff, with the exception of possibly mustard, is the most permanently staining substance that can be handled by mere mortals.

"No, Ana," I said. "You don't get to touch this."

She tried anyway, and I jerked the bottle away from her. The bottle tipped, and the bright maroon polish slid off the changing mat and onto the gloriously plush, impossibly creamy white carpet.

My life flashed before my eyes.

Matthew was already out with his family in the main rooms. I had even heard some of the guests arrive.

I began frantically blotting it up with tissue paper, washcloths, cotton balls - anything. Some had come off, but it had sunk into the pile, a bright maroon circle where no furniture could hide it.

"Ana, go get Papa!" I ordered.

Then I did the only thing I could do. I called the one person who had cleaned up a similar mess I'd made a few years before: my brother-in-law. That color was a pleasant pink, if I remember right, and I was applying it while staying with my bro-in-law and sister in preparation for a date night with Matthew (I called Matthew after that spillage, begging him to come early so he could be there before my brother-in-law got home).

"Hello! Hello, are you there?!" I screeched into their answering machine. "I just-oh, s--t!" I finished, abandoning all manners as I gazed in panic at the stain that would never, never go away.

Suddenly, a voice. "Hillary?" said my bro-in-law. "What's...."

"Hey!" I interrupted. "How did you get the fingernail polish out that I spilled at the apartment?"

"I didn't," he said. "We lost our deposit. Why?"

"Because I just spilled some bright red polish on my in-laws white carpet!"

I waited for the laughter at the other end to subside before saying, "I don't know what to do. Last Christmas I got shoe polish on it - they're going to hate me!"

After another good chuckle at my expense, he said, "Alright, calm down. Let me look up something online."

I was calming down, feeling better. I had help! Then Matthew walked in.

"What is it?" he asked. I pointed. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded.

"I put the baby mat down and everything," I moaned. "I was trying to keep it away from Ana."

"That's white carpet!"

"I know, I know!"

"Hillary?" said Bro-in-law, still on the cellphone.

"Yeah?"

"Most of them say to use fingernail polish remover, but it has to be the acetone kind. Some recommend alcohol or GooGone, but be careful; you can mess up the pile or make a hole with that stuff. And keep the stain wet - add water to it."

"Thanks."

 "Good luck!" he said, laughter returning.

"Ask your Mom for some acetone fingernail polish remover," I said to Matthew.

"They have guests," he answered, his face pale with anger.

"I have to get it out now," I answered desperately. "Please. And GooGone if they have it."

He left. I could have told them myself, I suppose, but I was too coward to face them. Meanwhile, I kept squishing tissues over the stains and dribbling water, getting up small blots of color.

"Matthew came back, grim faced.

"What'd they say?" I whispered.

"My mom's too busy. When I told Dad I was sorry, he just said, 'These things happen, son'."

But only with your wife, I added in my head, feeling more dejected as he handed me a bottle of fingernail polish remover and the GooGone.

The remover did almost nothing except fading the color to a paler red. The GooGone finally gave me a glimmer of hope that my fatal mistake would not leave a lasting impression on my in-law's carpet or their minds. I was pouring it on like mad until I came to the point where I knew no more could be done.

Needless to say the rehearsal dinner was full of anxiety for me. I slunk around, avoiding my parents-in-law and watching for Matthew's brothers to come in a pack and pitch me from the house - banished FOR-EV-ER!

I offered for Matthew and I to pay for a carpet cleaning when we left a couple days later. Then I apologized for ruining their carpet. Again.

"That's okay," said my father-in-law as he held the front door wide open for me. Then chuckling, he added, "Maybe you should stay in the basement next time."

After that, I often begged Matthew to let us stay in a hotel when we went to Albuquerque. If you ruin something in a hotel, sure you'll pay for it, but you're not going to destroy any personal relationships. Matthew insists his parents want us to stay with them, and, thankfully, I've noticed there are still no guest accommodations in their basement, not even a single rickety cot. Probably because I've done no damage since. But, shhhh...I'd better not jinx myself.