I spent a good part of my night riding around the streets of a town on a minimal bicycle, which was little more than wheels, pole, and pedals. Good workout.
Then I was with a friend, and I got a wild idea. We went up the steps of a Catholic church, and plucked down the man who was playing the part of Jesus, dragged him into the church, upsetting a couple of priests. I spread the man out on the altar and began to pray, "Thank you, God, for sending your Son Jesus, whom this guy represents." It just felt so real. The reality of God's sacrifice. The priests were anxious, yelling, and then trying to bargain with me (We'll give you a special dispensation, they said. They were afraid I was going to actually sacrifice this guy. I'm not Catholic, I said. But my friend took the paperwork just to appease the priests.) Then we left before the police could get there.
After that, I was sort of on the run. I went to other churches, and actually saw the guy who had played Jesus there, but I hoped he didn't recognize me in my Sunday-going-to-church clothes. I couldn't stand the services, so I ended up leaving early, even walking by the guy who played Jesus, sitting on a big, beautiful, fat, sassy horse. (See, this guy was rich.) I thought, Jesus wouldn't be sitting on such a horse, since Jesus wasn't rich. His horse would be lean like he was. Yet, this man was lean.
Off to the side from the sidewalk, I saw varicolored leaves (red, yellow, green, purple) on the ground under a large grove of trees. There was a bit of snow and ice on top of the leaves, but their colors were showing through. I started digging my hands through the snow and ice to get to the leaves. I was on my hands and knees, moving from space to space, clearing the leaves with my passage of the snow and ice, just enjoying the nature.
When I came out on the other side, the man on the horse was talking to some other people (reporters?) and he said, "I won't ever play Jesus again." Not because of the danger from people like me, I gathered, but rather from the fact that I truly used him as a representative of Jesus, and he felt how wrong that was.
I pulled out my minimal bicycle and rode on.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The Coat
It all started with a swim meet, and a team from Iowa that traveled in a huge bus down to southern New Mexico. At first, I was a mom accompanying the team. The meet was over and I had a chance to swim.
So I jumped in and swam and swam and swam -- not wanting to end it. The other two swimmers (members of the team) were much faster and adept than I, but it didn't matter; I still had fun. (It occurred to me that I was so much better than I had ever been before. But still, why am I so slow? Oh, then I'd remember to kick my feet.) Then it was time to get ready to leave. The swimming pool was on a level at the top of a spire, and the next level down was wider and had more swimming pools. We looked over the edge and could see a kiddie pool filled with playing children. The girl swimmer next to me said something I couldn't catch, but at the end it sounded like "weenie." I bent down to pick up a piece of glass at our bare feet; the girl bent down as if to pick up a pebble, said it again, "This hotel is so sweeny," and jumped -- dived -- headfirst down into the kiddie pool. I thought she'd died -- I heard and felt two booms -- when she hit the water and when she hit the bottom.
Someone took a picture of it and posted it on the Internet and everyone knew about the stupid thing this girl did. But she was alive! And apparently unharmed. I told her I thought she was dead, and she spread her arms as if offering me to look -- not even a bruise. I retorted, "That doesn't mean anything. You can really deep bruises that don't show up for hours." Then we had to inform the coach, who was perhaps the ONLY person in the hotel who didn't know what happened. The girl was in trouble.
But she told everyone she had slipped or someone had pushed her. I kept my mouth closed, but had to decide whether I would lie with her or tell the truth -- what I saw -- when the time came. Surely they would ask me. But I liked the girl. Still I decided if and when the officials asked me I'd tell the truth. I figured the girl would be banned from any more swim meets, but oh well. She was a senior and this had been her last swim meet, anyway. Oh, and maybe she wouldn't be awarded the medals for her performance this meet.
So we all piled into the bus, which was more like a private RV. The guy driving was the owner, one of the dads. I was in the back, so I couldn't see the road signs as they came up. But I was able to point out things I like about New Mexico to the women and kids around me. At one point, we were sitting at a perfect vantage point to see the Sandias looming above us. I pointed out La Luz trail, told how high the mountain was in altitude, how high from the valley floor, etc. (The kids were listening with interest! Well, I guess if they were from Iowa . . .)
At some point, I realize that I'm seeing signs for some car dealership, and the signs look like regular highway signage. I go to the front and ask, "Are we lost?" No, says the navigating wife. No, says the driver. "Do we have a map?" I'm always needing to check a map. I love maps and rely on them. We don't have one.
Well, I don't think this is right. We're going into mountains, but the road is too wide, the curves too broad, for the type of road I expected for going over the pass. Sure enough, this "highway" is a dead end, luring unsuspecting travelers to a car dealership (Geo and Chevrolet). We stop at the end and work to turn the huge RV around. Everyone's disgusted with the deceit and without saying anything to the dealer, who's trying to get us to stay for awhile, we show our disgust with our expressions. So now we're going back the way we came. And I'm thinking of the correct road ahead and getting scared.
"I don't know," I tell the driver. "Maybe we need to reconsider this going over the pass." The road I know has hairpin turns -- ones I'm not sure this monster would be able to negotiate. I try to get the driver to take the long way around, using the freeways, but the driver assures me this baby can handle the turns. Well, okay. So we pick another road that seems like it. We go higher and higher in elevation and the road becomes dirt, then mud, and narrower and narrower, and I'm getting really scared, but there's no going back and no where to turn around.
We take a break next to railroad tracks. One of the women, the wife of the driver, has a bag of rails and for some reason she's shaking it, and the rails fall out, all over the tracks in the ground. And there's a train coming and we don't have time to pick up the rails, and we know it's going to cause the train to derail. We just barely have time to pile back into the RV.
A MAN comes to get us. No, that's not quite right. HE is going to come get us. In the meantime, we are to dress like we dress normally (actually, we gathered this meant with an entire outfit, including coats, gloves, etc.) And HE will tell us what we have to give up (in payment for causing the train's derailment?)
Now I left out the disjointed conversations going on in the back during our trip -- what was going to happen to the girl who dived into the kiddie pool, whether we should disguise ourselves (everyone was wearing a t-shirt with the team name on it) in case the whole world knows of this girl's stupidity and cover up our team name with jackets, etc. I had put aside my own jacket and another dad (a grandfather riding with us) had folded it and tied all the ties in firm knots.
Already, people are being called out, one by one. What they have to "give up" is usually little -- even as small as a thread -- and they place it on a flat open space at the front of the bus. But I have no idea of the significance of these things to the person having to give them up. They could be really, really important.
I am fumble-fingered at getting the knots on my folded jacket undone. And when I put on my glasses, they fall apart, and I'm having to put them on, piece by piece -- first the frames, oops, no, put the nose cushions on the frames first (people help me find those, and find a girl's lost earring in the process), and then pop the lenses in, and now I can see to untie the knots on my jacket.
I am acutely aware of the time passing, and my turn is coming up. What if I don't have my jacket on in time? What if I present myself not as I normally am? I am afraid. (Although the MAN is a shadowy figure like the Wizard of Oz was behind the curtain, it feels like HE is God and can do anything to us.)
Then it happens. Boone, my son, refuses to put his coat on. "I made him wear that for killing Olade," my husband says. I am aghast. But not completely in denial. Boone goes before the MAN without his coat on -- exposed. And I hear, like a whisper in the wind, I forgive him the sin. It felt like Boone was rejecting the identity that wearing the coat would mean. And because he rejected it and opened himself up even more, he received more than any of the rest of us.
So I jumped in and swam and swam and swam -- not wanting to end it. The other two swimmers (members of the team) were much faster and adept than I, but it didn't matter; I still had fun. (It occurred to me that I was so much better than I had ever been before. But still, why am I so slow? Oh, then I'd remember to kick my feet.) Then it was time to get ready to leave. The swimming pool was on a level at the top of a spire, and the next level down was wider and had more swimming pools. We looked over the edge and could see a kiddie pool filled with playing children. The girl swimmer next to me said something I couldn't catch, but at the end it sounded like "weenie." I bent down to pick up a piece of glass at our bare feet; the girl bent down as if to pick up a pebble, said it again, "This hotel is so sweeny," and jumped -- dived -- headfirst down into the kiddie pool. I thought she'd died -- I heard and felt two booms -- when she hit the water and when she hit the bottom.
Someone took a picture of it and posted it on the Internet and everyone knew about the stupid thing this girl did. But she was alive! And apparently unharmed. I told her I thought she was dead, and she spread her arms as if offering me to look -- not even a bruise. I retorted, "That doesn't mean anything. You can really deep bruises that don't show up for hours." Then we had to inform the coach, who was perhaps the ONLY person in the hotel who didn't know what happened. The girl was in trouble.
But she told everyone she had slipped or someone had pushed her. I kept my mouth closed, but had to decide whether I would lie with her or tell the truth -- what I saw -- when the time came. Surely they would ask me. But I liked the girl. Still I decided if and when the officials asked me I'd tell the truth. I figured the girl would be banned from any more swim meets, but oh well. She was a senior and this had been her last swim meet, anyway. Oh, and maybe she wouldn't be awarded the medals for her performance this meet.
So we all piled into the bus, which was more like a private RV. The guy driving was the owner, one of the dads. I was in the back, so I couldn't see the road signs as they came up. But I was able to point out things I like about New Mexico to the women and kids around me. At one point, we were sitting at a perfect vantage point to see the Sandias looming above us. I pointed out La Luz trail, told how high the mountain was in altitude, how high from the valley floor, etc. (The kids were listening with interest! Well, I guess if they were from Iowa . . .)
At some point, I realize that I'm seeing signs for some car dealership, and the signs look like regular highway signage. I go to the front and ask, "Are we lost?" No, says the navigating wife. No, says the driver. "Do we have a map?" I'm always needing to check a map. I love maps and rely on them. We don't have one.
Well, I don't think this is right. We're going into mountains, but the road is too wide, the curves too broad, for the type of road I expected for going over the pass. Sure enough, this "highway" is a dead end, luring unsuspecting travelers to a car dealership (Geo and Chevrolet). We stop at the end and work to turn the huge RV around. Everyone's disgusted with the deceit and without saying anything to the dealer, who's trying to get us to stay for awhile, we show our disgust with our expressions. So now we're going back the way we came. And I'm thinking of the correct road ahead and getting scared.
"I don't know," I tell the driver. "Maybe we need to reconsider this going over the pass." The road I know has hairpin turns -- ones I'm not sure this monster would be able to negotiate. I try to get the driver to take the long way around, using the freeways, but the driver assures me this baby can handle the turns. Well, okay. So we pick another road that seems like it. We go higher and higher in elevation and the road becomes dirt, then mud, and narrower and narrower, and I'm getting really scared, but there's no going back and no where to turn around.
We take a break next to railroad tracks. One of the women, the wife of the driver, has a bag of rails and for some reason she's shaking it, and the rails fall out, all over the tracks in the ground. And there's a train coming and we don't have time to pick up the rails, and we know it's going to cause the train to derail. We just barely have time to pile back into the RV.
A MAN comes to get us. No, that's not quite right. HE is going to come get us. In the meantime, we are to dress like we dress normally (actually, we gathered this meant with an entire outfit, including coats, gloves, etc.) And HE will tell us what we have to give up (in payment for causing the train's derailment?)
Now I left out the disjointed conversations going on in the back during our trip -- what was going to happen to the girl who dived into the kiddie pool, whether we should disguise ourselves (everyone was wearing a t-shirt with the team name on it) in case the whole world knows of this girl's stupidity and cover up our team name with jackets, etc. I had put aside my own jacket and another dad (a grandfather riding with us) had folded it and tied all the ties in firm knots.
Already, people are being called out, one by one. What they have to "give up" is usually little -- even as small as a thread -- and they place it on a flat open space at the front of the bus. But I have no idea of the significance of these things to the person having to give them up. They could be really, really important.
I am fumble-fingered at getting the knots on my folded jacket undone. And when I put on my glasses, they fall apart, and I'm having to put them on, piece by piece -- first the frames, oops, no, put the nose cushions on the frames first (people help me find those, and find a girl's lost earring in the process), and then pop the lenses in, and now I can see to untie the knots on my jacket.
I am acutely aware of the time passing, and my turn is coming up. What if I don't have my jacket on in time? What if I present myself not as I normally am? I am afraid. (Although the MAN is a shadowy figure like the Wizard of Oz was behind the curtain, it feels like HE is God and can do anything to us.)
Then it happens. Boone, my son, refuses to put his coat on. "I made him wear that for killing Olade," my husband says. I am aghast. But not completely in denial. Boone goes before the MAN without his coat on -- exposed. And I hear, like a whisper in the wind, I forgive him the sin. It felt like Boone was rejecting the identity that wearing the coat would mean. And because he rejected it and opened himself up even more, he received more than any of the rest of us.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Plastic People
"Oh, I wanna be a plastic person!" I exclaimed.
I won't tell you what all led up to this part of my dream. Suffice it to say, it was a travel dream. I had gotten together with one of my students and we had made a flying trip somewhere north and back again. Since we had one extra day, we decided to drive down to Socorro for a seminar that would pay her (she was trying to make extra money or get a better job.) The trips for me were both fun and instructive.
Somehow we met up with some of her friends who wanted to go to Socorro, too. We were taking my car, but she was driving. My friend was wearing an earthy hippy-ish top with little red tassels. Then her friends were a beautiful black girl and a guy (I think he was white). Not knowing their names, we're just going to have to go with those distinguishing phrases when I refer to them.
We were looking for the nearest Loewe's for something before we got out of town, and we were in a part of town I didn't know. (None of us knew.) It was on the southern edge of the city. We were driving on what seemed like the "Loop" around Lubbock, TX, and from that high way I saw a new theme park (which I had seen before -- in my dreams?) Anyway, it was early in the morning and huge "plastic" people were walking out to their stations.
The biggest feature of this theme park was a huge loop-de-loop of "slide" -- except it wasn't to slide on. Instead, the slide was more level and these plastic people arranged themselves in settings. There were two kinds of plastic people -- those that were all white -- covered with a coating of white so that every part of them is white (kinda like the Blue Man Group being plasticized in blue) -- and those that are in regular color but their clothes have the sheen of being plastic like they are huge toys. The white ones get into statuesque-in-the-park positions.
So anyway, these people are walking all around us -- knights, kings, queens, kids blowing bubbles, etc. to get to their positions. One all-white guy practically climbs over the hood of my little car. I blurt out, "Oh, I wanna be a plastic person!" but knew that was ridiculous. We drive a bit more and realize that we are actually on a plastic slide and now we need to decide where to go (turn left, turn right? how to get out of here? either direction had people we could mow down) because we are facing a woman who needs to be where we are. That's when we realize that somehow we had driven onto the feature. At the same instant, the people in charge of the display realized they had a car out there.
A (not-plastic) man with a clipboard ran out to us and made us get out of the car. Then they decided, since there wasn't time to get the car down, they'd use the car as part of their display. It was small; it would work.
"What are they going to do with us?" we whispered to each other. We were in an internal hallway, waiting for our "punishment." As we wait, I look out the huge south-facing windows and in the sky, I see a replica of my friend's blouse being made in plastic. It's just like the blouse appeared bit by bit and a huge hand squeezed it out.
A woman came breezing up and said, "I'm so sorry. This all was my fault. I was late." I gathered from that that we had come upon the feature just as the gates were open and we had taken her place and the gate didn't know any different, so it allowed us in. "I'll be in the next batch," she said and settled down to wait with us.
My friends were wondering what the plastic people did and I told them it was like manikin modeling, where you dress up in clothes a store wants to sell and stand in the window like a manikin, unblinking. These people get into poses and hold them while the crowd surges around them.
"I did manikin modeling, once," I bragged. "It's funny. The people walking by often don't even know you're real. The kids usually realize it and try to make you blink."
"Yeah, no blinking."
"I managed for five minutes."
"This is for fifty minutes."
Oh, my goodness! Not to move for fifty minutes? Not even blink? I didn't know it was even possible. Surely, they'd blink surreptitiously.
Thinking of the plastic blouse version of the blouse my friend was wearing, I said, "I think they're going to use us."
"Be an exaggerated version of yourself," we were told. "Aging and worried? Let the wrinkles show. . . ." I took that last to mean me.
I bet we'd get paid a lot, which was good for my friend and her friends. (They had all been needed some kind of job to help with the finances.)
Sure enough, my friend was escorted one direction and the remaining three of us followed the late woman to the "showers" where we stood and turned to be sprayed with a plastic covering. It made my joints harder to move so I walked Frankenstein-like. I briefly saw my friend in her plastic clothes. Her cheeks were painted red and the way they put up her hair, she looked like a doll, a huge life-sized doll.
I was trying to figure out what my pose would be when I looked up and saw, flying through the sky, as if he had been launched from the theme park, a huge fat baby with a blanket. I could see where the baby ended up (he didn't "land" -- he still hovered facing the theme park, cross-legged in the sky above some buildings) and he took out a cigarette and started smoking it. He looked pissed. I thought he must have lost his job and we replaced him.
They gave us a meal, but I was too nervous to be hungry. Besides, I worried that sitting down to eat would wipe some of that plastic off my backside, and how would that look? They assured me the plastic was dry now, but I still didn't eat.
When I woke up, I was still worrying about whether I could stay still and unblinking for fifty minutes, what my pose would be, and what the man pretending to be a baby would do.
The part about the manikin modeling that I did was really true. I did a five-minute stint at a little boutique in a mall. At that time I wore hard contact lenses and in the five minutes, they dried out. I had to be very careful closing my eyes for my first blink so they wouldn't pop out. Now, since I've had lasik surgery, I think it would be a bit easier. But it was a challenge and lots of fun to see the kids point out to their parents that we were "real" and the parents look more closely and jump when they realized it was true.
I won't tell you what all led up to this part of my dream. Suffice it to say, it was a travel dream. I had gotten together with one of my students and we had made a flying trip somewhere north and back again. Since we had one extra day, we decided to drive down to Socorro for a seminar that would pay her (she was trying to make extra money or get a better job.) The trips for me were both fun and instructive.
Somehow we met up with some of her friends who wanted to go to Socorro, too. We were taking my car, but she was driving. My friend was wearing an earthy hippy-ish top with little red tassels. Then her friends were a beautiful black girl and a guy (I think he was white). Not knowing their names, we're just going to have to go with those distinguishing phrases when I refer to them.
We were looking for the nearest Loewe's for something before we got out of town, and we were in a part of town I didn't know. (None of us knew.) It was on the southern edge of the city. We were driving on what seemed like the "Loop" around Lubbock, TX, and from that high way I saw a new theme park (which I had seen before -- in my dreams?) Anyway, it was early in the morning and huge "plastic" people were walking out to their stations.
The biggest feature of this theme park was a huge loop-de-loop of "slide" -- except it wasn't to slide on. Instead, the slide was more level and these plastic people arranged themselves in settings. There were two kinds of plastic people -- those that were all white -- covered with a coating of white so that every part of them is white (kinda like the Blue Man Group being plasticized in blue) -- and those that are in regular color but their clothes have the sheen of being plastic like they are huge toys. The white ones get into statuesque-in-the-park positions.
So anyway, these people are walking all around us -- knights, kings, queens, kids blowing bubbles, etc. to get to their positions. One all-white guy practically climbs over the hood of my little car. I blurt out, "Oh, I wanna be a plastic person!" but knew that was ridiculous. We drive a bit more and realize that we are actually on a plastic slide and now we need to decide where to go (turn left, turn right? how to get out of here? either direction had people we could mow down) because we are facing a woman who needs to be where we are. That's when we realize that somehow we had driven onto the feature. At the same instant, the people in charge of the display realized they had a car out there.
A (not-plastic) man with a clipboard ran out to us and made us get out of the car. Then they decided, since there wasn't time to get the car down, they'd use the car as part of their display. It was small; it would work.
"What are they going to do with us?" we whispered to each other. We were in an internal hallway, waiting for our "punishment." As we wait, I look out the huge south-facing windows and in the sky, I see a replica of my friend's blouse being made in plastic. It's just like the blouse appeared bit by bit and a huge hand squeezed it out.
A woman came breezing up and said, "I'm so sorry. This all was my fault. I was late." I gathered from that that we had come upon the feature just as the gates were open and we had taken her place and the gate didn't know any different, so it allowed us in. "I'll be in the next batch," she said and settled down to wait with us.
My friends were wondering what the plastic people did and I told them it was like manikin modeling, where you dress up in clothes a store wants to sell and stand in the window like a manikin, unblinking. These people get into poses and hold them while the crowd surges around them.
"I did manikin modeling, once," I bragged. "It's funny. The people walking by often don't even know you're real. The kids usually realize it and try to make you blink."
"Yeah, no blinking."
"I managed for five minutes."
"This is for fifty minutes."
Oh, my goodness! Not to move for fifty minutes? Not even blink? I didn't know it was even possible. Surely, they'd blink surreptitiously.
Thinking of the plastic blouse version of the blouse my friend was wearing, I said, "I think they're going to use us."
"Be an exaggerated version of yourself," we were told. "Aging and worried? Let the wrinkles show. . . ." I took that last to mean me.
I bet we'd get paid a lot, which was good for my friend and her friends. (They had all been needed some kind of job to help with the finances.)
Sure enough, my friend was escorted one direction and the remaining three of us followed the late woman to the "showers" where we stood and turned to be sprayed with a plastic covering. It made my joints harder to move so I walked Frankenstein-like. I briefly saw my friend in her plastic clothes. Her cheeks were painted red and the way they put up her hair, she looked like a doll, a huge life-sized doll.
I was trying to figure out what my pose would be when I looked up and saw, flying through the sky, as if he had been launched from the theme park, a huge fat baby with a blanket. I could see where the baby ended up (he didn't "land" -- he still hovered facing the theme park, cross-legged in the sky above some buildings) and he took out a cigarette and started smoking it. He looked pissed. I thought he must have lost his job and we replaced him.
They gave us a meal, but I was too nervous to be hungry. Besides, I worried that sitting down to eat would wipe some of that plastic off my backside, and how would that look? They assured me the plastic was dry now, but I still didn't eat.
When I woke up, I was still worrying about whether I could stay still and unblinking for fifty minutes, what my pose would be, and what the man pretending to be a baby would do.
The part about the manikin modeling that I did was really true. I did a five-minute stint at a little boutique in a mall. At that time I wore hard contact lenses and in the five minutes, they dried out. I had to be very careful closing my eyes for my first blink so they wouldn't pop out. Now, since I've had lasik surgery, I think it would be a bit easier. But it was a challenge and lots of fun to see the kids point out to their parents that we were "real" and the parents look more closely and jump when they realized it was true.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Wow, what a week -- what a couple of weeks
I woke up singing God's praises. Wish I could remember the song -- I did for a bit, but it dissipated as I did my morning routine. I remember the dream but it's way too complicated to put down in words. To simplify a bit, a very prominent artist owned an island and drew young people to it where they could engage in any kind of immoral act they wanted. Then the artist "got religion" -- accepted Christ, and continued to draw young people to his island where they praised God. As I woke up, I was walking down the path from the house, and spontaneously singing God's praises (like one of those old musicals where someone breaks out into song.)
Mike's back!
My husband is back in the evenings. That's the good news. The bad news is he lost his second job.
His boss accused him of stealing about $200-worth of gasoline from him. The boss show him the bill and asked why there were extra purchases on the gas card that Mike hadn't accounted for in the company vehicle. Mike -- who pretty much didn't like the boss to start with and was really tired and out of patience from the weeks before -- just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I didn't do it." Because he didn't try to explain anything (what's there to explain? He had no way of knowing why those charges showed up on the bill), he got fired.
Later Mike remembered when he lost the card assigned to him. He had searched the truck, couldn't find it, so called his company immediately (as expected.) They had canceled the card and gave him another one. He did find the original card, but that one had been canceled.
So yesterday when he had all day to fume over being fired, he remember that when the company gave him the new card, they said it was a copy and it was sometimes used by the in-town drivers to fill up their vehicles. They were going to get him a card dedicated to him, but they never did. Mystery solved. Mike's still out of a job. He's not even sure he's going to mention the solution to the mystery to his previous employers.
Since he's been home, I've been there to listen to him. Boy, he had a lot to say last night. But that means less blogging!
So here I was praying that God would somehow help us with our temporary money situation. In planning to go to Seattle next week, I overspent my grocery budget by about $50. (My trip is the end part of the pay week. Since I won't be here to buy whatever we run out of, I tried to make sure that we wouldn't run out of anything.) Then we had two vehicles break down and had to pay for repairs last weekend. So I canceled my appointment with Larry Marrich, my chiropractor, because we didn't have the money. (I felt okay, so thought the last adjustment could last awhile. But I'm still hoping I can get in to him before my trip.) Then Mike had an appointment to get his teeth cleaned (which he hated because he had to take leave from his second job, so he lost the money he would have been paid without taking leave) and had to have a tooth pulled. The visit cost him $75. And then I'm going to need money for the trip. Of course, I'll get reimbursed for much of it, but we gotta have it to start with.
My praying God would help us with our money situation didn't seem to help. Then when Mike lost his second job, I wondered if there was a message in there somewhere. We can slow down on paying off our bills. I had been worried about Mike's health and emotions -- the stress on him. Now he can slow down a bit. Now he has some socialization (with me). Now he has a chance to get some stuff done at home that he's been needing to do.
I became worried when two weeks ago, Shelli had an accident. She rear-ended a woman who was stopped in a merging lane around a curve in Santa Fe. It wasn't a big deal -- just basically a fender-bender, but Shelli jammed one of her toes (she'd been wearing flip-flops and one slipped off when she hit the brakes) and wasn't sure if it was broken. She drove herself to the hospital, and Mike who was just about finished with his second route was willing to take over her route for her while she dealt with red-tape, etc.
Mike (Shelli) had a deadline at the airport. By 9:00 p.m., he had to be there to deliver some package from some bank up in Los Alamos. He was proud of himself that he made it there on time (just barely) but then he realized that he had forgotten to stop at the bank (it was a once a week stop that he had forgotten)! So he had to drive all the way back to Los Alamos (his 4th? time that day) and pick up the package. He made it home about 2:00 and, of course, had to get up at 4:00 for his own route.
Being sleep deprived has a domino effect on couriers. Mistakes on the route means backtracking, which means tighter time schedules and more chances of mistakes. The next morning as Mike was headed to work, he ran a red light. (It was 5:30 in the morning, there was no traffic, the light was green for people going straight on, but Mike wanted to turn left, and the left turn signal had a red arrow.) He went anyway, and then when strobes flashed behind him, he realized this was one of those red-light cameras. It carries a $100 fine. Then he got two speeding tickets, which Mike turns into $$$. And of course, being stopped and issued the citations eats up the time a courier has.
It took Mike several days to shake off the effects of being sleep deprived. In the meantime, he had hours of alone time to think, and being tired, he fell into old thought habits, mentally chewing on the things that bugged him.
So I was worried. Now Mike can slow down. Maybe he can get as much rest as he needs and deserves. Maybe we can get some work done at home. Shelli is also concerned. The number of miles she puts in (750 to 1000 miles a week) means that her chances of getting into an accident are extremely high. She wants another job because she doesn't want to take the chance of dying in an accident.
Money's still an issue, but I'm so glad Mike's home in the evenings.
Mike's back!
My husband is back in the evenings. That's the good news. The bad news is he lost his second job.
His boss accused him of stealing about $200-worth of gasoline from him. The boss show him the bill and asked why there were extra purchases on the gas card that Mike hadn't accounted for in the company vehicle. Mike -- who pretty much didn't like the boss to start with and was really tired and out of patience from the weeks before -- just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I didn't do it." Because he didn't try to explain anything (what's there to explain? He had no way of knowing why those charges showed up on the bill), he got fired.
Later Mike remembered when he lost the card assigned to him. He had searched the truck, couldn't find it, so called his company immediately (as expected.) They had canceled the card and gave him another one. He did find the original card, but that one had been canceled.
So yesterday when he had all day to fume over being fired, he remember that when the company gave him the new card, they said it was a copy and it was sometimes used by the in-town drivers to fill up their vehicles. They were going to get him a card dedicated to him, but they never did. Mystery solved. Mike's still out of a job. He's not even sure he's going to mention the solution to the mystery to his previous employers.
Since he's been home, I've been there to listen to him. Boy, he had a lot to say last night. But that means less blogging!
So here I was praying that God would somehow help us with our temporary money situation. In planning to go to Seattle next week, I overspent my grocery budget by about $50. (My trip is the end part of the pay week. Since I won't be here to buy whatever we run out of, I tried to make sure that we wouldn't run out of anything.) Then we had two vehicles break down and had to pay for repairs last weekend. So I canceled my appointment with Larry Marrich, my chiropractor, because we didn't have the money. (I felt okay, so thought the last adjustment could last awhile. But I'm still hoping I can get in to him before my trip.) Then Mike had an appointment to get his teeth cleaned (which he hated because he had to take leave from his second job, so he lost the money he would have been paid without taking leave) and had to have a tooth pulled. The visit cost him $75. And then I'm going to need money for the trip. Of course, I'll get reimbursed for much of it, but we gotta have it to start with.
My praying God would help us with our money situation didn't seem to help. Then when Mike lost his second job, I wondered if there was a message in there somewhere. We can slow down on paying off our bills. I had been worried about Mike's health and emotions -- the stress on him. Now he can slow down a bit. Now he has some socialization (with me). Now he has a chance to get some stuff done at home that he's been needing to do.
I became worried when two weeks ago, Shelli had an accident. She rear-ended a woman who was stopped in a merging lane around a curve in Santa Fe. It wasn't a big deal -- just basically a fender-bender, but Shelli jammed one of her toes (she'd been wearing flip-flops and one slipped off when she hit the brakes) and wasn't sure if it was broken. She drove herself to the hospital, and Mike who was just about finished with his second route was willing to take over her route for her while she dealt with red-tape, etc.
Mike (Shelli) had a deadline at the airport. By 9:00 p.m., he had to be there to deliver some package from some bank up in Los Alamos. He was proud of himself that he made it there on time (just barely) but then he realized that he had forgotten to stop at the bank (it was a once a week stop that he had forgotten)! So he had to drive all the way back to Los Alamos (his 4th? time that day) and pick up the package. He made it home about 2:00 and, of course, had to get up at 4:00 for his own route.
Being sleep deprived has a domino effect on couriers. Mistakes on the route means backtracking, which means tighter time schedules and more chances of mistakes. The next morning as Mike was headed to work, he ran a red light. (It was 5:30 in the morning, there was no traffic, the light was green for people going straight on, but Mike wanted to turn left, and the left turn signal had a red arrow.) He went anyway, and then when strobes flashed behind him, he realized this was one of those red-light cameras. It carries a $100 fine. Then he got two speeding tickets, which Mike turns into $$$. And of course, being stopped and issued the citations eats up the time a courier has.
It took Mike several days to shake off the effects of being sleep deprived. In the meantime, he had hours of alone time to think, and being tired, he fell into old thought habits, mentally chewing on the things that bugged him.
So I was worried. Now Mike can slow down. Maybe he can get as much rest as he needs and deserves. Maybe we can get some work done at home. Shelli is also concerned. The number of miles she puts in (750 to 1000 miles a week) means that her chances of getting into an accident are extremely high. She wants another job because she doesn't want to take the chance of dying in an accident.
Money's still an issue, but I'm so glad Mike's home in the evenings.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Crossing the Cliff
I didn't want to wake up. It was only the crashing of Shiloh against my bedroom door as she chased the cats that got me out of bed. And of course, I had three piles of poop to clean up because I had slept so late. All because I wanted the dream to continue.
It started with my sister and I driving in a small car on a mountain trail (and I mean trail, not road) along the side of a cliff. My sister was driving too fast and lost control of the car. We fell out and some rocks landed on my sister's arm. The car, thankfully, didn't fall into the water below the cliff. It landed on another trail that was girdling the cliff lower down.
While I was taking the rocks off my sister's arm, some other cars happened by on the trail below. The first car just went by ours. But the people in the second car stopped and got out. Their plan was to push it over the edge and later come back to salvage it. But someone stopped them from doing that, and we were able to reclaim our car. My sister drove more carefully after that, although we were in some sort of competition with the people in the other cars and the sooner we could get across the cliff without falling into the water, we would win. After awhile, though, our efforts were more geared toward just getting to the finish line.
Because I actually woke up, turned over, then fell back into the dream, the transitions are spotty. So bear with me.
I had been through several of these competitions. I could see the cliff like a map in my mind, with my path marked in red, zigzagging across that cliff, up, then down, across, then down, then up. Then another path in green, and another path . . . many attempts.
At one point, my dad was driving us (the family?) in an SUV. We were driving cross country, and the highway was so crowded with other vehicles, motorcycles, trucks, cars, even runners! We had to go our speed without hitting anyone.
We moved from mountainous highway to wide open valley road, in the land of my mother's parents. My mother told us about the last time she was here, she actually got us ahead in the race by using an airplane.
"Where did you take off from?" I asked, thinking there were no airports out here.
She said, "Down highway XXX a few miles, then turn right. There's a big abandoned warehouse/dairy. I radioed I would be taking off from the road that leads to it."
So I imagined my mom piloting the small airplane, it dragging our SUV behind it, and finally getting enough power to lift off with the SUV. . . our getting high over the valley and crossing the highway filled with travelers. I wished we could do it again, but this time, we didn't have an airplane. So there we were dodging the cyclists, runners, other vehicles, and rush, rush, rushing.
Then I was alone and back at the cliff. I'd ditched the car and was just working my way across by rock climbing, using my arm strength most of the time. And apparently, I'd done very well for myself. I had several certificates of winning with me.
Now I was at a new cliff (farther downriver?). I paddled around in the water below the cliff. There was another competition, but this one was for children.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I heard the announcer say, "We have some experienced competitors." Apparently, they had already started the event. The order the competitors normally left in was more experienced to less experienced so that the slower ones wouldn't be run over by the faster ones. But they thought all the competitors were new to the event, and they'd already started it when they discovered this problem.
But come to find out, the two little kids HAD been in such a competition before, but not the same event. They had competed with something like little motor scooters, similar to the adults' using cars, but their scooters had broken down and they had been unable to even finish the course. When the referees found this out, they figured the kids were not experienced, and were fine going second.
Across from me, on the cliff was a grid of something like grocery carts on hinges. Inside each was the certificates of the competitors. Upon each pair of competitors' starting the race, the announcer would read the certificates and announce the competitors.
I was next to these two kids' mom, who stood anxiously waiting for the referees to get their stuff together and start her kids on their race.
Actually, I wanted to go find a race for myself, but I was curious how these two little boys would do. They were about seven years old, and quite cute. So I swam around, up and down the river, waiting for the kids to complete their course. When they were started on the race, I was amazed at the helicopters and aircraft that kept pace with each team. It's for safety, I realized, but we adults didn't have anywhere near the same thing.
At one point, I swam back and asked the mom how the kids were doing. She said she didn't know yet, but she did want me to hang around for the awards. She had seen my certificates and thought I deserved to be introduced to the crowd because I was a winner in a similar event. I didn't mind the recognition.
There was a little stage with a curtain, and the kids were put on the stage to get their awards. After the kids got their awards, I was asked to wait behind the curtain, but the MC couldn't get the curtains velcroed together apart, so I went around to the front and was introduced to the crowd. The two little kids whose race I'd followed suddenly got a look of awe on their faces and hero worship.
I took a moment with them and told them, "Make peace with the water. Out there, you're alone with Everything -- water, rock, and air. Enjoy it." Then I swam downriver looking for another competition I could enter.
Even while I was dreaming this dream, I was aware that the water meant my spiritual life. But it seems the cliff, and being high up on the cliff -- as in the air -- has some symbolism as well.
The pathway or roadway is the path of life. And I guess I do take it as a competition. Not so much to WIN, but just to accomplish. Like my therapist once said, I'm a human doing, rather than a human being. I'm not satisfied with paddling around in the river. I've got to be trying for the finish line. Going too fast, however, will get me in trouble.
I don't know what it all means, or if it means anything, but I sure felt comfortable with myself.
It started with my sister and I driving in a small car on a mountain trail (and I mean trail, not road) along the side of a cliff. My sister was driving too fast and lost control of the car. We fell out and some rocks landed on my sister's arm. The car, thankfully, didn't fall into the water below the cliff. It landed on another trail that was girdling the cliff lower down.
While I was taking the rocks off my sister's arm, some other cars happened by on the trail below. The first car just went by ours. But the people in the second car stopped and got out. Their plan was to push it over the edge and later come back to salvage it. But someone stopped them from doing that, and we were able to reclaim our car. My sister drove more carefully after that, although we were in some sort of competition with the people in the other cars and the sooner we could get across the cliff without falling into the water, we would win. After awhile, though, our efforts were more geared toward just getting to the finish line.
Because I actually woke up, turned over, then fell back into the dream, the transitions are spotty. So bear with me.
I had been through several of these competitions. I could see the cliff like a map in my mind, with my path marked in red, zigzagging across that cliff, up, then down, across, then down, then up. Then another path in green, and another path . . . many attempts.
At one point, my dad was driving us (the family?) in an SUV. We were driving cross country, and the highway was so crowded with other vehicles, motorcycles, trucks, cars, even runners! We had to go our speed without hitting anyone.
We moved from mountainous highway to wide open valley road, in the land of my mother's parents. My mother told us about the last time she was here, she actually got us ahead in the race by using an airplane.
"Where did you take off from?" I asked, thinking there were no airports out here.
She said, "Down highway XXX a few miles, then turn right. There's a big abandoned warehouse/dairy. I radioed I would be taking off from the road that leads to it."
So I imagined my mom piloting the small airplane, it dragging our SUV behind it, and finally getting enough power to lift off with the SUV. . . our getting high over the valley and crossing the highway filled with travelers. I wished we could do it again, but this time, we didn't have an airplane. So there we were dodging the cyclists, runners, other vehicles, and rush, rush, rushing.
Then I was alone and back at the cliff. I'd ditched the car and was just working my way across by rock climbing, using my arm strength most of the time. And apparently, I'd done very well for myself. I had several certificates of winning with me.
Now I was at a new cliff (farther downriver?). I paddled around in the water below the cliff. There was another competition, but this one was for children.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I heard the announcer say, "We have some experienced competitors." Apparently, they had already started the event. The order the competitors normally left in was more experienced to less experienced so that the slower ones wouldn't be run over by the faster ones. But they thought all the competitors were new to the event, and they'd already started it when they discovered this problem.
But come to find out, the two little kids HAD been in such a competition before, but not the same event. They had competed with something like little motor scooters, similar to the adults' using cars, but their scooters had broken down and they had been unable to even finish the course. When the referees found this out, they figured the kids were not experienced, and were fine going second.
Across from me, on the cliff was a grid of something like grocery carts on hinges. Inside each was the certificates of the competitors. Upon each pair of competitors' starting the race, the announcer would read the certificates and announce the competitors.
I was next to these two kids' mom, who stood anxiously waiting for the referees to get their stuff together and start her kids on their race.
Actually, I wanted to go find a race for myself, but I was curious how these two little boys would do. They were about seven years old, and quite cute. So I swam around, up and down the river, waiting for the kids to complete their course. When they were started on the race, I was amazed at the helicopters and aircraft that kept pace with each team. It's for safety, I realized, but we adults didn't have anywhere near the same thing.
At one point, I swam back and asked the mom how the kids were doing. She said she didn't know yet, but she did want me to hang around for the awards. She had seen my certificates and thought I deserved to be introduced to the crowd because I was a winner in a similar event. I didn't mind the recognition.
There was a little stage with a curtain, and the kids were put on the stage to get their awards. After the kids got their awards, I was asked to wait behind the curtain, but the MC couldn't get the curtains velcroed together apart, so I went around to the front and was introduced to the crowd. The two little kids whose race I'd followed suddenly got a look of awe on their faces and hero worship.
I took a moment with them and told them, "Make peace with the water. Out there, you're alone with Everything -- water, rock, and air. Enjoy it." Then I swam downriver looking for another competition I could enter.
Even while I was dreaming this dream, I was aware that the water meant my spiritual life. But it seems the cliff, and being high up on the cliff -- as in the air -- has some symbolism as well.
The pathway or roadway is the path of life. And I guess I do take it as a competition. Not so much to WIN, but just to accomplish. Like my therapist once said, I'm a human doing, rather than a human being. I'm not satisfied with paddling around in the river. I've got to be trying for the finish line. Going too fast, however, will get me in trouble.
I don't know what it all means, or if it means anything, but I sure felt comfortable with myself.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Traveling the Path of Life
Most of my travel dreams I'm in a car, on a train, on a bicycle or motorcycle, or even sometimes in an airplane. But last night, believe it or not we -- I, my husband, and our daughter, who along the way gave birth to a baby boy -- walked thousands of miles. I even was singing in my mind, "I will walk five thousand miles. . ." as we marched along in the sun, rain, dark, etc.
At some point, someone wanted to take our daughter's baby away from her, saying she wasn't fit to be his mom because she was walking. But when they tested the baby, he was so healthy and intelligent and happy, they couldn't rightfully take him away.
So then we were staying in someone else's house without their knowing. And they were due back soon, so we were worried that they'd get mad at us. So we had to get ready and leave quickly. There we were back on the road.
This morning, I shoveled snow for almost an hour. My shoulders and back muscles are sore, which reminds me of how I felt in my dream -- tired and sore, but somehow triumphant.
I wonder why I dreamed I was walking? Has my life slowed down?
At some point, someone wanted to take our daughter's baby away from her, saying she wasn't fit to be his mom because she was walking. But when they tested the baby, he was so healthy and intelligent and happy, they couldn't rightfully take him away.
So then we were staying in someone else's house without their knowing. And they were due back soon, so we were worried that they'd get mad at us. So we had to get ready and leave quickly. There we were back on the road.
This morning, I shoveled snow for almost an hour. My shoulders and back muscles are sore, which reminds me of how I felt in my dream -- tired and sore, but somehow triumphant.
I wonder why I dreamed I was walking? Has my life slowed down?
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