When someone tells me they don't dream, or can't remember their dreams, I find it a stretch to believe it. Oh, I don't think they're lying. It's just that I can remember in detail dreams I had when I was 3 years old. And the old question, "Do you dream in color?" I know I do. I see colors in my sleep more vividly than any during my waking hours.
For instance, take the strange dream I had the other night, as it ties all this together in a tidy package, albeit the wrapping is a bit bizarre:
Somehow I found myself in a hospital bed. All I kept thinking over and over again in my mind was, "Dear God, my memories are gone. My memories are gone. Please don't let that happen." Over and over again. And suddenly out of nowhere I was zooming down the highway on the back of a friend's motorcycle and to my left was hillside after hillside covered in the most brilliant blue imaginable. In the dream I knew what had happened. I had actually recovered a memory. A real-life memory that I had long forgotten from around 1989. A motorcycle camping trip with a dear friend in northern California, near Yosemite. We came around a corner and my breath was taken away by this gorgeous sight. I don't know if they were lupines or bluebells or what, but it was so beautiful you couldn't take it all in. I can still feel my eyes widening, trying to see it all at once. See it hard enough to memorize it because I certainly never did want to forget it.
The day after this dream, thoughts would pop into my head all day long. Things I had forgotten about all these years. Being caught in a thunderstorm at the top of a mountain and riding through hail until we found somewhere to pull over. Just pulling over somewhere to camp and feasting on sourdough bread and a bottle of wine we had bought at a Napa winery.
If dreams are our subconscious trying to speak to us, I think mine was telling me to resurface these happy times. Lately I need any happiness I can get and this served the purpose well. Lovely mellowed happiness without any fear of it being taken away.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
And a gecko morning to you!
Any of my Twitter followers has heard me mention Joe, my 8 year old, and has heard the story of our continuing efforts to keep a gecko alive for him. He has been laboring under the misapprehension that the current gecko is the same gecko we purchased 6 months ago. In truth, I've replaced it 3 times. Alas, on Friday we found another gecko dead in the bottom of its terrarium. Or so we thought...
Husband and I have a nightly ritual. He gets the kids' jim-jams on them, I make sure they brush their teeth. Then he turns down the covers for them while I spritz the gecko habitat with water, shut off the light, and cover the cage. The kids go to bed, we shut off their light, and that's that. On Friday, however, while the boys were brushing their teeth, I went to cover 'Zilla (as he is known) and he was lying lifeless on the glass at the bottom of his cage. Poor little thing. Didn't know whether to feel more sorry for 'Zilla or the softhearted Joe, who would be devastated to find out. I quickly covered the "corpse" with his hiding spot, a little plastic cave, so Joe wouldn't see it and spent the entire 3-day weekend pretending the gecko was alive.
So, let's skip right to Tuesday morning. Kids get off to school. Husband goes off to work. And I go up the stairs to clean the cage and get ready to go to the pet store to buy yet another "Zilla." I put a kitchen-size garbage bag over the end of the terrarium and tipped it up. Poor little dead gecko was stuck, hanging by only his two little front "hands." I shook the rest of the strata from the bottom of his cage into the garbage bag, got a paper towel to scrape up the bits of soil that were stuck to the bottom, and then reached in to gently remove 'Zilla and put him in the bag.
That little reptile immediately LEAPED from my hand as soon as I touched him and began running like mad all over the terrarium. I was speaking to my mother on the telephone and immediately screamed in her ear and dropped the telephone. I could hear her screaming "WHAT'S WRONG?? WHAT'S WRONG??" from the floor. As the top screen for the cage was in the bathtub across the hall, I didn't know what to do. The thing was still scrambling like mad over the walls of the terrarium. If I ran to get the screen, he might run out. If I carried the cage to the bathroom, he might run up the sleeve of my robe! I grabbed the Guitar Hero box lying nearby (which also came in useful later) and dropped it onto the top and ran for the screen. Phew! I picked up the phone & explained all to my mom and then sat down to catch my breath.
Once I had recovered somewhat, I decided I may as well clean the cage since it was empty of all strata, plants, etc. anyway. I was out of strata and this gecko hadn't had anything to eat for quite a while, so I took a quick shower, dressed, and ran to the pet store for crickets and a few other supplies.
I got back and set about cleaning the gecko habitat. First step in this is to remove the gecko. After locating a plastic tub to put 'Zilla in, I slid the screen back from the top of the cage a bit, slowly reached in, put my hand around him and eased him out of the terrarium. I breathed a sigh, as this was the most dreaded part of the whole operation. Geckos are quite wiggly and hard to catch. I imagined (stupidly I might add) that he was sluggish from his odd little dormant phase. I held him in my left hand and reached for the tub and lid with my right. Slowly, slowly I lowered the creature into the tub with one hand as I lowered the lid with the other. BAM! I lowered the lid! And WHOOP!!! There goes 'Zilla onto the wall. Scramble, scramble, scramble.
I was on the verge of tears. The cat was sleeping on the bed and I had visions of Rusty enjoying a nice reptilian meal. I tried to recover the creature, but he was just too fast for me. And then he ran underneath the overstuffed chair we keep in the boys' room. Oh great. I knew there was a tear in the upholstery at the bottom of this chair. If he got in there I'd never get him out.
I tipped the chair up and 'Zilla ran out. I grabbed the plastic tub and finally got it over the top of him. Now, how to keep him in there. Obviously I wasn't quick enough with the lid. I pressed the Guitar Hero box into service again.
I quickly scrubbed the cage and got it all ready for the gecko's return. Now for the hard part. I felt like I was trying to defuse a bomb. I slowly lifted up the plastic margarine tub and spied a wee little claw sticking out. Grrrr... This wouldn't be easy.
As it turned out, he jumped onto the top (bottom?) of the upturned tub and I slammed the lid on as fast as I could. I got him into the terrarium, got the screen on and TA-DA!! Done. For the next 2 weeks at any rate (sigh).
Suddenly, hamsters don't seem like so much work...
Husband and I have a nightly ritual. He gets the kids' jim-jams on them, I make sure they brush their teeth. Then he turns down the covers for them while I spritz the gecko habitat with water, shut off the light, and cover the cage. The kids go to bed, we shut off their light, and that's that. On Friday, however, while the boys were brushing their teeth, I went to cover 'Zilla (as he is known) and he was lying lifeless on the glass at the bottom of his cage. Poor little thing. Didn't know whether to feel more sorry for 'Zilla or the softhearted Joe, who would be devastated to find out. I quickly covered the "corpse" with his hiding spot, a little plastic cave, so Joe wouldn't see it and spent the entire 3-day weekend pretending the gecko was alive.
So, let's skip right to Tuesday morning. Kids get off to school. Husband goes off to work. And I go up the stairs to clean the cage and get ready to go to the pet store to buy yet another "Zilla." I put a kitchen-size garbage bag over the end of the terrarium and tipped it up. Poor little dead gecko was stuck, hanging by only his two little front "hands." I shook the rest of the strata from the bottom of his cage into the garbage bag, got a paper towel to scrape up the bits of soil that were stuck to the bottom, and then reached in to gently remove 'Zilla and put him in the bag.
That little reptile immediately LEAPED from my hand as soon as I touched him and began running like mad all over the terrarium. I was speaking to my mother on the telephone and immediately screamed in her ear and dropped the telephone. I could hear her screaming "WHAT'S WRONG?? WHAT'S WRONG??" from the floor. As the top screen for the cage was in the bathtub across the hall, I didn't know what to do. The thing was still scrambling like mad over the walls of the terrarium. If I ran to get the screen, he might run out. If I carried the cage to the bathroom, he might run up the sleeve of my robe! I grabbed the Guitar Hero box lying nearby (which also came in useful later) and dropped it onto the top and ran for the screen. Phew! I picked up the phone & explained all to my mom and then sat down to catch my breath.
Once I had recovered somewhat, I decided I may as well clean the cage since it was empty of all strata, plants, etc. anyway. I was out of strata and this gecko hadn't had anything to eat for quite a while, so I took a quick shower, dressed, and ran to the pet store for crickets and a few other supplies.
I got back and set about cleaning the gecko habitat. First step in this is to remove the gecko. After locating a plastic tub to put 'Zilla in, I slid the screen back from the top of the cage a bit, slowly reached in, put my hand around him and eased him out of the terrarium. I breathed a sigh, as this was the most dreaded part of the whole operation. Geckos are quite wiggly and hard to catch. I imagined (stupidly I might add) that he was sluggish from his odd little dormant phase. I held him in my left hand and reached for the tub and lid with my right. Slowly, slowly I lowered the creature into the tub with one hand as I lowered the lid with the other. BAM! I lowered the lid! And WHOOP!!! There goes 'Zilla onto the wall. Scramble, scramble, scramble.
I was on the verge of tears. The cat was sleeping on the bed and I had visions of Rusty enjoying a nice reptilian meal. I tried to recover the creature, but he was just too fast for me. And then he ran underneath the overstuffed chair we keep in the boys' room. Oh great. I knew there was a tear in the upholstery at the bottom of this chair. If he got in there I'd never get him out.
I tipped the chair up and 'Zilla ran out. I grabbed the plastic tub and finally got it over the top of him. Now, how to keep him in there. Obviously I wasn't quick enough with the lid. I pressed the Guitar Hero box into service again.
I quickly scrubbed the cage and got it all ready for the gecko's return. Now for the hard part. I felt like I was trying to defuse a bomb. I slowly lifted up the plastic margarine tub and spied a wee little claw sticking out. Grrrr... This wouldn't be easy.
As it turned out, he jumped onto the top (bottom?) of the upturned tub and I slammed the lid on as fast as I could. I got him into the terrarium, got the screen on and TA-DA!! Done. For the next 2 weeks at any rate (sigh).
Suddenly, hamsters don't seem like so much work...
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