Dreaming of Halloween

I woke up from the dream early, flailing, couldn't breathe, coughing. Just 6:30 and chilly. For three nights I have dreamed that every time I cough, an Internet site has appeared advertising medicine, soup, cool drinks of water. But if I try to access any of them, McAfee informs me that safety is an issue and blocks them.

This last dream was different. Facebook was offering only the sick (they know who we are) fully finished and Halloween-decorated pages that would last one day. We wouldn't have to post a seasonal picture, write a witty message, or even say Happy Birthday to our friends. All would be done for us because we did not feel well enough to manage it. Every time a new cough came, another example of a Halloween page floated by.

One such page had a picture of Wayne dressed as the vampire for Halloween. The year he scared all the children including his own niece and made the little ones cry. Another page highlighted Squirrel and our ceramic pumpkin. Once, Corey was dressed as the mummy and I was in my Gypsy costume. I wanted to choose that one so I could stop dreaming. It had actually been a foggy night and the mummy crepe paper was coming undone in a foreboding way.

The coughing was so steady, though, that I couldn't move fast enough to order my page. In the dream all I had to do was hit Amazon One-Click to download but another sample was flashing in front of me before I could move. Once, the profile picture was me in my balloon-woman costume wearing my beret, my Monet quilted T-shirt from the '60's, my acrylic cat-eye glasses, and holding on to my many balloons. And on and on and on.

I'm up now. Next, shower. Then I need to go out for more soup, more water, more honey. A lemon. Finally, rest. Happy Halloween. No dreaming!

...coughing, coughing, coughing...kitty prays.

I get this cold at least once a year, sometimes twice. It always lasts two weeks and turns into something bronchial or sinus related. Today, day 5, I took to my bed.

While I was sitting upright and propped on pillows, I pulled my positive reinforcement repertoire out of my head and chose one of my favorites. First I relax all of my muscles and picture myself in a sunny, restful place that I have really been. Today, I went down to my chair on my old dock in Jacksonville. I smiled. Not very far to go.

As usual, in this particular version, the white blood cells were on the move. A whole battalion was cleaning out the stuffy bronchi. Part of the Calvary had marched against invaders from the throat. Some Infantry were soaking those passages in honey and lemon juice and rounding up the vitamin C volunteers as they seemed to have deserted the operation.

I fell asleep. In my dream, Jesus was carrying a tall ladder from place to place inside my body and seemed to be holding an inspection of some kind. "Has she been praying?" This to the Commander. "No Sir, not yet," the man answered. "But that cat of hers started yesterday!"

Family, At Breakfast, is What You Make It

I didn't have time to get to the cameras. I grabbed the phone but even then, too late. It had been the perfect photo-op. My family at breakfast!

The rain? Stopped. The sun not out either.  Several doe had jumped the fence and were munching on the fallen acorns. The wild squirrels and the birds were up at arms. Squawking. Screeching.

I could hear them from the kitchen where my coffee was dripping, egg boiling, muffin toasting. I've learned in these four years to recognize the racket caused by the deer and to differentiate it from the mild chatter which only means rabbits munching blackberries.

So out to the porch I go with plate and cup filled to the brim. Telephone in pocket. One more trip to bring out Squirrel's salad and bath water. Belle eats in the house. She gets her bowl early, while I am fixing everything else.

The three of us were watching the deer. The wild squirrel who has a nest in the closest tree was on the outside of the screen, watching too. He wants so badly to come inside and live the good life. Yet, he's like the black and white kitten who visits. A dear friend; not family.

I put the bowls in place and reached to the screen to pat the wild squirrel's belly. Suddenly, Squirrel was out her door and up on the cat rest from which Belle was watching the deer. The does can jump over the fence with no running start at all and that's what they did. Belle turned to look at me.

Suddenly, Squirrel was up there with her, looking her in the eye. The kiss happened so quickly. Belle was amazed. Those two always touch noses in the morning through the cage screening. But this!!!


A squirrel kissing a house cat good morning? With a wild squirrel looking on, wishing it was him?

Things are back to normal. Belle is sleeping on "her" chair. Squirrel has had a bath and has covered her leftovers with a child's cloth ABC building block. You know the ones. The deer are deep into the copse by now, full of acorns. Wild squirrel is digging around in the flower bed, peevish it seems to me.

I drank more coffee than necessary. 100% Kona. Perfect for a morning like this. I love my family. Never think of me and wonder how I can be so happy living here alone. There's no such thing as alone. Not here, anyway.  

From My Three Legged Stool: Bible Study: A Dilemma Solved

There has been plenty of Bible in my life. I'm the girl who always won a brand new zipper Bible, King James, at Vacation Bible School by memorizing the most verses. When I was older, I wrote a short essay about the book of Job and won a white New Testament. It was first prize. That is the reason that, no matter what translation you are reading to me, my mind is busy converting the verses into the language of my childhood memorization.

I studied Early English Literature in college and for many years (until the powers-that-be revised the pronunciation that I had learned) I read King James 1611 aloud almost every day, loving the sound of it.  I also studied Religion 101, Bible as Literature, and Biblical History. That was a long time ago. Yet, even today, if I get into a conversation that intrigues me it all comes crashing back into my memory.

At five years old, I attended Catholic School. I left abruptly one day, shaking my head and telling Mother Superior, "Your religion confuses me." I had been going to the Methodist Church with Grandmother. Waiting, Sunday after Sunday, for the Holy Spirit to appear. I never saw Him, so....

...when we moved into our own home, I was raised a Southern Baptist. As a teen, I used to visit all the churches in Wilmington (NC) and I loved it. I went to the Methodist Church one evening every week because they were allowed to dance. My friend played oboe at the Presbyterian Church and I started going there for the music. My first boyfriend was Episcopalian. I fit perfectly on the Three Legged Stool.

When I moved to Jacksonville (FL) I worked downtown for fifteen years just a few blocks from St. Johns Cathedral. I had joined the Riverside Park Methodist Church but I rarely missed the lunchtime Wednesday Eucharist at St. Johns. I joined their book club for business women (1960's) which met at the YWCA across the street from my office. But I never had time for a Bible Study. For some reason, I always believed that I needed to study the Bible with a group - to gain perspective, I guess.

My second husband was no more of a church-goer than my first one had been. We were "nonparticipating"  Episcopalians who often visited my brother-in-law's Catholic Church. Corey went to Episcopal High. Sometimes we visited St. Paul's and  St. Paul's-by-the-Sea. We visited St. Johns and St. Andrews -  however intermittently.

I dreamed of a Bible Study Class.

When I retired to Tallahassee, I visited all churches regardless of denomination. I wanted to feel it and when I finally did, I landed at ( Episcopal, again)  Holy Comforter.  I made some friends, of course, and three of them attended a Bible Study every Wednesday morning. A large study. People all over the world studying the book of Isaiah at the very same time. For one year. Yes!

Of course I enrolled. Me among the Fundamentalists. But I had read an interesting article and had watched a compelling History Channel program and was excited to go! They asked everyone to go around the circle telling their name and why they had chosen to come. I answered when my turn came around.

How can the answer to "What brings you here today," be wrong? I was quiet the rest of the hour until it was my turn to critique the time we had spent in study. There had been no mention in the discussion that the idea of Law had begun right there in Isaiah and one of the most beautiful verses of the Old Testament (to me) had been omitted in the reading. I brought that up. No, no, no. A topic for the speaker in the next half hour. Not for me.

Needless to say, I found myself to be something other than a Fundamentalist (quoting the Bible out of context) that morning last summer. I never went back. But I've found another class. More to my taste, but still...the question was asked. "What brings you here today?"

We were in groups. I explained what brought me. "I want to study the Bible in fresh, modern translations along with a group of other people to see if either the new approach to the reading or the ideas of the others involved will give me a new perspective, a message I had heretofore missed, perhaps... enhance understanding." How can that answer be the wrong one? But the looks on the faces of my group said otherwise. Not good.

There was no lesson the second week. Week three, I appeared at the morning class instead of the evening one. "Sweet Jesus, let me fit in somewhere." I reverted...took my revised King James, determined to listen to the others without being distracted by the less than beautiful language of the newer translations. I believe that the King James Bible is some of the most wonderful literature ever written. Why spoil that? Why miss it? We understand. The English Language hasn't dumbed down that far that fast. You know it's true.

I don't want to second-guess God. Why He did, how He did, whether or not He did are not my concern. Maybe Bible Study is not for me. It's not that I feel that I should teach the class. I could never get my philosophy, my understanding across to the students. Maybe that's the thing. Whatever Bible Study means to this group just doesn't fit my needs...if I have needs....They are more like curiosity and a burning to know how we got to this place, at this time, in relationship to the Bible itself.