Saturday Writing Essential: More Dreams

I overslept this morning. And it was lovely. 

Usually, on Saturday mornings, I rise at 5:30 or 6:00 to write this article, review the early Saturday submissions, and prepare for the long morning of chair deliveries, errands, breakfast at George's Diner with my wife and grandsons, gardening, cooking the family feast, chair caning and - last but not least - a few hours of soul satisfying writing.

I needed the extra sleep this morning, having missed out the night before due to emotions aroused after attending a funeral of a friend's mom. I'm sure those of you who have lost loved ones know exactly what I mean. You may have gone to the funeral of someone you hardly knew. Perhaps you went to support a dear friend, as I did on Thursday. Did memories pour into your psyche as familiar hymns were sung and heartfelt stories were delivered? In this case, images of my father, grandparents, and departed friends flooded my brain. The funeral of my boss's daughter came to mind. His strength. His deep sorrow. The flow of memories was endless.

As these thoughts persisted throughout the day and evening, I tossed and turned Thursday night, and was exhausted all day Friday. But I slept until almost 8:00 (!) this morning, and woke feeling most rested after a night full of wild dreams.

The most vivid and overwhelming was that of a flood. Perhaps it was driven by images in the news of the floods that have ravaged several communities in recent weeks. Or maybe it was the overwhelming flood of emotions triggered by the funeral. Either way, the dream felt incredibly real.

In my twenties again, I floated into the scene at my wife's home in the country. I stood near the house, looking down to the barn. My first thought was to check on the horses. I raced (in that miraculous dream-like speed) to the stalls and found one horse. Oddly, I reconized Maggie, the mare I feature in my LeGarde Mysteries series. But her chestnut gelding companion, Diablo, was missing. Panic rose in my throat. Strangers appeared, asking me what was wrong. I searched the flooded fields and finally found him lying on his side in a shallow spot. I froze, then saw his ribs rise and fall. He was alive! Miraculously, I got him up and into the stall with Maggie. Questions filled my brain - how would I feed them? Where was the hay? The grain? Was it ruined by the water? In a flash, the scene switched.

Same locale. Same barn. Same flood. But now it was winter and most of the field was covered in ice. There! In the distance! A fellow I recognized as my cousin Dave flailed in the water. He'd broken through the ice and was drowning. I searched desperately for something to throw to him, something long and strong. I spotted the hose (why it was left out in winter, I'll never know!) and struggled in molasses like motion - as if held back by mysterious forces - toward the hose. I pulled and pulled on the green monstrosity, trying hard to free it from the ice. Dave was drowning, and I couldn't get the darned hose out of the ice pack. 

Another flash, and suddenly someone else had rescued him. Even as relief washed through me, I remained rooted to the spot, feeling like a failure. 

I think I know why this sense of powerless came through a dream. It has something to do with the inability to control events in my life. My friend's loss and deep sorrow. My daughter's neurological evaluation this week that has (hopefully) ruled out the MS from which my wife suffers. My own issues struggling with asthma. Life is full of these challenges, and sometimes our inability to "fix" them translates to a feeling of failure. Of course, in reality, the ability to withstand and face these ailments with grace translates to success. Success is not the right word, exactly, but I think you know what I mean.

The dream continued and I was able to join a posse of sorts on a floating barge. We searched and rescued many victims floating in the ocean of floodwaters that had overtaken their homes.

Redemption?

I don't know. But when it was all over and I woke to the sound of the birds and the luscious feeling of sun on my face, I felt satisfied. Really good inside. I guess I needed these imaginary acts of heroism to help me through the week to come. Who knows?

But it's fun to disect and analyze dreams, isn't it?

Okay, it's late now. I'm already off schedule for the chair deliveries, and the family is milling around me with impatience, ready to go. Thanks for the wonderful submissions this morning! I'll check back later to add in the new pieces.

Enjoy your weekend, be a hero to someone you love, and write like the wind!

                                                                                                                                               - Aaron