Fading Dreams

Not more than ten minutes before I started this article, I awoke with the beginning words of a sentence that seemed to be the first paragraph of a work of fiction. It was about a pair of baby shoes placed side by side as a sort of icon. My mind immediately took up the construction of a second sentence that went like this:

"The camera scans upward and comes to rest briefly on the same logo attached to the side of a monolithic office building, whereupon it moves rapidly upward again until it stops at the window of an office high up on one of the upper floors. A tall man in his prime of life is standing in front of the window gazing outward toward the southeast. The camera pans around him until we see over his shoulder what he is seeing - the mighty Hudson River as it flows steadily by the city of New York past the Statue of Liberty, and through the Narrows out to sea."

Already I have changed words from my first mental draft, but "Ok", I thought to myself,  "now I'll precede that sentence with the first one that was ready-made in my mind as I awoke. But like the poem that begins:

"In Xanadu did Kublai Khan a mighty pleasure dome decree

Where Alph the mighty river ran down to a sunless sea."

It is gone.

Usually when I have an idea fixed in my mind as I wake up, I can turn it into some sort of an article that I think will be acceptable to post at Gather. But always before it has been only an idea, not full blown with words already in place. So I'm wondering what made me dream that sentence in the first place only to forget it as I composed the second.

I think it is a sign, a sort of metaphor that grew out of some news from my daughter, Jane, told me last night. The lease is up on this little house, not next September, but on June 30, only about 45 days from now, and we will move out before then. Only we will not be moving together. She will be moving in with her youngest daughter somewhere in the San Diego area to a house that is still to be found where cats and dogs and maybe her chickens, too, will be allowed. Lots of luck with that!

Jane's youngest daughter, who was legally separated from her husband in the third year of her marriage, is pregnant six months after their last attempt at reconciliation. She is due to have a baby girl named Lily on July 26. She is still working as a nanny in a job she has had for several years, but will soon have to give it up to take care of her own baby. So Jane will try to live with her and help her, at least for a while.

Maybe my dream about baby shoes is symbolic for the baby about to be born. And I am the person standing in the window of the structure of my life. I just wish I really was in my prime, and my life were as sturdy as the big building. Maybe the fact that it is in NYC is symbolic of my terror of the whole thing being brought down like the World Trade Center.

Although I knew it was unlikely, I was hoping I would not ever have to move again. All my life, and especially the first half when I was a Navy wife, we moved almost every two years. I didn't mind it at all, and viewed it with a sense of adventure. It kept us from accumulating clutter, which was a good thing. But at 86 I guess I'm adventured out. I dread it. I'm so afraid a social worker will get involved as it happened to a friend of mine who had about 40 rescued cats. I'm afraid my beloved eight cats will be taken away from me. One old black cat has been losing weight in spite of getting a special diet, and I will have to put him down soon.

Also, Sherpa, my old female dog that is part coyote, has lost her ability to stand alone in the last two days. Her back legs give out, and she is too heavy for me to carry. I can only give her a little support. She was given to me two years ago by ex-neighbors who had become homeless. Since then they have found a precarious situation where the wife earns the living as a cab driver, as well as keeping house for her husband and his friend who owns the house that they all live in. Maybe I can give Sherpa back to them and pass the heartache of killing her back to her former owners. I sympathize with Sherpa. My back legs don't work very well either, and maybe I will be put down too, by swine flu.

It makes me angry that I feel so whiney about the situation. I have always felt that I could take care of anything that came along. Now I'm feeling sorry for myself, and that is not going to solve my problems. Buck up old girl!

My daughter has some good ideas about how I can get settled again, but my first reaction to anything she suggests is "No, I don't want that," or it is something I don't see how I can pay for. Well, time will tell, but actually I don't have much time. I'd better get busy and whittle down my belongings to get rid of what I couldn't bring myself to throw away six months ago when I moved in here.

I have one last ditch option. A friend named Bob told me several times that I could always move my trailer onto his property of 80 acres about 10 miles from here. I could still use the same clinic and doctor if I lived there. I can find out if the offer is still good and move there until a better solution comes along. But I am not sure that he has sewer or electric hookups. It would be hard to live without them.

I wish I could just write full time for Gather, and not have to think about ever moving again. But what I have got to do is stop whining and give some practical thought to what comes next. However it is a cold, foggy, and windy day. Maybe I'll put everything on hold and go back to bed and hope to dream up a good solution. Praying always helps, too.