Today as the cobwebs clear

I woke fifteen minutes ago from a horrible dream.  Between crawling from the feathers and shuffling to make coffee, the facts of the dream are nearly gone.

The bits I remember: I was living in a country where I had to make horrible life-threatening choices.  Do I protect the little dark-haired girl with the gold star on her sleeve?  If I do will I die?

What remains in the part of my brain where the dream was only minutes ago is a visceral fear.  A fear of what our country may be becoming.  Somehow, in my sleep, my brain began to chatter about the grim realities here.

I’m astonished by my fear.  As a rule, I’m a smiling (head in the sand) optimist.

School kids are marching out of classes to demand our NRA controlled government make changes in gun laws.

Our leader, the man in the Oval, states, “There were good people on BOTH sides” following a Nazi-led demonstration that ended with horrible violence.

He bullies, name calls, and is ugly and divisive.  He calls on Americans to embrace their amoral ignoble selves.

Change needs to happen, and soon.  Children should feel safe in their classrooms.  Decorum should prevail in the Oval Office.  Kindness matters.

I’ve been pounding the keys creating and deleting sentences for the last five minutes.  The coffee is thank goodness, beginning to kick in.  I’ve got to find the “and that’s good because…” regarding these things.

Okay, Alice.  You can do this.

The part about the students marching out is easy.  And that’s good because this uprising may actually move Americans toward insisting gun laws change.

As for the “and that’s good because” about the tyrant in the Oval?  I’m working on that part.  If any of my gentle readers can help me out I’d appreciate it.  There may be readers who think he’s good for Americans.  If so, please don’t chime in.  Go read some other blog.

Now, more coffee and back to my sewing machine.  My mind seeks tranquility.

 

 

 

Dreaming. Moving. Winning.

6 a.m. I just woke from a house-hunting dream. I was trying to sway my two kids to fall in love with small town living.
In the dream, I attempted to convince my kiddos to adore a little old 1930’s bungalow. It was crooked and bent and altogether perfect. They wanted straight and even and, in my mind, vanilla.

I woke before I hammered my two squareish pegs, into round holes. (which in itself is odd–neither kid is a square peg.)

My dad used to use a terrific expression. “They’re all yours until you buy one.” I like the inherent hope in those words. The world is our oyster. It’s all ours--even after we buy one. We can let this one go and move on to the next.

Here is my wee small hours “AH HA” moment. We may or may not move again. In my mind, we will. St. Petersburg. A condo.

But (remember, everything after the but is the truth) living here, in our not what we thought we wanted house, is smashing.

I hosted Bunco–aka Drunko–two nights ago. November and all twelve ladies were seated outside by the cement pond. Rolling dice, gabbing, chomping Chex Mix. Perfect weather, lots of laughs. I worked hard at manifesting wins. (It worked. I prevailed! Fifty-five big ones.)

St. Pete may be in our future. Or not. Either way, it’s all good.

Now time to crawl back into the feathers. Maybe I’ll find out if my kids will move to that bungalow with me.  Come to think of it, I had that already.  A 1926 Sears home in the village of Barrington.  I loved that house.  And the next one and the one after that.  Change is fun.

Somewhat related blog posts:

Moving. You can’t always get what you want. But we got what we needed.

Our Impulsive Move to Florida