Thursday, October 19, 2006
The Value of The Other
Minutes before my mother awoke on the day described immediately below, I realized that, in her peculiar personality, I had an avenue for dissipating my treacherous mood. I decided, as she shuffles through time immediately upon awakening, while I sit on her floor, play with the cats and banter her into her day, if I related my absurd expectations of eggnog and my equally absurd reactions regarding no eggnog to her, she would find the entire scenario hilarious; and I could depend on her gentle belittlement to set my mood to rights.
It worked. Not only that, but she found it entertaining to kid me about eggnog all day long...so that we both ended up in excellent, top-the-other humor when she retired.
Our days have continued in discombobulated mode. Some interests of mine allowed me to let her sleep in yesterday; thus extending her recently late retirements even later. This has been a little hard on me, as I require a good hour of cool down after she retires. When I'm exhausted, the need for that time remains. But, all is well today. I slept "enough" last "night", finally, by trashing the idea of putting off a few middle of the month chores. Mom awoke about a half hour ago, asked after those she thought were staying with us (this is frequent, now), whom I assured her had "returned to their homes", came out into the living room, looked at the clock, announced she was too tired to stay up and headed back to bed, after an underwear change, into what, luckily, was a dry bed that required no change. I told her I'd call her in an hour.
"Good idea," she said. "I'll reconsider getting up then. When did I go to bed?"
"Your light went out at 0300, Mom."
"Try me at 1430, then."
I was startled that this means that she pretty much consciously appropriates herself about the same amount of sleep-time that I appropriate for her from experience. I thought she was unaware of this.
I got her moving again, yesterday, in the house, over protest, of course. She went in for a nap soon after complaining of stiffness. I thought, oh, shit, wrong timing; I'm going to have trouble keeping her up for the rest of her "day". She emerged from her nap, though, ready and willing. We had a good evening: Some Sorry (she won), some Scrabble (I won, although not by much...her dementia has caused her to become The Mistress of Two-Letter Word Trumps...I actually challenged some of her creations with the dictionary...they were all legitimate; her response: "Don't you know that almost any combination of two letters can be found in the dictionary?!?").
We topped off the evening with a viewing of the rental, Akeelah and the Bee. I knew she'd like this one...she likes all movies about education. My unexpected pleasure was in watching her watch it. If available, I always cue subtitles for her. I was fascinated to note that she was silently mouthing the letters for all the words spelled in the movie. Later, I noticed that she was trying to beat the appearance of subtitle spelling, obviously testing her spelling memory. After the movie she asked if there was "more", referring to the possibility of "special features". Although she found those boring and we aborted "special features" viewing halfway through the second one, she remained fascinated with the issue of spelling. We talked about the training techniques of champion spellers as reviewed in the movie.
"You know," she mentioned, "I wish I'd thought of those before. I'll have to use some of them next year. Remind me of that."
"Good idea," I agreed.
Then, at her nudging, we reviewed the spelling profiles of the members of our born-into family (two daughters who spell well, two who spell poorly, both parents good spellers) and thoughts on what accounts for this: Presence or absence of phonics training, which seems obvious, and the less obvious ability of being able to retain the graphic image of words in one's brain and "read them" off one's gray matter, rather than actually remembering letter sequence. I recounted to her what one of my college professors had said about spelling, that it is, essentially, a congenital skill.
"Well, I don't know about that," she countered. "I taught myself how to spell correctly in college."
I was fascinated. "Really," I said, "How did you do that?" I'm one of those "naturally decent spellers", so I was very interested in this.
She responded with one of her you-would-ask-that psuedo grins. "Goodness, child, that was years ago. I can't remember."
Sometimes, I wonder how much she "can't remember" and how much she considers silly to dredge up.
Just before she retired she said, "Well! I certainly have a lot to think about before next year!"
I wonder, now, if her unusually palpable sleep-dream-time includes classroom teaching. She's never mentioned it, but, then, maybe she wouldn't. Maybe the reason she mentions her Dead Zone visits is because, in her dream-mind, they take place here with me present. Teaching, though, would take place elsewhere and I probably wouldn't be present for those episodes...why discuss them with me?
It's sunny, although a bit cool, today. I suggested, before she returned to bed that maybe a walkering around the yard this afternoon to take note of any remaining fall prep chores might be in order.
She flashed me her comic look of consternation. "You're dreaming, girl!"
No, Mom, you're dreaming...amazing dreams. Wish I was there.
Later.
It worked. Not only that, but she found it entertaining to kid me about eggnog all day long...so that we both ended up in excellent, top-the-other humor when she retired.
Our days have continued in discombobulated mode. Some interests of mine allowed me to let her sleep in yesterday; thus extending her recently late retirements even later. This has been a little hard on me, as I require a good hour of cool down after she retires. When I'm exhausted, the need for that time remains. But, all is well today. I slept "enough" last "night", finally, by trashing the idea of putting off a few middle of the month chores. Mom awoke about a half hour ago, asked after those she thought were staying with us (this is frequent, now), whom I assured her had "returned to their homes", came out into the living room, looked at the clock, announced she was too tired to stay up and headed back to bed, after an underwear change, into what, luckily, was a dry bed that required no change. I told her I'd call her in an hour.
"Good idea," she said. "I'll reconsider getting up then. When did I go to bed?"
"Your light went out at 0300, Mom."
"Try me at 1430, then."
I was startled that this means that she pretty much consciously appropriates herself about the same amount of sleep-time that I appropriate for her from experience. I thought she was unaware of this.
I got her moving again, yesterday, in the house, over protest, of course. She went in for a nap soon after complaining of stiffness. I thought, oh, shit, wrong timing; I'm going to have trouble keeping her up for the rest of her "day". She emerged from her nap, though, ready and willing. We had a good evening: Some Sorry (she won), some Scrabble (I won, although not by much...her dementia has caused her to become The Mistress of Two-Letter Word Trumps...I actually challenged some of her creations with the dictionary...they were all legitimate; her response: "Don't you know that almost any combination of two letters can be found in the dictionary?!?").
We topped off the evening with a viewing of the rental, Akeelah and the Bee. I knew she'd like this one...she likes all movies about education. My unexpected pleasure was in watching her watch it. If available, I always cue subtitles for her. I was fascinated to note that she was silently mouthing the letters for all the words spelled in the movie. Later, I noticed that she was trying to beat the appearance of subtitle spelling, obviously testing her spelling memory. After the movie she asked if there was "more", referring to the possibility of "special features". Although she found those boring and we aborted "special features" viewing halfway through the second one, she remained fascinated with the issue of spelling. We talked about the training techniques of champion spellers as reviewed in the movie.
"You know," she mentioned, "I wish I'd thought of those before. I'll have to use some of them next year. Remind me of that."
"Good idea," I agreed.
Then, at her nudging, we reviewed the spelling profiles of the members of our born-into family (two daughters who spell well, two who spell poorly, both parents good spellers) and thoughts on what accounts for this: Presence or absence of phonics training, which seems obvious, and the less obvious ability of being able to retain the graphic image of words in one's brain and "read them" off one's gray matter, rather than actually remembering letter sequence. I recounted to her what one of my college professors had said about spelling, that it is, essentially, a congenital skill.
"Well, I don't know about that," she countered. "I taught myself how to spell correctly in college."
I was fascinated. "Really," I said, "How did you do that?" I'm one of those "naturally decent spellers", so I was very interested in this.
She responded with one of her you-would-ask-that psuedo grins. "Goodness, child, that was years ago. I can't remember."
Sometimes, I wonder how much she "can't remember" and how much she considers silly to dredge up.
Just before she retired she said, "Well! I certainly have a lot to think about before next year!"
I wonder, now, if her unusually palpable sleep-dream-time includes classroom teaching. She's never mentioned it, but, then, maybe she wouldn't. Maybe the reason she mentions her Dead Zone visits is because, in her dream-mind, they take place here with me present. Teaching, though, would take place elsewhere and I probably wouldn't be present for those episodes...why discuss them with me?
It's sunny, although a bit cool, today. I suggested, before she returned to bed that maybe a walkering around the yard this afternoon to take note of any remaining fall prep chores might be in order.
She flashed me her comic look of consternation. "You're dreaming, girl!"
No, Mom, you're dreaming...amazing dreams. Wish I was there.
Later.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Bad Moods, Petty Disappointments
I can tell I'm working myself, with unusual gusto, up to a bad day. Not quite sure why, but it seems like a good enough day for a bad day.
It started promisingly enough. I made up for lost sleep, arose fairly early (never early enough for my tastes, anymore, I observed, which should have been my first clue), noticed, with pleasure, that it was cloudy and raining, revved myself up in the shower for a water-soaked day...did my usual first-thing chores, considered Costco but decided to put that one off until tomorrow since I also had a grocery run on the schedule which is a bit more urgent, blah, blah, blah...checked the weather for confirmation that today would be mostly rainy (it will, with adjustments), salivated over making my coffee, which I particularly enjoy on what I consider "Seattle Days", and continued, without self-restraint, setting myself up for an annoying day. I remembered that last year, much to my delight, eggnog hit the groceries at least a week before my birthday. This is what I love about the holiday season: For two plus months I drink my coffee with the substitution of eggnog for half-and-half, sprinkled with freshly ground nutmeg. This is how I decorate the holidays according to my preference; this not only renders them endurable for me, but allows me to look forward to them and savor every day, despite all the other stuff about holidays which I absolutely hate.
"Hmmm..." I thought. "Last year the groceries began stocking eggnog a week or two before my birthday...Hey! Cool! Maybe [our usual grocery, which stocks the brand of eggnog I prefer] will have it on the shelves today! I'll bet they will! I can just feel it! I'll make this one a short cup so I can really enjoy my second eggnog laced cup later!"
Whoops. Not today. This is, actually, a normal pre-birthday scenario for me...I always try to mentally "push" the grocery to stock eggnog before my birthday. Usually, they manage to get it out a day or two before my birthday. Sometimes, it's the day after. Last year was exceptional. Normally, this is a minor consideration for me. I mean, big deal, what's a day or two. The gods forgive me, today I had so anticipated (and, apparently, so needed) eggnog in my coffee that when I realized I was way ahead of their schedule, I astonished myself by having to fight back tears! I felt personally maligned and patently ridiculous.
At home, I settled at my computer to perform my daily of deleting spam off some of my "other" email addresses. Today, as the clouds, much to my dismay, dissipated, the sun's rays through our living room windows had finally reached the winter position where I had to push myself and my computer back a ways in order to read the screen. I think I heard myself growl. There is much to appreciate about the startling amount of sun this house affords in the winter, not the least of which that my mother, who is the sun's most dedicated disciple, bathes in it all winter long. It also keeps our winter heat bill down and sun warmth is much preferable to me over artificially created heat, except for that of a fireplace. But, during the winter it is a daily reminder of how annoying I find the sun. At its peak, I find myself having to wear sun shades in the living room in order to tolerate it.
This also meant that I was going to have to wait until late afternoon or evening, if that, for more rain. I noticed my level of agitation rising. I realized how unreasonable I was being, but, screw it, today seems made, I decided, for unreasonable behavior.
Then, I received a call from my computer challenged friend, letting me know that everything we'd done yesterday worked and she was, again, in command of her system. "You sound a little peeved," she said.
"Yeah," I groused, knowing I was being petty but insisting on it, anyway, "I don't know why, but I worked myself up for the beginning of eggnog season today before going to the grocery and they haven't started stocking."
"Just as well," she said, "that stuff'll kill you."
"Well, fuck death," I screeched, "has a law been passed that I no longer own the devices to cause my own death!?!"
She laughed nervously. "Oh my," she said, "did someone forget her Black Cohosh today?"
Luckily, I grabbed myself by the scruff of the neck just in time and laughed, too. It wasn't the most delectable laugh, but it worked.
So, you know, I'll be awakening my mother in five minutes. It'll be interesting to see how I affect her day and, especially, how she affects mine, since I seem bound to allow my worst judgment to lead me around by the nose, today. I'm sure she'll be in a good mood, which helps. She is fairly immune to my emotional flamboyance, anyway, and I noticed when I checked on her a half hour ago that her right leg is already dangling off the bed...which is an excellent sign for an excellent day, for her.
Here I go, ready or not; or, maybe, ready regardless.
Later.
It started promisingly enough. I made up for lost sleep, arose fairly early (never early enough for my tastes, anymore, I observed, which should have been my first clue), noticed, with pleasure, that it was cloudy and raining, revved myself up in the shower for a water-soaked day...did my usual first-thing chores, considered Costco but decided to put that one off until tomorrow since I also had a grocery run on the schedule which is a bit more urgent, blah, blah, blah...checked the weather for confirmation that today would be mostly rainy (it will, with adjustments), salivated over making my coffee, which I particularly enjoy on what I consider "Seattle Days", and continued, without self-restraint, setting myself up for an annoying day. I remembered that last year, much to my delight, eggnog hit the groceries at least a week before my birthday. This is what I love about the holiday season: For two plus months I drink my coffee with the substitution of eggnog for half-and-half, sprinkled with freshly ground nutmeg. This is how I decorate the holidays according to my preference; this not only renders them endurable for me, but allows me to look forward to them and savor every day, despite all the other stuff about holidays which I absolutely hate.
"Hmmm..." I thought. "Last year the groceries began stocking eggnog a week or two before my birthday...Hey! Cool! Maybe [our usual grocery, which stocks the brand of eggnog I prefer] will have it on the shelves today! I'll bet they will! I can just feel it! I'll make this one a short cup so I can really enjoy my second eggnog laced cup later!"
Whoops. Not today. This is, actually, a normal pre-birthday scenario for me...I always try to mentally "push" the grocery to stock eggnog before my birthday. Usually, they manage to get it out a day or two before my birthday. Sometimes, it's the day after. Last year was exceptional. Normally, this is a minor consideration for me. I mean, big deal, what's a day or two. The gods forgive me, today I had so anticipated (and, apparently, so needed) eggnog in my coffee that when I realized I was way ahead of their schedule, I astonished myself by having to fight back tears! I felt personally maligned and patently ridiculous.
At home, I settled at my computer to perform my daily of deleting spam off some of my "other" email addresses. Today, as the clouds, much to my dismay, dissipated, the sun's rays through our living room windows had finally reached the winter position where I had to push myself and my computer back a ways in order to read the screen. I think I heard myself growl. There is much to appreciate about the startling amount of sun this house affords in the winter, not the least of which that my mother, who is the sun's most dedicated disciple, bathes in it all winter long. It also keeps our winter heat bill down and sun warmth is much preferable to me over artificially created heat, except for that of a fireplace. But, during the winter it is a daily reminder of how annoying I find the sun. At its peak, I find myself having to wear sun shades in the living room in order to tolerate it.
This also meant that I was going to have to wait until late afternoon or evening, if that, for more rain. I noticed my level of agitation rising. I realized how unreasonable I was being, but, screw it, today seems made, I decided, for unreasonable behavior.
Then, I received a call from my computer challenged friend, letting me know that everything we'd done yesterday worked and she was, again, in command of her system. "You sound a little peeved," she said.
"Yeah," I groused, knowing I was being petty but insisting on it, anyway, "I don't know why, but I worked myself up for the beginning of eggnog season today before going to the grocery and they haven't started stocking."
"Just as well," she said, "that stuff'll kill you."
"Well, fuck death," I screeched, "has a law been passed that I no longer own the devices to cause my own death!?!"
She laughed nervously. "Oh my," she said, "did someone forget her Black Cohosh today?"
Luckily, I grabbed myself by the scruff of the neck just in time and laughed, too. It wasn't the most delectable laugh, but it worked.
So, you know, I'll be awakening my mother in five minutes. It'll be interesting to see how I affect her day and, especially, how she affects mine, since I seem bound to allow my worst judgment to lead me around by the nose, today. I'm sure she'll be in a good mood, which helps. She is fairly immune to my emotional flamboyance, anyway, and I noticed when I checked on her a half hour ago that her right leg is already dangling off the bed...which is an excellent sign for an excellent day, for her.
Here I go, ready or not; or, maybe, ready regardless.
Later.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Today's been one of our odder days...
...completely out of whack. I have some moments while Mom indulges in a late nap so I thought I'd record the details.
First, I was awakened much earlier than I would have liked, this morning, considering when I've been getting to bed the last few nights (between 0300 and 0400) by one of my Prescott friends who calls me when she's in dire computer straits. We exchanged phone calls back and forth, in and out, around and through, all morning long, while I was doing the usual chores, catching up on computer blogs, editing the last couple previously published posts (which I hadn't edited the first time around), rushing to get our big trash out to the curb for Residential-Wednesday-Trash-Pick-Up "Yard Trash Week", etc. Luckily, our house wasn't hit today and I got everything out; well, at least everything that was ready. I've still got to finish trimming the tops of those damned pyracantha bushes.
Around 1230 everything had calmed down, my plans to make a staples run to Costco had been waylaid, since Mom's 12-hour-sleep mark would arrive at 1300, all the windows were open, inviting a light, cool breeze through the house, the sun's angle was just right through our pseudo-cathedral living room windows (which are perfectly placed to take advantage of winter sun and keep out summer sun), stirring up a mid-range fleece-warm cross current, our beloved cats were settling onto the couch for their first Sacred Nap of the day, I was so tired I was no longer making any sense to myself and decided, hmmm...I think I'll stretch out on the couch, cover myself with the down throw, which will guarantee that the cats will tuck themselves around me and catch a quick snooze before 1300. No need for an alarm, I'm not a nap person. I'll be up-'n-at-'em by 1300 or soon after.
At 1600 I bolted out of a sleep so deep I'd been drooling, to the sound of Mom opening the bathroom door. Holy Shit! Not only had I overslept, I had allowed both of us to find out just how long Mom will sleep if she isn't interrupted at her 12-hour-sleep-mark or just a bit beyond!
As seems to be usual after she steals extra sleep, she was perky, almost full of it, really. And, as well, since she'd been up and at least three times in the night going to the bathroom, her bedding was dry for the second "morning" in a row, which means a little less choring for me after she awakens. It also means a "short bath", which involves soap washing only her torso and simply water-wiping her extremities and face.
She's been fine, today, alert and feisty. Earlier I mentioned that we need to get to the lab for her monthly blood draw...we're a couple days behind.
"I don't think that's necessary this month," she argued.
"You know what," I said, taking my cue from the fact that, if she's feeling good enough to refuse it, it probably isn't necessary, "I think you're right. How about if we put it off until after my birthday?"
She was taken aback. "I don't like that idea, since you're birthday's tomorrow."
I laughed. "Well, you have a point, considering that this is my birthday month, so, yes, we should be celebrating all month, but it's still two weeks away, Mom."
"Well, Halloween's tomorrow, I know you're the one who was born on Halloween!"
I know where she got this. Last night, out of the blue, she decided she wanted to spend the evening watching horror movies. As it happened, there was a channel doing a George Romero horror fest, with a few oddities thrown in. Between movies, the channel broadcast Halloween themed advertisements for further horror fests through the last day of this month. I'm sure she decided, sometime yesterday evening, that today must be Halloween. I reminded her of this and said, "We've got two weeks to go before my birthday, Mom, So, that's two weeks before you have to have you're blood drawn, again."
"Well, that sounds better."
So, that's settled. I'm truly amazed that she's remembering my birthday this year, which means that she's vaguely aware of seasons and months. It's not like I've been reminding her of any of these markers, either. I think she's noticing months from the paper in the morning, which she assiduously continues to read. That Niferex-150 is a minor miracle.
Anyway, the day has so distracted me that I forgot to take her stats this morning for a second day in a row. I was especially curious because of her insistence on having nothing but popcorn for dinner last night (goes well with horror movies) and managing to down two 3.5 ounce bags, by herself (I'm rarely in a popcorn mood), of microwave popcorn before she retired. But, you know, whatever. She's doing fine.
I was surprised that, despite her looong night sleep, she felt the need to take a nap this evening, but, old habits die hard, I guess. At any rate, dinner won't be happening until around 2300, because of her late arising. I was also surprised that she specified that this was going to be "just a nap". She has a "clock-habit" brain, which is to say, her brain remembers decades old schedules and, at least once a day, I have to gently remind her that, "Mom, it's okay, we're not on school schedule anymore, [name of a particular activity] is perfectly appropriate for this time of day on our current schedule." Sometimes, her brain simply can't grasp such things as taking a "midday nap" at 2030. She had no problem with the concept this evening, though. No reminder that it's "nap-nap time", not "night-night time" was necessary.
The gods only know how late she'll be up, tonight. I'm not going to push it. So she got a little extra sleep. What the hell. If she decides retirement is in order after only an eight to ten hour day, that'll be fine with me. I'm ready for a good night's sleep. I don't think the extra sleep will hurt her. After all, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." This aphorism seems to be eccentrically appropriate to Ancient, lightly demented, astonishingly determined women who are pushing (hard on) 90.
Later.
First, I was awakened much earlier than I would have liked, this morning, considering when I've been getting to bed the last few nights (between 0300 and 0400) by one of my Prescott friends who calls me when she's in dire computer straits. We exchanged phone calls back and forth, in and out, around and through, all morning long, while I was doing the usual chores, catching up on computer blogs, editing the last couple previously published posts (which I hadn't edited the first time around), rushing to get our big trash out to the curb for Residential-Wednesday-Trash-Pick-Up "Yard Trash Week", etc. Luckily, our house wasn't hit today and I got everything out; well, at least everything that was ready. I've still got to finish trimming the tops of those damned pyracantha bushes.
Around 1230 everything had calmed down, my plans to make a staples run to Costco had been waylaid, since Mom's 12-hour-sleep mark would arrive at 1300, all the windows were open, inviting a light, cool breeze through the house, the sun's angle was just right through our pseudo-cathedral living room windows (which are perfectly placed to take advantage of winter sun and keep out summer sun), stirring up a mid-range fleece-warm cross current, our beloved cats were settling onto the couch for their first Sacred Nap of the day, I was so tired I was no longer making any sense to myself and decided, hmmm...I think I'll stretch out on the couch, cover myself with the down throw, which will guarantee that the cats will tuck themselves around me and catch a quick snooze before 1300. No need for an alarm, I'm not a nap person. I'll be up-'n-at-'em by 1300 or soon after.
At 1600 I bolted out of a sleep so deep I'd been drooling, to the sound of Mom opening the bathroom door. Holy Shit! Not only had I overslept, I had allowed both of us to find out just how long Mom will sleep if she isn't interrupted at her 12-hour-sleep-mark or just a bit beyond!
As seems to be usual after she steals extra sleep, she was perky, almost full of it, really. And, as well, since she'd been up and at least three times in the night going to the bathroom, her bedding was dry for the second "morning" in a row, which means a little less choring for me after she awakens. It also means a "short bath", which involves soap washing only her torso and simply water-wiping her extremities and face.
She's been fine, today, alert and feisty. Earlier I mentioned that we need to get to the lab for her monthly blood draw...we're a couple days behind.
"I don't think that's necessary this month," she argued.
"You know what," I said, taking my cue from the fact that, if she's feeling good enough to refuse it, it probably isn't necessary, "I think you're right. How about if we put it off until after my birthday?"
She was taken aback. "I don't like that idea, since you're birthday's tomorrow."
I laughed. "Well, you have a point, considering that this is my birthday month, so, yes, we should be celebrating all month, but it's still two weeks away, Mom."
"Well, Halloween's tomorrow, I know you're the one who was born on Halloween!"
I know where she got this. Last night, out of the blue, she decided she wanted to spend the evening watching horror movies. As it happened, there was a channel doing a George Romero horror fest, with a few oddities thrown in. Between movies, the channel broadcast Halloween themed advertisements for further horror fests through the last day of this month. I'm sure she decided, sometime yesterday evening, that today must be Halloween. I reminded her of this and said, "We've got two weeks to go before my birthday, Mom, So, that's two weeks before you have to have you're blood drawn, again."
"Well, that sounds better."
So, that's settled. I'm truly amazed that she's remembering my birthday this year, which means that she's vaguely aware of seasons and months. It's not like I've been reminding her of any of these markers, either. I think she's noticing months from the paper in the morning, which she assiduously continues to read. That Niferex-150 is a minor miracle.
Anyway, the day has so distracted me that I forgot to take her stats this morning for a second day in a row. I was especially curious because of her insistence on having nothing but popcorn for dinner last night (goes well with horror movies) and managing to down two 3.5 ounce bags, by herself (I'm rarely in a popcorn mood), of microwave popcorn before she retired. But, you know, whatever. She's doing fine.
I was surprised that, despite her looong night sleep, she felt the need to take a nap this evening, but, old habits die hard, I guess. At any rate, dinner won't be happening until around 2300, because of her late arising. I was also surprised that she specified that this was going to be "just a nap". She has a "clock-habit" brain, which is to say, her brain remembers decades old schedules and, at least once a day, I have to gently remind her that, "Mom, it's okay, we're not on school schedule anymore, [name of a particular activity] is perfectly appropriate for this time of day on our current schedule." Sometimes, her brain simply can't grasp such things as taking a "midday nap" at 2030. She had no problem with the concept this evening, though. No reminder that it's "nap-nap time", not "night-night time" was necessary.
The gods only know how late she'll be up, tonight. I'm not going to push it. So she got a little extra sleep. What the hell. If she decides retirement is in order after only an eight to ten hour day, that'll be fine with me. I'm ready for a good night's sleep. I don't think the extra sleep will hurt her. After all, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." This aphorism seems to be eccentrically appropriate to Ancient, lightly demented, astonishingly determined women who are pushing (hard on) 90.
Later.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
What Relationships?!?
Today, Karma left a post on her JuBuQuest journal asking the following question: "How has caretaking affected your relationships with others (other than the person you're taking care of)?"
The question intrigues me, especially since I've, very recently, been allowing all my relationships to lag. I'll try [that's "try", not "successfully accomplish"] to keep it short, since I've already written a lot, both directly and indirectly, about my relationships and how being my mother's companion has affected them.
Relationships with Sisters
Me being my mother's companion has been hard on my relationships with sisters. It didn't start out that way. The tension began when companionship transformed to a need for care, then, quickly, to a need for intense care, then I began to need help; not just solace and advice. I've gotten a little help here and there (very little in quantity, although often appropriate and appreciated in quality) but, overall, I've learned, first, not to count on it, and, second, not to ask for it or, at least, do everything I can possibly do to try not to ask for it.
For a long time I was extremely understanding, accepting and not at all judgmental about this familial affair. Over the years, though, my abilities to understand, magnanimously accept and withhold judgment have eroded. The more they've eroded, the further my sisters have backed off.
The other caregiving issue that has caused problems has to do with adaptability. For years, Mom and I adapted, both when we visited my sisters' families and when they visited us. I used to continually assure my sisters that "we are the flexible ones"; and I believed this. During visits, either to us or from us, I limboed very, very low for my sisters and their families. Finally, after eight years of doing this, in the course of a particular visit during which my mother was working herself up to her first anemia crisis (unbeknownst to all of us), a sister who was visiting complained that, even though I'd made my mother and myself incredibly tense by trying to make sure she didn't smoke (which was only partially successful), the house still smelled like cigarette smoke, regardless...and I blew. Although she and I talked about it afterward and I thought we'd resolved it, apparently it wasn't resolved to her satisfaction. This was the beginning of her silence. It was then I decided that I was no longer going to insist that Mom and I always be "the adaptable, flexible ones." Two of my sisters (one of them through the other) have admitted that they are afraid to approach us, now, because they're afraid I'll become angry. I have told them, depending on what they say or do, I might. The situations that would anger me are no secret, nor are they unpredictable. My other sister has simply slipped back, pleading a busy life. I believe her, although I suspect that one of the circumstances that keeps her busy is that I have been unfailingly vocal, over the last six months, about my refusal to any longer bend backwards for those who are not willing to do the same for me and that I won't take anything silently, anymore.
Curiously, my life is easier now that I've accepted that I can rely on no one but me. I feel more competent. I still suffer episodes of caregiver burnout, but, somehow, I get through them more easily knowing that I must handle them myself, without the help of my family. I spent years doing everything I could to make sure that I didn't alienate my sisters, in case I really needed them. When I finally realized that I've never had my sisters at my back through this, anyway, stopped worrying and put Mom and me first when it comes to our interactions with the family, well, our life goes much more smoothly, now, and I am emotionally stable. I'm not worried about what my relationships with my sisters will be like when Mom dies. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, if I want to. There is a distinct possibility that I will not want to.
Relationships with Friends
I retain one very long time, long distance friend and two long time "local" (both live in the Phoenix metroplex, where we no longer live) friends. I have a few "silent" friends here in Prescott from whom I hear now and then. I have retained no contact with social groups, but, then, I was only involved in one social group, a book club.
In the first four years of my companionship of my mother, much to my surprise, I discovered that several friends in Mesa (from 1993 - 1997 we lived only there) whom I had retained through many years and many moves did not understand that I was serious about my companionship with my mother, it would be my first priority and they would need to adapt to this. None of these friends was able to adapt and all these relationships dwindled. The problem wasn't that I talked a lot about my mother and our relationship. For part of that time I was working full time and my mother continued to pursue her interests full time. Her health was excellent. We were both busy and involved outside our home. I insisted, though, that we spend evenings and weekends together; after all, my mother asked me to be her companion, not her security company to merely check in to make sure she hadn't "fallen and [couldn't] get up." Besides, my mother and I enjoy each other's company, so this was not only easy but interesting and satisfying for me. I invited my friends to join us often. Each did. A few times. All of them knew and enjoyed my mother, as well. But, I guess, they wanted me to themselves, as well, and as available to them as I'd previously been. As I explained in depth to each one several times, this was no longer possible under this circumstance of being my mother's companion. I changed the territory of the relationships and each one, finally, left that territory. Again, this didn't bother me; still doesn't. Lives change. People change. I've never had trouble with this. I guess the lesson I learned is that, if you're very adaptable and, suddenly, can't be quite as adaptable anymore, expect your friends to be disappointed to the point of turning away from you. At any rate, three of them have stayed with me, even through my silences.
Sexual Relationships
My sexual relationships while I've been my mother's companion have been affected much more by me going through menopause than by my companionship of my mother; in large part, probably, because I've never looked for a mate, partner, soul mate, call it what you will, and wouldn't know what to do with one if I found one.
There was a period of time, when my mother's needs became more and more intense and I was carrying on some liaisons here and there, when things became ticklish. Then, when I began going through menopause and my hormones upped their stakes, I had a good year of going out of my mind stealthily looking for sex partners while making sure this didn't take me away from my mother any more than necessary. For the most part, this was unsuccessful. When my hormones finally settled down, so did I. Sexual desire was no longer driven by my body's (and only my body's, believe me) desire to procreate. Now, I consider the possibility of sex partners of any kind, with or without a "relationship", not worth the hassle as long as I remain my mother's companion. This would take necessary attention away from my mother. I would not be able, as well, to put the desired amount of attention toward any kind of a coupling, including so called casual sex. I will not, as well, take the risk of endangering my mother by introducing people who are strange to her and not all that well known to me into our home.
Summary
I am a peculiar combination: I am an intense loner who is socially comfortable, genial, and always intensely interested in people, when I'm among them. Thus, my problem, even when I appear, from social standards, to have few friends, is that I always have more friends than I can handle and have never, ever, been able to get enough alone time to satisfy myself: By this I mean, alone in my home space, no one in that space nudging at my senses, requiring either direct or peripheral attention, doing what I wish and/or need to do and enjoying my own company and thoughts. As well, I've never been lonely. Far from it. I've never been enough alone.
When I was not my mother's companion and during the first six years of being my mother's companion, I knew that relationships require attention and was as diligent as I could be (which was pretty damned diligent) about rendering this attention. Being my mother's companion, though, has put me waaay into alone time deficit. The last time I was completely alone, the kind of alone that is my preference, was for about a week when my mother took a trip to Iowa in the late spring of 1996 to attend a high school reunion. Under normal circumstances, when living alone, I manage to balance alone time with relationship time so that everyone is satisfied, I am able to keep friends, enjoy unusual and stimulating friendships and I don't have a lean and hungry "I vant to be alone" look. I am sure, now, that I always have that look; at any rate, I always feel as though I do.
Alternately, being my mother's full time companion/caregiver and, thus, especially in the last few years, having lots of time to (sort of) do with what I will, I find the fewer outside relationships I have, the better. I am, now, pretty good at tricking myself into feeling as though I'm alone when my mother is sleeping and, as you know if you're a regular reader, her health conditions lure her into prodigious sleep cycles which increase, slowly but predictably, as time continues. However, being alone as my mother's companion/caregiver, is, for me, not really being alone. I am always tuned into her. I am always available to be with her, by her, for her, on her schedule. Once in awhile I have to back off, but when I do this I am still here, still at her beck and call rather than mine. This might seem as though it would be torturous for me. It would be, except for two circumstances:
The question intrigues me, especially since I've, very recently, been allowing all my relationships to lag. I'll try [that's "try", not "successfully accomplish"] to keep it short, since I've already written a lot, both directly and indirectly, about my relationships and how being my mother's companion has affected them.
Relationships with Sisters
Me being my mother's companion has been hard on my relationships with sisters. It didn't start out that way. The tension began when companionship transformed to a need for care, then, quickly, to a need for intense care, then I began to need help; not just solace and advice. I've gotten a little help here and there (very little in quantity, although often appropriate and appreciated in quality) but, overall, I've learned, first, not to count on it, and, second, not to ask for it or, at least, do everything I can possibly do to try not to ask for it.
For a long time I was extremely understanding, accepting and not at all judgmental about this familial affair. Over the years, though, my abilities to understand, magnanimously accept and withhold judgment have eroded. The more they've eroded, the further my sisters have backed off.
The other caregiving issue that has caused problems has to do with adaptability. For years, Mom and I adapted, both when we visited my sisters' families and when they visited us. I used to continually assure my sisters that "we are the flexible ones"; and I believed this. During visits, either to us or from us, I limboed very, very low for my sisters and their families. Finally, after eight years of doing this, in the course of a particular visit during which my mother was working herself up to her first anemia crisis (unbeknownst to all of us), a sister who was visiting complained that, even though I'd made my mother and myself incredibly tense by trying to make sure she didn't smoke (which was only partially successful), the house still smelled like cigarette smoke, regardless...and I blew. Although she and I talked about it afterward and I thought we'd resolved it, apparently it wasn't resolved to her satisfaction. This was the beginning of her silence. It was then I decided that I was no longer going to insist that Mom and I always be "the adaptable, flexible ones." Two of my sisters (one of them through the other) have admitted that they are afraid to approach us, now, because they're afraid I'll become angry. I have told them, depending on what they say or do, I might. The situations that would anger me are no secret, nor are they unpredictable. My other sister has simply slipped back, pleading a busy life. I believe her, although I suspect that one of the circumstances that keeps her busy is that I have been unfailingly vocal, over the last six months, about my refusal to any longer bend backwards for those who are not willing to do the same for me and that I won't take anything silently, anymore.
Curiously, my life is easier now that I've accepted that I can rely on no one but me. I feel more competent. I still suffer episodes of caregiver burnout, but, somehow, I get through them more easily knowing that I must handle them myself, without the help of my family. I spent years doing everything I could to make sure that I didn't alienate my sisters, in case I really needed them. When I finally realized that I've never had my sisters at my back through this, anyway, stopped worrying and put Mom and me first when it comes to our interactions with the family, well, our life goes much more smoothly, now, and I am emotionally stable. I'm not worried about what my relationships with my sisters will be like when Mom dies. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, if I want to. There is a distinct possibility that I will not want to.
Relationships with Friends
I retain one very long time, long distance friend and two long time "local" (both live in the Phoenix metroplex, where we no longer live) friends. I have a few "silent" friends here in Prescott from whom I hear now and then. I have retained no contact with social groups, but, then, I was only involved in one social group, a book club.
In the first four years of my companionship of my mother, much to my surprise, I discovered that several friends in Mesa (from 1993 - 1997 we lived only there) whom I had retained through many years and many moves did not understand that I was serious about my companionship with my mother, it would be my first priority and they would need to adapt to this. None of these friends was able to adapt and all these relationships dwindled. The problem wasn't that I talked a lot about my mother and our relationship. For part of that time I was working full time and my mother continued to pursue her interests full time. Her health was excellent. We were both busy and involved outside our home. I insisted, though, that we spend evenings and weekends together; after all, my mother asked me to be her companion, not her security company to merely check in to make sure she hadn't "fallen and [couldn't] get up." Besides, my mother and I enjoy each other's company, so this was not only easy but interesting and satisfying for me. I invited my friends to join us often. Each did. A few times. All of them knew and enjoyed my mother, as well. But, I guess, they wanted me to themselves, as well, and as available to them as I'd previously been. As I explained in depth to each one several times, this was no longer possible under this circumstance of being my mother's companion. I changed the territory of the relationships and each one, finally, left that territory. Again, this didn't bother me; still doesn't. Lives change. People change. I've never had trouble with this. I guess the lesson I learned is that, if you're very adaptable and, suddenly, can't be quite as adaptable anymore, expect your friends to be disappointed to the point of turning away from you. At any rate, three of them have stayed with me, even through my silences.
Sexual Relationships
My sexual relationships while I've been my mother's companion have been affected much more by me going through menopause than by my companionship of my mother; in large part, probably, because I've never looked for a mate, partner, soul mate, call it what you will, and wouldn't know what to do with one if I found one.
There was a period of time, when my mother's needs became more and more intense and I was carrying on some liaisons here and there, when things became ticklish. Then, when I began going through menopause and my hormones upped their stakes, I had a good year of going out of my mind stealthily looking for sex partners while making sure this didn't take me away from my mother any more than necessary. For the most part, this was unsuccessful. When my hormones finally settled down, so did I. Sexual desire was no longer driven by my body's (and only my body's, believe me) desire to procreate. Now, I consider the possibility of sex partners of any kind, with or without a "relationship", not worth the hassle as long as I remain my mother's companion. This would take necessary attention away from my mother. I would not be able, as well, to put the desired amount of attention toward any kind of a coupling, including so called casual sex. I will not, as well, take the risk of endangering my mother by introducing people who are strange to her and not all that well known to me into our home.
Summary
I am a peculiar combination: I am an intense loner who is socially comfortable, genial, and always intensely interested in people, when I'm among them. Thus, my problem, even when I appear, from social standards, to have few friends, is that I always have more friends than I can handle and have never, ever, been able to get enough alone time to satisfy myself: By this I mean, alone in my home space, no one in that space nudging at my senses, requiring either direct or peripheral attention, doing what I wish and/or need to do and enjoying my own company and thoughts. As well, I've never been lonely. Far from it. I've never been enough alone.
When I was not my mother's companion and during the first six years of being my mother's companion, I knew that relationships require attention and was as diligent as I could be (which was pretty damned diligent) about rendering this attention. Being my mother's companion, though, has put me waaay into alone time deficit. The last time I was completely alone, the kind of alone that is my preference, was for about a week when my mother took a trip to Iowa in the late spring of 1996 to attend a high school reunion. Under normal circumstances, when living alone, I manage to balance alone time with relationship time so that everyone is satisfied, I am able to keep friends, enjoy unusual and stimulating friendships and I don't have a lean and hungry "I vant to be alone" look. I am sure, now, that I always have that look; at any rate, I always feel as though I do.
Alternately, being my mother's full time companion/caregiver and, thus, especially in the last few years, having lots of time to (sort of) do with what I will, I find the fewer outside relationships I have, the better. I am, now, pretty good at tricking myself into feeling as though I'm alone when my mother is sleeping and, as you know if you're a regular reader, her health conditions lure her into prodigious sleep cycles which increase, slowly but predictably, as time continues. However, being alone as my mother's companion/caregiver, is, for me, not really being alone. I am always tuned into her. I am always available to be with her, by her, for her, on her schedule. Once in awhile I have to back off, but when I do this I am still here, still at her beck and call rather than mine. This might seem as though it would be torturous for me. It would be, except for two circumstances:
- I am thoroughly involved in being her companion, thoroughly enchanted by her and this experience and am much too aware of the fragility of life to want to waste even a second of the possibility of knowing her as intimately as I do through her final years;
- I have had no trouble, because of my nature, with scaling my social life waaaay back so that, when I get a chance, here and there, I can successfully pretend that I am indulging in alone time.
Yet another dream...
I've been remembering my dreams, immediately out of sleep, a lot lately, though most of them have not been dreams to which I've attached much importance, thus I've allowed them to dwindle back from whence they came. They've been fun, since they've all been, up to the one out of which I awoke this morning, of the vacuum cleaner type; you know...brain sucks up all the duff gathering along the edges, sifts through it in no particular order, thus creating some hilarious patterns while deciding what to stow and what to throw.
This morning, though, the dream from which I awoke is refusing to dissipate, so I think I'll write it down. It doesn't appear to have anything directly to do with my relationship with my mother, but I can think of a few ways in which it is peripherally significant to this. I don't, as usual, remember all of it, but what I remember is particularly vivid.
In the dream my two younger sisters and I are together for a reason I cannot remember. Our ages are indeterminate. We talk about going swimming in the ocean, from a shore that now seems to me reminiscent of NCS beach on Guam, a fairly isolated beach just a few miles down the cliff from two of our homes there, to which we often walked, alone and together, for a refreshing mid or late day dip. For some unremarkable reason, which I've now forgotten (perhaps, I'm thinking, I didn't have a reason in the dream, I just made a choice) I decide not to participate. Everyone is fine with this and we agree to meet later.
The dream switches to a shower stall/toilet area, sleek and sterile, typical of the type provided at community and commercial pools, in a blond-wood paneled building. I am walking down the hall toward the communal (I mention this because it is of minor significance) toilet area. I encounter a hermaphroditic figure dressed in a toe-to shoulder, sleeveless leotard. I know this figure is "not of this world" although I hesitate, in recollection, to call this figure an "angel" as this doesn't seem to fit; maybe better stated: Otherworldly messenger. In the dream I take detailed note of the messenger's appearance; rather boyish but, I also notice, otherwise sexually undistinguished; slightly taller than me; lean; medium blond, hair cut in a style rather like the one I sport at this time: Short and lank, parted from the right, hanging to the left over the left ear, short and graded in back, cut and shaped severely over the right ear; golden skin; arms folded over chest, body turned perpendicular to mine, looking across its shoulder at me. I immediately realize that the messenger is here to tell me that my youngest sister has drowned. We have a wordless exchange which confirms my realization.
I return to the beach, followed by the messenger. I enter the water. There, I find the shift that was covering my sister's bathing suit floating in the water by an abandoned blue and white plastic raft, wrapped around a three foot, two x four plank. This further confirms her death. My other sister is nowhere to be seen; this, however, seems reasonable. I take peripheral note of this but don't wonder about it and don't look for her. I retrieve the shift and the plank as is, deposit them on the beach and return to the bathing facility, followed by the messenger.
As we return, the messenger tells me, this time aloud, that it will be with me until my sister, the sister who drowned, arrives, which is to occur within a short period of time while I am at the bath house.
I repeatedly ask the messenger a question, which I cannot now remember. The messenger refuses to answer but tells me I will receive my answer shortly. The messenger also explains that its presence is merely a marker for my drowned sister's presence; sort of like holding her place in line. As well, I understand that she will return as though she had not died, and will be wearing both her bathing suit and her shift.
The messenger and I move to the toilet facility to wait. I sit on one of the toilets, although not for the purposes of elimination; merely to sit and await my sister's return. The messenger moves to sit on a companion toilet (the toilets are not separated by stalls). As it does, it transforms into yet another genderless figure: olive skinned; tanned; bright, burning green, almond slits of eyes; loose, shoulder length wavy brunette hair lightly streaked with silver strands, moving without the aid of breeze, as though the hair is alive; magnificently chiseled, high cheeked face; unsettling, wide-lipped smile; nothing childish about this creature; wearing a shimmering kaftan of such a dark/bright amalgam of color that it appears bejeweled, although I take curious note in the dream that this is a trick of light interacting with the quality of the material and the intensity of the color. This time, I am perpendicular to the messenger who is leaning, full-face and intent, toward me, resting its forearms on its thighs. I also understand that, in this transformation, the messenger is no longer a substitute for my sister's presence, but a distinct entity.
Just as I notice, peripherally, that my drowned/alive sister is entering the area through the door wearing the discarded shift, the messenger answers my question, sotto voce, indicating, which I understand, that this information is for me, alone: "You will find me in everyone you meet." I begin to sob, not because my sister died and is yet alive, but because I am so moved by what this messenger tells me.
Before I can turn fully to acknowledge and greet my sister, I awaken out of the dream, still sobbing.
What I am now left with is confused consideration of why my sister died and returned in the dream, where my other sister went and the nature of the messenger whose existence I will find "in everyone [I] meet." As well, I find it curious that the emotional impact of the dream was not centered around my sister's experience and my discovery of it, nor upon the disappearance of the other sister, but on the presence of the messenger in the two guises and the final message I received as an answer to whatever question I asked.
Some of the elements in the jumble seem obvious: The mutually, silently agreed upon current distance between my sisters and me which I believe my behavior has provoked; the "disappearance" of the one sister, with whom I have had the least and the most mysterious contact over the last couple of years; the message, which, of course, evokes the central theme of spiritual leaders who are transformed into gods by their disciples: That the god is "in everyone [we] meet."
And yet, and yet, and yet, I remain copacetic with the current distance between myself and my sisters. Sometimes, I am even appreciative of it. As well, I was more than aware, in the dream, that the messenger, while other worldly, was not an incarnation of an idea of "god" and clearly meant, when indicating where I could "find" it, that I was to understand that I could find it as messenger, not as god.
I spent about a half hour, while I performed my usual first-thing-preparation-for-mom's-and-my-day, composing myself and considering the dream elements separately. I was surprised, for instance, that part of the dream took place a toilet area, yet I had been awakened about two hours previous by the squawking of our backyard community of Gambol's Quail, taking advantage of one of our last relatively warm mornings, and had relieved myself at that time, so I wasn't experiencing the urge to urinate when I awoke in the aftermath of the dream. Thus, I'm not sure why the last of it took place in, specifically, a communal toilet area. The plank in the discarded shift mystifies me. I continue to be amazed at the startling detail with which the messengers were imbued and my insistence on focusing on this detail, both in the dream and in reality. I wish I could remember the question I asked, as I clearly remember that the answer was unexpected from the context of my question, shocked me, yet seemed so perfectly logical, truthful and relieving that it moved me to tears. It occurred to me that the messenger was a representation of my sisters, especially since the first incarnation identified itself as a placeholder for the one drowned-then-revived. This could be significant of a desire that we should and will be reunited and the message was meant to clarify that during my detachment from them I could "find" them "in everyone" but, you know, my sense of the message as I awoke doesn't fit this and, frankly, I'm not angst ridden over our present distance, nor am I missing them, really, nor do I feel a need to establish pseudo-sister relationships, at this time, through relationships with others.
Could be I'm "in denial". Could also be that since I've begun to experience this Care Free emotional remove when awake, I am confiscating my dreams to the purpose of the emotional involvement and expression in which I normally indulge when conscious. I continue to notice, though, that I am preferring to think of the messenger, especially in its last incarnation, as a distinct entity and am exhilarated at the possibility of "find"-ing this messenger in "everyone [I] meet", thus, getting to know the messenger. I notice I am considering keeping this foremost in my mind and so I will recognize this messenger in the people who flow through my days.
Dream on.
Later.
This morning, though, the dream from which I awoke is refusing to dissipate, so I think I'll write it down. It doesn't appear to have anything directly to do with my relationship with my mother, but I can think of a few ways in which it is peripherally significant to this. I don't, as usual, remember all of it, but what I remember is particularly vivid.
In the dream my two younger sisters and I are together for a reason I cannot remember. Our ages are indeterminate. We talk about going swimming in the ocean, from a shore that now seems to me reminiscent of NCS beach on Guam, a fairly isolated beach just a few miles down the cliff from two of our homes there, to which we often walked, alone and together, for a refreshing mid or late day dip. For some unremarkable reason, which I've now forgotten (perhaps, I'm thinking, I didn't have a reason in the dream, I just made a choice) I decide not to participate. Everyone is fine with this and we agree to meet later.
The dream switches to a shower stall/toilet area, sleek and sterile, typical of the type provided at community and commercial pools, in a blond-wood paneled building. I am walking down the hall toward the communal (I mention this because it is of minor significance) toilet area. I encounter a hermaphroditic figure dressed in a toe-to shoulder, sleeveless leotard. I know this figure is "not of this world" although I hesitate, in recollection, to call this figure an "angel" as this doesn't seem to fit; maybe better stated: Otherworldly messenger. In the dream I take detailed note of the messenger's appearance; rather boyish but, I also notice, otherwise sexually undistinguished; slightly taller than me; lean; medium blond, hair cut in a style rather like the one I sport at this time: Short and lank, parted from the right, hanging to the left over the left ear, short and graded in back, cut and shaped severely over the right ear; golden skin; arms folded over chest, body turned perpendicular to mine, looking across its shoulder at me. I immediately realize that the messenger is here to tell me that my youngest sister has drowned. We have a wordless exchange which confirms my realization.
I return to the beach, followed by the messenger. I enter the water. There, I find the shift that was covering my sister's bathing suit floating in the water by an abandoned blue and white plastic raft, wrapped around a three foot, two x four plank. This further confirms her death. My other sister is nowhere to be seen; this, however, seems reasonable. I take peripheral note of this but don't wonder about it and don't look for her. I retrieve the shift and the plank as is, deposit them on the beach and return to the bathing facility, followed by the messenger.
As we return, the messenger tells me, this time aloud, that it will be with me until my sister, the sister who drowned, arrives, which is to occur within a short period of time while I am at the bath house.
I repeatedly ask the messenger a question, which I cannot now remember. The messenger refuses to answer but tells me I will receive my answer shortly. The messenger also explains that its presence is merely a marker for my drowned sister's presence; sort of like holding her place in line. As well, I understand that she will return as though she had not died, and will be wearing both her bathing suit and her shift.
The messenger and I move to the toilet facility to wait. I sit on one of the toilets, although not for the purposes of elimination; merely to sit and await my sister's return. The messenger moves to sit on a companion toilet (the toilets are not separated by stalls). As it does, it transforms into yet another genderless figure: olive skinned; tanned; bright, burning green, almond slits of eyes; loose, shoulder length wavy brunette hair lightly streaked with silver strands, moving without the aid of breeze, as though the hair is alive; magnificently chiseled, high cheeked face; unsettling, wide-lipped smile; nothing childish about this creature; wearing a shimmering kaftan of such a dark/bright amalgam of color that it appears bejeweled, although I take curious note in the dream that this is a trick of light interacting with the quality of the material and the intensity of the color. This time, I am perpendicular to the messenger who is leaning, full-face and intent, toward me, resting its forearms on its thighs. I also understand that, in this transformation, the messenger is no longer a substitute for my sister's presence, but a distinct entity.
Just as I notice, peripherally, that my drowned/alive sister is entering the area through the door wearing the discarded shift, the messenger answers my question, sotto voce, indicating, which I understand, that this information is for me, alone: "You will find me in everyone you meet." I begin to sob, not because my sister died and is yet alive, but because I am so moved by what this messenger tells me.
Before I can turn fully to acknowledge and greet my sister, I awaken out of the dream, still sobbing.
What I am now left with is confused consideration of why my sister died and returned in the dream, where my other sister went and the nature of the messenger whose existence I will find "in everyone [I] meet." As well, I find it curious that the emotional impact of the dream was not centered around my sister's experience and my discovery of it, nor upon the disappearance of the other sister, but on the presence of the messenger in the two guises and the final message I received as an answer to whatever question I asked.
Some of the elements in the jumble seem obvious: The mutually, silently agreed upon current distance between my sisters and me which I believe my behavior has provoked; the "disappearance" of the one sister, with whom I have had the least and the most mysterious contact over the last couple of years; the message, which, of course, evokes the central theme of spiritual leaders who are transformed into gods by their disciples: That the god is "in everyone [we] meet."
And yet, and yet, and yet, I remain copacetic with the current distance between myself and my sisters. Sometimes, I am even appreciative of it. As well, I was more than aware, in the dream, that the messenger, while other worldly, was not an incarnation of an idea of "god" and clearly meant, when indicating where I could "find" it, that I was to understand that I could find it as messenger, not as god.
I spent about a half hour, while I performed my usual first-thing-preparation-for-mom's-and-my-day, composing myself and considering the dream elements separately. I was surprised, for instance, that part of the dream took place a toilet area, yet I had been awakened about two hours previous by the squawking of our backyard community of Gambol's Quail, taking advantage of one of our last relatively warm mornings, and had relieved myself at that time, so I wasn't experiencing the urge to urinate when I awoke in the aftermath of the dream. Thus, I'm not sure why the last of it took place in, specifically, a communal toilet area. The plank in the discarded shift mystifies me. I continue to be amazed at the startling detail with which the messengers were imbued and my insistence on focusing on this detail, both in the dream and in reality. I wish I could remember the question I asked, as I clearly remember that the answer was unexpected from the context of my question, shocked me, yet seemed so perfectly logical, truthful and relieving that it moved me to tears. It occurred to me that the messenger was a representation of my sisters, especially since the first incarnation identified itself as a placeholder for the one drowned-then-revived. This could be significant of a desire that we should and will be reunited and the message was meant to clarify that during my detachment from them I could "find" them "in everyone" but, you know, my sense of the message as I awoke doesn't fit this and, frankly, I'm not angst ridden over our present distance, nor am I missing them, really, nor do I feel a need to establish pseudo-sister relationships, at this time, through relationships with others.
Could be I'm "in denial". Could also be that since I've begun to experience this Care Free emotional remove when awake, I am confiscating my dreams to the purpose of the emotional involvement and expression in which I normally indulge when conscious. I continue to notice, though, that I am preferring to think of the messenger, especially in its last incarnation, as a distinct entity and am exhilarated at the possibility of "find"-ing this messenger in "everyone [I] meet", thus, getting to know the messenger. I notice I am considering keeping this foremost in my mind and so I will recognize this messenger in the people who flow through my days.
Dream on.
Later.
