another crazy dream

Sometimes a dream will stubbornly cling to my subconscious mind, randomly inserting itself into my thoughts until I take the time to write about it. What follows is my recent adventure into dreamland.

I'm driving past my church, on my way home, and glance over to the left to see the large, old cemetery in the back. I drive across the narrow bridge, go into a spin and end up flipping the vehicle, skidding to a stop on its side.

Before we go any further, let me point out that I am not afraid to drive nor am I contemplating death as the cemetery may suggest. I drive up and down that particular road quite often these days and have never had any problems with it.

I have only been in one car accident which happened on the first Friday of this past October when I was crossing from the parking lot of the church which houses the preschool where I work into the parking lot of the credit union directly across a busy street. The driver of the other vehicle was in a hurry leaving the credit union drive-way, as he would later say, and did not notice me as I had the right of way. Making his hasty left-hand turn into my minivan seemed like a scene in slow motion. We were not injured; the minivan was totaled.

I would have to make a statement later, when the driver decided we were both at fault, and I would have to reiterate that I had only burst into tears because it was a new experience that kind of shook me up and I only said I was sorry because I was sorry it had happened--not that I was liable for the damages. Because I was not--as I continue to hold out hope that any day now a check for the deductible will show up in my mailbox . . . but, I digress.

Back to the dream.

What is strange is that as I am in a vehicle on its side, I am not confined in my seat although I know I was wearing a seatbelt. I am completely free and crawling around with much more room than would have existed in my vehicle. I am uninjured as far as I can tell. Apparently there had been a patch of ice and it is winter. Since it is a country road, it is also dark. I cannot find my phone to call for help. The interior of the vehicle, which I cannot even see, seems more like an ice cave than the inside of a car. I run my hands up and down the sides looking for a door, a window, anything I can identify, but come up blank. Everything seems to be solid ice. In the pitch black darkness, I am alone.

I sit in the dark cold knowing no one can hear me or even see me. I have no way of knowing whether I am still on the road, in the ditch or in a field. I wonder if this is going to be how I die. I have absolutely no idea what to do.

Before going totally numb, I see flashing lights and hear the sound of men's voices. Even though I am in desperate need of rescue, a part of me cannot help but wonder why it seems I am always rescued by men. Maybe it has something to do with my Christian beliefs and the person of Jesus.  

I wonder if they are going to need to cut through something to get me out and so I back up, away from what I think is the side of the vehicle. I then notice a window being rolled down FROM THE OUTSIDE.  

It has been a long time since I have had a car with old-fashioned, roll-down windows, but to my knowledge a vehicle has never been designed with the handles on the outside of the doors.

As the window opens and the light shines into my dark, ice-cave surroundings, I see a man's face--a man I cannot identify. He smiles, but does not speak. His eyes are his most noticeable feature. The only way I can describe them is that they are not brown, blue or green, but all color combined and yet devoid of color. Clear. Shiny. Filled with inexpressible joy that he has found me. Warmth radiates from his smile. I am completely safe.  

I wake up.

pool considerations

When my husband decides to go to the pool, he often chooses to run there whenever he can since he is always training for his next marathon. He will swim in the clothes he just ran in and will not care if he has so much as a towel, although he will require a book if we are to be there any length of time. For me, there are far more considerations.

As the Memorial Day weekend quickly approached, signaling the beginning of pool season, I started to prepare myself mentally for our involvement as pool members. Before we obtained membership years ago, I was invited by a friend whose boys are the same ages as mine and who would love to go to the pool to get some sun, a seemingly innocent activity that goes wrong for me every time.

I remain confounded as to why anyone should wonder about my reluctance to spend a great deal of time in the sun. Do they not notice the copious amounts of sunscreen I need to apply and reapply and then apply again? Do they ever see me making any progress toward the attainment of tanned skin? Do I look happy frying there like a chicken ready to be served with mashed potatoes and beans? No.

So pool membership helped me out because I then had more control over placement and timing. In other words, I could find a lounge chair UNDER the awning which provides needed shade and could plan to go to the pool and swim after the sun has started its descent behind the large trees that shade the pool in the late afternoon/early evening hours. This is a great plan, as long as there is a lounge chair under the awning available and I can persuade my husband to go at that time. Or I can go by myself, which works especially well for a lazy summer's afternoon nap.

Before I ever set foot on the deck of the pool there is the necessary consideration of a swimsuit, and let me be perfectly blunt--this is always problematic! From my earliest recollections, I would wear modest swimsuits in an attempt to not draw attention to my fair skin that was already blinding everyone near me by creating a reflection as the sunlight hit it, before it freckled and turned red.

I knew I would find last year's swimsuit folded behind the chair next to my bed, on top of my towel/bag combination, the swimsuit I wear to work out in that is in no way flattering, and the yoga mat I take out on occasion to stretch, hoping my middle-aged body will someday remember the exercises of my youth without the residual pain. Looking at the tag of the swimsuit I was horrified to realize it is a smaller size than I currently wear, as the complications of the previous year had led to some weight gain I am working hard to eliminate. It is bad enough it is an old lady swimdress to begin with, but now it is too small?

Twenty minutes later I had managed to get into it as I stood staring at myself in the mirror. I need to embrace this woman staring back at me, I decided. She has been through a lot and she deserves to be loved. It is not her fault her skin is pale and there is an ample amount of it. Even if she were thinner and younger, and foolishly chose a more revealing swimsuit, she has had children and the stretchmarks to prove it. She has scars; physical and otherwise. 

Checklist: natural sunscreen for sensitive skin, SPF 30; prescription sunglasses in case I want to trade out my regular glasses; The Sun magazine which is great to read anywhere; a headband, driver's license, phone. I would slip my Carole King Tapestry album in when I started the car to sing, "I feel the earth move under my feet" loudly on the way there. I know every word to every song since I have been listening to it since I was in 7th grade, but instead of making me feel old, I feel empowered.

As I drive into the pool parking lot I realize a lot of people have decided to come out for opening day. I knew this would be the case. I have a portable chair in my car in case there are no seats under the awning. I will find a place in the shade even if I have to create my own. I have no children to corral and my husband is running over. It is just me. Me, in my terribly tight old lady swimdress. Me, with my fair complexion that is going to be the same skin tone by the end of August that it is right now. Me, with my interesting magazine that is going to help me block out raunchy music and people who came to the pool only to socialize. I can do this thing.

The lounge chair is waiting for me, right where I want it to be. The music is better than usual. A soft breeze is blowing. The water will never be colder than Lake Michigan. The article in the magazine is fascinating. I am ok. Life is good.

A friend I haven't seen in awhile comes over to where I am sitting. Though I am certain she in no way meant to offend me, the first words out of her mouth are, "Your face is really red; you look sunburned."

to Charlotte

For the welcome you gave me when I joined you in teaching,
Your kindness and love are vast and far-reaching.

Jumpers, saucers, highchairs and cribs,
Time to do laundry; we're all out of bibs!

For the homemade meals eaten from small Pyrex bowls,
We shared our life stories while examining our goals.

Spit-ups, dirty diapers, tiny runny noses,
Our room does not smell like a bed of roses.

For laughter and conversation as we nurtured each baby,
No guarantees for naptime, we would settle for maybe.

Bottles and pacifiers, Desitin and wipes,
Color-coordinated hair bows, matching socks with stripes.

For a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear,
Regardless of your struggles, you were present to hear.

Baby food in jars or mixtures made by hand,
Pouches filled with goodness, cereal rather bland.

For another round of Jesus Loves Me, and Brown Bear once more,
Your gift was evident as you played with babies on the floor.

Rolling over, crawling, pulling up to stand,
Babies learning something new each day; isn't life grand!

Though we all have been called to love children in this place,
You have done your job well with beauty and with grace.

Sleeping, waking, playing, growing peaceful in our care,
Confident they are safe and loved, knowing we are there.

On behalf of the many babies you have greeted with open arms,
With a heart filled with gratitude, I thank you, Charlotte Barnes.