The Dreaming Underworld

A couple weeks ago, I had the most horrifying and demented nightmare of my entire life. So horifying, in fact, that when I was snapped out of my slumber, not only had I drenched the sheets AND mattress in sweat, but I was crying. Once morning hit, I was already showing the first symptoms of getting sick (despite just getting over strep the week prior), and my classic baby dinosaur had regained residence in my throat along with a headache from hell.

Which got me to thinking about real-life effects in our waking life produced by our dreams. A simple Google search on dreams affecting reality pulled up results on, "wet dreams affecting reality," and "turning your dreams into reality," both of which didn't help substantiate my case. So, without traveling too far into this dream vortex (I was feeling sick, afterall), I'm going to toss it out to the group: can your dreams produce real effects on your body? People say if you die in your dreams, then you die in real life. I'm not sure I buy that, but what I do believe, is that our minds can pull some crazy stunts and stop us in our tracks.

It's that realization of just how complex and powerful our own minds are that makes me crazy. In my years of analyzing dreams and learning everything I can get my hands on pertaining to dreams, I truly paralyzed myself here. And not only was I paralyzed, I was unnerved with the level of darkness and downright dementia in which my mind took me. Recounting the experience to myself, I'm also ashamed that I was able to (literally) dream up something so deranged.

With that, I'll say it's gonna take a bit of encouragement to actually share the dream details with you all, so I'm requesting an extension/Part 2.

Stay tuned...if you dare. Muhhhhhhhhhahaha.

Breakfast FAIL

Turns out...string cheese doesn't melt in scrambled eggs.

[Insert "you might be a redneck if..." joke here]

The Bell Boy Reunion of 2010: Delilah, Meningitis and the Return of the Southern Bell

Every Bell Boy Family Reunion on Beaver Lake is unique. And every year, it's very much the same. Some reunion traditions - they're hard to shake.

You can always count on five skinny-legged Bell Boys, hillybilly chin-ups and bottomless beer. You'll find bubba burgers, trout lines and hours of top choice family time coupled with the sweet background tunes of Delilah. You're guaranteed one "pull my finger" joke and some version of a Forrest Gump accent, (likely, "I'm not a very smart man") at one point or another. Complain about a sore neck (a potential case of meningitis according to me), and you'll have the karate chops of Suzie Bell coming down on you, showing you how a real sore neck feels. You'll also get a physician-directed script pictured above. And if you don't at least mention the Razorbacks in conversation somehow, you'll be sorry.

I was not sorry. The reunion was this, and more. This year, one difference for me personally, was the re-introduction of running. Labor Day marked the first date the doctor was allowing me to run again, post-broken metatarsal. I was determined to capitalize on this freedom, and after pushing myself to a near vomiting state, I proceeded to water ski, kayak and participate in hillbilly chin-ups. Let it be known that I am having trouble moving as I stand today. Let it also be known that my 88 year old grandfather did four times the chin-ups I was able to do, which if you want to get techincal, turned out to be only one.

On the plane ride home, a very chatty Gary asked me where I was coming from. When I replied, "Arkansas," he chuckled and asked if I knew any hillbillys. I tried to explain the difference between hillbilly and country, when he demanded an example. A bit taken back, I replied:

"A hillbilly is someone who duck-tapes their shoes when they are overworn. They balance beer on their defined beer belly. They swallow dip instead of spittin' and when their dogs go into heat, they diaper them with yarn and athletic socks.

"Someone who is country..." I continued, "...knows how to change their own oil and enjoys a good whiskey. They're also well accustomed to dodging deer, 'dilla, and possums."

He seemed satisfied with that answer. I leaned forward on my tray table and smiled. My family was very much a combination of both descriptions I had provided, and I was proud. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to be from the quirky town of Eureka Springs, Arkansas.  And maybe, I've been drinkin' the southern koolaid.

Another Bell Boy Reunion under my belt. And another reunion to remember, that's for certain.

Note: If you're like most people and have trouble deciphering the pictured script, it reads: Aleve - 1-2 twice daily with food. Heating Pad. Limit Pale Ale 3 daily MAX.