I like to talk about dreams - Pick them apart, question the objects and people on the sidelines, and examine all recalled details in an attempt to pair it up with a situation that the dreamer might be experiencing in their life. I'll admit... sometimes it's a stretch. Dreams can always be interpreted multiple ways. But, more often than not, I find our dreams to be fairly clear representations of our everyday struggles. What's not amazing about that? It's like a trap door, or a secret cave in your own house. Shwing!
But one thing I don't often talk about in the dream world - is nightmares. This is actually surprising since due to the paranoid and crime-obsessed individual that I am, nightmares are frequent house guests of mine. Curious how many adults are like me and experience nightmares? According to WebMD, one out of every two adults has nightmares on occasion. And between 2% and 8% of the adult population is plagued by nightmares.
The topic is relevant and fresh on my mind this morning since not only did I experience a nightmare last night, but I had two. And even more disturbing - they seemed to be two opposite nightmares: one which somebody unwelcome was trying to break in, and one which a group of unwelcomes were trying not to let me out. This causes my dream weaver analysis blood to boil, as no matter the answer I draw, it cancels out the other.
A brief snapshot, for those that choose to help a sister out:
1. It was night, and I was asleep. I awoke and instantly knew somebody was trying to break into the house. I heard him rustling around in the backyard, and then... the crash of broken glass. Itule leaped up and ran towards the noise. As he approached the glass door leading to the back yard, the scoundrel stood peering in, his nose almost pressed to the glass. We both got a good look at him before he ran off and jumped over the fence. And even though he had left, we knew he'd return.
2. I was at a house party and a group of people busted in with guns. Immediately, I put my hands up hostage-style and they carefully swept the room, pointing guns in our faces and examining each of us. It was silent - so silent. The tension was palatable, and their footsteps resonated on the wood floors. Without moving, my eyes scanned the room for the rest of my friends, and I located them in the corner not far from where I stood. As the gunmen looked away for a second, I made a break to join them. Success. They turned the corner, and slowly, we began to scoot backwards towards our exit.
Survey says: Am I in... or am I out?
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
For My Constant and Evolving Papita
This year, it seemed my parents took to their diet even more than in years past. It's not a diet per se, but rather a healthier way of eating. More protein, fruits and veggies, less carbohydrates. In an effort to further cut carbs, my dad pledged to stop drinking beer during the work week, something he's always enjoyed around suppertime or after a good workout. Instead, he has margaritas.
When my dad told me this, it made me laugh. Margaritas in place of beer? But as I thought of it later over a pale ale of my own, it felt odd. Beer had been a staple in the Bell household for as long as I could remember. A tenet, if you will, had fluctuated, and I started to wonder if it was the end of an era.
Which got me thinking of other changes over the past year. Obviously, this beverage shift wasn't the only shift I saw take place with my father.
For one, he joined the twenty-first century and purchased an iPhone. And severely technologically challenged as he certainly is, he figured out how to play Words With Friends, an online version of Scrabble, and has been relentlessly combatting me ever since. So far, no wins. Sorry, Papita.
And as his Words With Friends screen-name (marcusgpa) suggests, he also became a grandfather and simultaneously earned himself a new nickname - The Baby Stealer. It's a never-ending battle when spending time with the newest addition to our family, Mr Marcus, but often, it's dad who ends up with the 21 lb, 8 oz prize. We'll catch him sneaking out the back door with Marcus to spend time with only him. Or he'll come home one day with a stuffed toy toolset he thought Marcus would enjoy even though my father despises shopping. He told me two weeks back, "honey, there are few things in life more special than your kids' kids." Enough said, which explains why this particular change in my father has been the most dramatic.
And of course there are other small things. He's been running less, and is notably more cautious in the things he does everyday. While in Arizona visiting, this realization set-in as we climbed Camelback Mountain. That day, watching him take extra care to secure his footing felt like quite the departure from the dad that once taught his kids that STOP meant skid tires on pavement.
But thinking about it now, it seems he's not changing, but evolving. Maybe not enough that a local ECHO volunteer or long-time patient would notice, but I have. And I suppose the only reason these evolutions even hit me in the first place, is that mostly - it's the constants that represent my dad best. In fact, there are many, many more tried-and-trues when speaking of Dan Bell.
There's the country music he claims teaches life lessons; His raggedy, mismatched socks that somehow prevail over countless stocking stuffers of brand new pairs; His sheer ferocity on water skis (I guess that's one thing he doesn't proceed with caution on); An honest appreciation and respect for the simple things in life. On my last visit, he admired the hay barrels' ability to add texture to the Arkansas countryside as he drove me to the airport; His unshakable dedication to his wife, still whisking her off to dinner dates, and pulling off epic surprise parties; His role in the community as a respected and devoted family doctor; And a sense of humor that fabricates diseases and has a propensity to repeat old jokes. He knows not to take things too seriously.
And these are just a few. As his daughter, the most notable constant in my life is his being a great role model, teacher, friend and daddy all these years. I look forward to seeing how he continues to evolve into the best dad and grandfather possible. End of the era? No, not exactly.
Happy Father's Day!
- ILYR
When my dad told me this, it made me laugh. Margaritas in place of beer? But as I thought of it later over a pale ale of my own, it felt odd. Beer had been a staple in the Bell household for as long as I could remember. A tenet, if you will, had fluctuated, and I started to wonder if it was the end of an era.
Which got me thinking of other changes over the past year. Obviously, this beverage shift wasn't the only shift I saw take place with my father.
For one, he joined the twenty-first century and purchased an iPhone. And severely technologically challenged as he certainly is, he figured out how to play Words With Friends, an online version of Scrabble, and has been relentlessly combatting me ever since. So far, no wins. Sorry, Papita.
And as his Words With Friends screen-name (marcusgpa) suggests, he also became a grandfather and simultaneously earned himself a new nickname - The Baby Stealer. It's a never-ending battle when spending time with the newest addition to our family, Mr Marcus, but often, it's dad who ends up with the 21 lb, 8 oz prize. We'll catch him sneaking out the back door with Marcus to spend time with only him. Or he'll come home one day with a stuffed toy toolset he thought Marcus would enjoy even though my father despises shopping. He told me two weeks back, "honey, there are few things in life more special than your kids' kids." Enough said, which explains why this particular change in my father has been the most dramatic.
And of course there are other small things. He's been running less, and is notably more cautious in the things he does everyday. While in Arizona visiting, this realization set-in as we climbed Camelback Mountain. That day, watching him take extra care to secure his footing felt like quite the departure from the dad that once taught his kids that STOP meant skid tires on pavement.
But thinking about it now, it seems he's not changing, but evolving. Maybe not enough that a local ECHO volunteer or long-time patient would notice, but I have. And I suppose the only reason these evolutions even hit me in the first place, is that mostly - it's the constants that represent my dad best. In fact, there are many, many more tried-and-trues when speaking of Dan Bell.
There's the country music he claims teaches life lessons; His raggedy, mismatched socks that somehow prevail over countless stocking stuffers of brand new pairs; His sheer ferocity on water skis (I guess that's one thing he doesn't proceed with caution on); An honest appreciation and respect for the simple things in life. On my last visit, he admired the hay barrels' ability to add texture to the Arkansas countryside as he drove me to the airport; His unshakable dedication to his wife, still whisking her off to dinner dates, and pulling off epic surprise parties; His role in the community as a respected and devoted family doctor; And a sense of humor that fabricates diseases and has a propensity to repeat old jokes. He knows not to take things too seriously.
And these are just a few. As his daughter, the most notable constant in my life is his being a great role model, teacher, friend and daddy all these years. I look forward to seeing how he continues to evolve into the best dad and grandfather possible. End of the era? No, not exactly.
Happy Father's Day!
- ILYR
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Meet Sampson
Ever since I relocated to downtown Phoenix, I've had a keen eye out for a vintage cruiser - something that would carry me to and fro in style around my urban neighborhood. Six months of scouring the local Craigslist offerings and finally, I struck gold. His name... is Sampson, a 26" 1980 Schwinn World Cruiser with a basket perfectly sized for a 6-pack.
We went for a 'get to know you' spin around the park nearest my house yesterday morning. This is a favored spot to the homeless population, and as I swerved to avoid suspicious looking puddles left on the sidewalk, it became painfully obvious this wasn't the best trial run course. It had been at least ten years since I'd been on a bike, and after a less than elegant veer off the sidewalk into the grass, I realized the danger I was presenting to the bums. They were alarmed, and for good reason.
Somehow, I managed to make it back unscathed. And despite the poor performance of my first joy ride, I found myself looking for excuses throughout the rest of the day that I could take Sampson out again. We rode to the ATM in the afternoon, purse in the front basket and wind in my hair. Somehow, this ride was much different, and I was cruising block after block, rounding corners and dodging pedestrians with ease. My Cheshire Cat smile grew in width as I rode on, and after a while I was actually laughing as I weaved through the quiet downtown neighborhoods. Every crosswalk light was green the entire way, as if the streets of Phoenix had opened up just for our ride. Other bikers acknowledged my passing with a nod, construction workers took pause as I whizzed by, and leisurely joggers admired my speed. The feeling of envy they all possessed towards Sampson was evident, which made the ride that much more enjoyable.
As I rode back to the house, I was bubbling. There was something liberating about that cruise, something I've yet to identify, but that I know is just the beginning. The adventures of Sampson and RB... this should be something for the books. Oh yeah.
Somehow, I managed to make it back unscathed. And despite the poor performance of my first joy ride, I found myself looking for excuses throughout the rest of the day that I could take Sampson out again. We rode to the ATM in the afternoon, purse in the front basket and wind in my hair. Somehow, this ride was much different, and I was cruising block after block, rounding corners and dodging pedestrians with ease. My Cheshire Cat smile grew in width as I rode on, and after a while I was actually laughing as I weaved through the quiet downtown neighborhoods. Every crosswalk light was green the entire way, as if the streets of Phoenix had opened up just for our ride. Other bikers acknowledged my passing with a nod, construction workers took pause as I whizzed by, and leisurely joggers admired my speed. The feeling of envy they all possessed towards Sampson was evident, which made the ride that much more enjoyable.
As I rode back to the house, I was bubbling. There was something liberating about that cruise, something I've yet to identify, but that I know is just the beginning. The adventures of Sampson and RB... this should be something for the books. Oh yeah.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
The Flat Suzie Project
Your only mother turns 60 but once. So as we began to formulate ideas for the occasion early this year, we knew it had to be different, well thought out - offensive, even - but certainly high impact and as Dr. Oz put it in a segment on ECHO, it needed to be "high touch."
Thus, Flat Suzie was born. Based off of a children's education movement called the Flat Stanley Project, the plan was simply to send our Flat Suzie doll to family and friends, asking them to remit a photo of themselves with Flat Suzie. We planned to assemble the photos into a book of some sort, and if they wanted to include accompanying birthday notes, even better.
Three months, over 200 photos, five continents and nine countries later, Flat Suzie's journey was complete, and unbeknownst to the real Suzie, the family was en route to Arkansas for her surprise bash. Dad had surprised us in his ability to organize a top notch soiree. Single-handedly, the man firmed up the venue, catering, floral arrangements, live music and invitations (nevermind his impressive Microsoft Word skills in which the invitation headlines read "Microsoft Party Invitation Template."). Mainly, he was able to lure skeptical Suzie to the scene, which was no small task.
Let it be known that on Sunday, May 29th at approximately 6:25pm, the feisty, spy-like, never-once-been-had Suzie Bell was taken by storm, and surprised to tears.
The sight of the room flush with her close friends brought on some real emotion, but it wasn't until she rested eyes upon her red-headed grandchild that she produced a most terrifying wail and allowed the emotion to fully pour out of her body. It was that exuberant scream that began the celebration that lasted many hours into the night. The official presentation of the Flat Suzie book, slide shows, amazing food, local live music, and of course... a roast. We may have gotten more than we paid for (ahem, actually burning your bras in the 70's), but the evening couldn't have been more fitting. "High touch" with high comedy.
Here's to 60 years of life to a mother who still slaloms like a maniac, has the [crazy] enthusiasm of a kid in junior high, curiosity and creativity that only seems to increase every day, and the heart of something much greater. I'm glad we were there to celebrate with you on your birthday (and miss our flight, only to celebrate the official birthday!). Here's to many, many more years being your fabulous self, and to many, many, many years of positivity - never giving up on the hope that one day, you'll beat me in WWF. :)
Three months, over 200 photos, five continents and nine countries later, Flat Suzie's journey was complete, and unbeknownst to the real Suzie, the family was en route to Arkansas for her surprise bash. Dad had surprised us in his ability to organize a top notch soiree. Single-handedly, the man firmed up the venue, catering, floral arrangements, live music and invitations (nevermind his impressive Microsoft Word skills in which the invitation headlines read "Microsoft Party Invitation Template."). Mainly, he was able to lure skeptical Suzie to the scene, which was no small task.
Let it be known that on Sunday, May 29th at approximately 6:25pm, the feisty, spy-like, never-once-been-had Suzie Bell was taken by storm, and surprised to tears.
The sight of the room flush with her close friends brought on some real emotion, but it wasn't until she rested eyes upon her red-headed grandchild that she produced a most terrifying wail and allowed the emotion to fully pour out of her body. It was that exuberant scream that began the celebration that lasted many hours into the night. The official presentation of the Flat Suzie book, slide shows, amazing food, local live music, and of course... a roast. We may have gotten more than we paid for (ahem, actually burning your bras in the 70's), but the evening couldn't have been more fitting. "High touch" with high comedy.
Here's to 60 years of life to a mother who still slaloms like a maniac, has the [crazy] enthusiasm of a kid in junior high, curiosity and creativity that only seems to increase every day, and the heart of something much greater. I'm glad we were there to celebrate with you on your birthday (and miss our flight, only to celebrate the official birthday!). Here's to many, many more years being your fabulous self, and to many, many, many years of positivity - never giving up on the hope that one day, you'll beat me in WWF. :)
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