dream :: the library

Last night's dream is sticking in my head.

I am in a library with my sisters. It's a big, marble library with several floors, like the downtown libraries in Portland and St. Paul, but it's in a town we don't live in; we are visitors. We are looking for a place where I can return some books and CDs. One of my sisters leads us into one room, but there's no return bin there. I lead us to another room, and there is a desk with a woman behind it taking returns. I pull my books and CDs out of the bag a few at a time and place them on the counter. There are other people there ahead of me, some young women. My sisters are standing behind me but are pressed up so close that I feel crowded. I use my arms and elbows to push them back and make some room so I can breathe.

Then we go out into the lobby so we can leave. But there are some men in the lobby with huge dogs who are doing tricks with the dogs. The men are very athletic and are practically throwing the dogs around, like circus perfomers, occupying two different "rings" on the floor of the lobby. People are standing around the edge of the rings, watching. My sisters and I are getting split up. I am standing at the back of the lobby trying to figure out a way to get out, but the dogs keep coming close to me, and they scare me. Finally I manage to find a way to the front and out the doors. I meet up with my sisters again. Susanne says, "Emilie, I admire the way you handled that with grace and humor."

We walk down the street. I am walking without my cane, and I am aware that this is unusual. I know that I have cancer, and that I've previously had to use a cane. I can still feel a little discomfort in my hip. I wonder why I'm suddenly able to walk freely and how long it will last, but I embrace it while I can.

I woke up believing I could walk and was kind of bummed when I realized it had been just a dream.

on good friday

I went to a beautiful tenebrae service tonight with my friend Roxy at a church in downtown St. Paul. (Our husbands stayed home to babysit.) These services are so powerful and haunting. Little by little, through the readings and hymns and prayers, the lights were extinguished, and as the final candle was carried out, there was the sound of a rumbling, thunderous earthquake. We sat in that noise, in complete darkness, and I felt so small and desolate and moved to tears.

As a new mother, imagining Mary's pain as she watched Jesus die strikes a chord with me this year as it never has before. One of the readings tonight was from a burial ode attributed to St. John of Damascus. I can't find it online, or I would have printed part of it here. It spoke of how Mary once held the infant Jesus close to her as she rocked him to sleep, and how now she held his lifeless body close to her. I had tears in my eyes when it was over, and Roxy turned to me and we mouthed to each other, "So sad."

It is the second time this week that I have had this kind of sadness on my mind. A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I lost Daniel. He was playing with another little boy, and they disappeared, and no one could tell me where they were. We ran around frantically looking for them. In the dream, my emotions were so strong as I faced the possibility of never again seeing his sweet, beautiful smile, never again holding him in my arms. That anguished sense of loss was the most powerful part of the dream. At some point, people were telling me we needed to start planning the funeral. On an impulse, I walked down a hill toward a big lake, and the girl with me said she noticed some strange bubbles in one section. I looked, and there, lying at the bottom of the clear lake were Daniel and the other boy. I could see his little blue and green Robeez so clearly. At first I thought they must have been dead, but then I thought the bubbles might be signs that they were still alive. As I prepared to jump in and pull them out of the water, my mind (now waking up) was determined to believe that they were alive. They had to be. Still, I woke up and stared at the outline of Daniel's sleeping body for a long time, tears coming out of my eyes, and I wasn't so cranky when he woke us up later, crying to be fed.

So with that, on this Good Friday, my heart goes out especially to all women who have lost sons.

dream :: the baby is born, but i don't remember

My dream last night:

I have had the baby, but I have gone home early, and Steve and my mom are bringing the baby home from the hospital. The house I am in is more like my parents' house than Steve's and mine, though. I hear them coming through the door, and I hurry out to see the baby. I have no recollection of giving birth to him or even being in the hospital — and I can't believe I haven't stayed in the hospital to be cared for during my recovery.

The baby is lying on a blanket on the floor, and we unwrap his swaddle, and he is just adorable — he looks just like Steve, but more like a 1- or 2-year old, not a newborn. I pick him up and hold him, and I want to start breastfeeding him, but I don't know where to start. I don't have a pillow or anything to position myself, so I ask Steve to run to Peapods and buy a My Brest Friend pillow (which I saw there in real life yesterday).

I have so many questions, and as things begin to unfold, I realize how much I have been unable to remember. Did he get a bottle in the hospital? "Don't ask," my mom says, knowing I had wanted to start breastfeeding right away. How much does he weigh? 15 pounds, Steve says, even though he was more than a month early. His birthday is July 13. How long did I labor? Only three hours. (Only three hours ... for a 15-pound baby?!) Well, then, what time did I go into labor last night? What time was he born? 11:00. If I left so early, did I get a chance to fill out all the paperwork the hospital gives us? "It's right here in this box," Steve says. I haven't gotten to the point of asking how much I was drugged, but I assume it must have been a lot, or I would have remembered the birth.

I go to the bathroom, and yes, I am wearing the big pad they must have given me in the hospital, and there is a lot of blood and some crampiness — physical evidence that I did have this baby, even if my memory of it is gone.

So strange: This is the second time I've dreamed I've had the baby but don't remember anything about the childbirth. My mom has been in both dreams, too, even though she won't be there for the real thing. I wonder what it's all about.

dream :: the baby is born

My dream last night:

I am holding my newborn baby, and he is adorable. I carry him around with me everywhere, not wanting to let him go. I try to breastfeed him for the first time, and he latches on perfectly! He drinks a little bit, but then he stops and spits it all back up, all over himself and me. It's very messy. I try feeding him again later, and this time my old boss is there, and our publisher, and a priest and a few other people. They're sitting in chairs around a low table, having a meeting, and I am sitting off to the side, breast in full view, trying to feed my son, who keeps letting milk come back out of his mouth. But that is OK because I am happy.

dream :: the cooking contest

My dream before I woke up this morning:

I am standing at a long counter with some other people, taking a cooking quiz. It's multiple choice, and whenever I skip over a question, it becomes a blueberry that drops onto the counter, and I am supposed to collect all the blueberries in a paper bag and give them to the teacher to count, and then I can try them again. I have about 20 blueberries.

Meanwhile, the instructor - a middle-aged man - is sampling some of the things we have cooked. He seems to like the herbed bread I have made. But then it's time to take all of our cooked products to the table. My bread - sort of a ciabatta - is in a big warmer, alongside the other students' ciabattas, and it suddenly looks pathetic next to everyone else's. I see big loaves that look professional and delicious - various concoctions of flour and herbs sprinkled on top. But mine is small, and it's still wrapped up in the Schwan's plastic wrapping it came in. (I guess I did not even make mine from scratch.)

Blegh. I woke up feeling down and out of sorts. Steve was up early and off to work before I was out of bed. I don't know why I feel so discombobulated. I think it's a number of things, actually. The dining room table is cluttered with camera boxes and bags and newspapers and magazines and doula notes and other scattered pieces of paper. The house is cluttered in general. When the house is cluttered, my psyche feels cluttered. Steve folded all the laundry last night after I went to bed early, after I spent the whole evening playing with my camera and the computer and not doing any housework. I feel like I haven't been pulling my weight.

It's been one of those weeks where I've been preoccupied by my own "stuff" and feel like I'm not giving my full attention to work, to Steve, to marriage, to housework, to being part of a couple. My mind has been elsewhere. These obsessive streaks I get into are nothing new, and when I was single, it was a wonderful pleasure, but now I have another person in my life who sees how I can retreat into my own little world sometimes, and it makes me look at myself through another set of eyes. He hasn't said anything, but I notice it. I don't want to give anything up - it's a part of who I am - but I don't want to neglect the other parts of my life, either, which are important to me. And once I am a mom, I know I'll have less time to pursue my own "stuff," so I'm going to have to be more intentional, I think, about staying present to what needs to be done in the moment.

That kind of scares me. It's part of my fear of "losing myself." Steve knows this. And he seems committed to doing what he can to protect that part of me - to relieve me for an evening or a Saturday morning so I can go to a ballet class or a bookstore or just take some time for myself. (Just as I will protect his time to go running, etc.) I truly appreciate that he "gets" that need in me. I think he can identify, since he has the same need. But even so, it's going to be an adjustment. I welcome it, of course - I'm totally excited about having this little boy - but this aspect of it makes me a little apprehensive at the same time.

Anyway, I don't know if any of this has anything to do with the dream. I'm just writing stream-of-consciousness now.

Twenty minutes later: I just had a nice conversation with a friend, so I feel more uplifted.

dream :: war and perfume

A strange dream I had before I woke up this morning:

I am in a desert-like place with Steve and a few other people. We are part of some sort of army, and we have learned that we are to be attacked shortly. A white airplane flies overhead, slowly and low. It is an enemy plane; it looks kind of like a cross between a jet and an SUV, with big windows and a boxy shape. I watch it pass, and then turn around and see that dozens - maybe hundreds - more airplanes are following it. Alarmed, I hide behind a nearby wooden structure like a shack or an outhouse. But a soldier - a uniformed young man with brown hair - sees me and shoots toward the shack. He misses me.

Then there are all sorts of people around. There is an older Japanese woman, not in uniform, who shoots at me with a rifle. I take the rifle from her and shoot her, and she falls on the ground and collapses in a heap. But then she lifts her body up and pulls out another gun and points it at me. I shoot her a second time, and then a third time - and possibly Steve is helping me - until she finally dies.

By the end of the battle - and we know the fighting is only temporarily over - I am drained and traumatized. It is time to go back to the base camp and eat. Our group walks back there, and now I am aware that Susan, one of my closest friends from high school, is with me, too. As we enter the building, people look at us, and I realize they have no idea what hell we have just been through. I am crying and need to wash my face. Susan and I stop at a perfume counter on the way to the cafeteria. She starts trying on perfume, and soon I follow her lead, thinking it will get my mind off the war, or help me stop crying. I try on a scent that is deep and full-bodied and reminds me of plums or some rich-colored fruit.

Huh.

There are so many unusual and potent characters and symbols in this dream - the soldier, the Japanese woman, Susan (who has been in other dreams of mine), perfume. I keep thinking of archetypal qualities they might represent. And I can't help wondering if this dream is about my sexuality. Or womanhood. Or youth. Or motherhood. Or all of it, coming into conflict. I say this only after having Googled some of the symbols here and finding these references in an online dream dictionary:

War: To dream of a war signifies disorder and chaos in your personal affairs. You also be experiencing some internal conflict or emotional struggle. You are feeling torn between aspects of yourself. Perhaps the dream may indicate that you are being overly aggressive or you are not being assertive enough.

Airplane: To see an airplane in your dream indicates that you will overcome your obstacles and rise above to a new level of prominence and status. You may experience a higher consciousness, new-found freedom and greater awareness.

Soldier: To see a soldier in your dream signifies your staunch attitudes and how you may impose your opinions and feelings on others. Alternatively, you may be preparing yourself do battle over an issue and defend your values and opinions.

Woman: To see a woman in your dream represents nurturance, passivity, caring nature, and love. It refers to your own female aspects or may also represent your mother. Alternatively, it may indicate temptation and guilt. To see an old woman in your dream indicates aging and growing old.

Gun: To see a gun in your dream symbolizes aggression, anger, and potential danger. You may be dealing with issues of passiveness/aggressiveness and authority/dependence. Alternatively, a gun can represent the penis and male sexual drive. Thus the gun may mean power and impotence. To dream that you shoot someone with a gun denotes your aggressive feelings and hidden anger toward that particular person. To dream that someone is shooting you with a gun, suggests that you are experiencing some confrontation in your waking life. You may feel victimized in some situation.

Perfume: To dream that you are spraying or wearing perfume suggests that you are seeking for more pleasure in your life. It is symbolic of your sexuality, sensuality, and indulgence.

Plum:To see or eat a plum in your dream symbolizes youth and vitality. The plum may also represent you self-image and the way you are feeling about your body. You may be feeling a little "plump." (Uh, yeah!)

Now, I never really put too much credence in dream dictionaries because I think dreams are more complicated than just one simplistic interpretation. And this is really only the first dictionary I saw on my Google search. But you have to admit, when you take it all together like that, it smacks of these ideas ... Sexuality. Conflict. Pleasure. Anger. Fulfillment. Lack of fulfillment. Womanhood. Vitality. Motherhood. Changes. My changing needs and urges during pregnancy. How becoming a mother will affect my feelings about myself as a woman.

For God's sake, I SHOOT an old woman until she is dead. With a gun. That was a horrible-feeling scene, even though I know she would have shot me first if she could. Do I feel some hidden anger or aggression toward ... my nurturing, caring side? Do I feel threatened by that part of myself? Am I in some way freaking out about becoming a mother, worrying that it will drain my freedom and my vitality? That the role of mother will reduce me to a non-sexual caregiver? And what about Susan? What does she represent? Has she gone through this herself, as a mother? She was the one who encouraged me to try on the perfume. Is she a guide of sorts? Is she part of the answer? Because the dream seems to end with something of an answer - a good note, at least, one that lifts me up, makes me feel optimistic. It's the part where I am able to find some pleasure in something I love - something rich and indulgent and womanly and fulfilling.

(And yes, this post has been edited.)

dream :: childbirth

My dream last night:

I start to go into labor, so Steve and I drive to the hospital. At the first sign of pain, Steve says he is getting me some drugs. Suddenly, it is hours later, and the baby is born, and I don't remember anything - much less the birth. It turns out I was so drugged out that I lost my memory of it. Steve doesn't get why I'm angry about not remembering the pain of childbirth. "Isn't that what you'd want?" he says. I say, "I've been waiting all my life to go through this experience. Of course I wanted to be able to remember it!" I ask him to tell me all the details, and it saddens me so much that this life-changing event can only be accessed through the memories of others.

Even worse, I've been discharged from my room, and they are sending me home on the same day I've had the baby. I am furious! I try to stop a couple of nurses as they pass - beg them to put me back in a room: I need more time to let my body rest and heal. I need support. I need help learning to breastfeed. But the hospital is crowded, and every room is taken. At one point, the nurses reluctantly set up a gurney for me in the middle of a cafeteria. The roof is dripping, and I am again furious that this is all they can offer me, after all the promises of a comfortable birthing center room that I cannot even remember.

Meanwhile, the baby (a boy) is bonding with my mother more than with me. But then he leans toward me and gives me a big kiss. I take him in my arms, and he and I become inseparable. This is the one bright spot of the dream.

dream :: teacher

Last night I had this dream:

I return to my old high school and meet Mr. C., my senior history teacher. He is still handsome after all these years, and I feel my old crush coming back. But I don't say or do anything. I am pregnant, after all, and he is much older than me. (In the dream, I am not aware of being married.)

We are going somewhere together; I can't remember where, but I think he is going to help me with something. On the way, he says he needs to stop for a moment. The setting becomes a bathroom. He says he needs to take a quick shower and that he will just be a minute. I sit down on the toilet seat lid to wait. As he begins to undress, I close my eyes and tell him I won't look. I reach somewhat over my head to take hold of a towel rack on the wall behind me. Somehow, this allows me to lean back and relax.

Then, with my eyes still closed, I feel his hands gently covering my hands and wrists, as if he were going to hold them there, and he kisses me on the mouth. His kisses are light, but electric, and full of promise, and they take my breath away. I am completely undone. And then he stops, and I am breathless, and my eyes are still closed.

At that moment, I woke up. I was breathing in and out so hard that you might have thought I had just sprinted around the block. I haven't been able to stop thinking about this dream, or (guiltily) wishing I could go back into it to see what happens next.

I tend to believe that dream characters like this one (so far-removed from the actual person) represent an aspect of my own personality more than they represent the actual person. What qualities of Mr. C. do I have that I might be connecting with in some powerful, passionate way at this moment of my life? (And why does this dream take place in a bathroom, of all places? And is it significant that my eyes are closed?) I don't have answers ... but it's giving me a lot to think about.

What I remember about him from high school, off the top of my head:
* He was handsome in an older, professorial type of way.
* He was in his early 40s, and his face was tan with deep-etched laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
* He was extremely intelligent and scholarly.
* I'd heard he might have been born in Britain.
* He was the first teacher I had who encouraged us to strive to be "scholars," and I took that seriously.
* He was funny, and he could be cynical and sarcastic if he wanted to.
* He was married. (Did he meet his wife at Lewis and Clark? Was her name Rachel? These details are fuzzy - just like the picture I posted, which is the only one I could find during a Google search.)
* He drove a blue Honda Prelude.
* We toilet-papered his house one night.
* I was his teacher's aid the second semester of my senior year. I admit this did not help alleviate my crush.