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Monday, May 2, 2016

Brazil Buzz

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

When I was a child, life for me was stressful. By day, I put on a happy face, but during the nighttime hours often horrible nightmares replaced sweet dreams. They made my heart pound and planted tears on my pillow.

Some nights, I dreamed about being bullied on the way home from school and other frightening things. Now in those days, there was little TV and no scary movies at our house to trouble my mind.

The days were long, but the nights seemed longer. Either sleep would be slow to come about or sleep came and dreadful nightmares shook me up.

I told my little sister, that slept by my side, goodnight, rolled over and said my silent prayers.

I told God that I love him. This child of yesteryear was thankful for so many things. I was grateful for my tiny family, friends and more.

I remember even thanking him for the fish in the pond that we visited and beautiful birds and other little things that meant so much to me then and still do.

Then, I prayed that I would have no bad dreams that night or ever.

I knew that that was a fairly large request, but I desperately wanted bad thoughts and happenings to go away, so that I could be happier, day and night.

Well, as time marched on, my dreams, good and bad were less frequent. Sometimes, I could fly. That was uplifting in more ways than one!

Some of those crazy mixed up dreams, still, on occasion share the pillow with my head. The games they play with my mind tears me up. I lose sleep after that.

Sigmund Freud, the Austrian neurologist and founder of psychoanalysis said, "Dreams are often the most profound when they seem the most crazy."

Last night I was very tired. Paul Baby arrived home around ten. He and I ate a late dinner.

I cleared the dishes and made sure everything was in its proper place and company ready, in case one of us became ill or died in the night.

We watched a show about piranha, a dangerous little fish that can inflict dangerous wounds on humans and large animals, before we prepared for bed and turned in.

The little trouper and Tootie Mae, had no trouble falling asleep, but I was wound up like a top.

With eyes glued to the shadows on the wall, I relived the days events and made plans for today.

I thought about good things.

Cher in concert was vivid in my mind.

Yesterday, we called my daughters and granddaughter, whom are enjoying a weekend in Las Vegas, in celebration of Starla's birthday.

The entertainer was mentioned.

I ran through the list of ingredients and instructions of a new recipe for the fudge that failed to set, to my satisfaction, earlier.

I thought about getting up and having another small spoonful and axed that idea.

Sometime around three o' clock in the morning, I finally dozed off.

Not too long ago, I went to the doctor and when the lady took my blood pressure it was much too high. She suggested that I rest a few minutes and think about a sunny beach.

Well, now here is the craziest nightmare/ sweet dream mix. I dreamed I was on a beach.

A giant mass of brown kelp, a seaweed used as a source of iodine, washed up on the shore, like, that of which, I saw many years ago on Mission Beach, beneath the moon during a grunion run. The wet, slick stuff was in the process of wrapping around me ever so tightly, like a boa constrictor.

I screamed, loudly for help, albeit; the sound of my voice was not audible.

I could see in the distance what I believed to be a handsome prince, in shiny armor, mounted on a fine spirited black steed galloping at break neck speed to rescue this idiot in distress.

Wrong and wrong again, folks!

It seemed like I waited forever for the knight to arrive, even when sand was flying high and; I likewise.

Now you would think that I would see me as a young, barefoot and beautiful voluptuous princess wearing a filmy white provocative gown cinched at the waist with a golden sash and more; golden tresses cascading well below the shoulders -beauty and form beyond compare. Read on.

I looked at my reflection in the moon and starlit tide water and saw this face and a full head of those old pink sponge rollers that I use.

On further inspection, besides the tiny bunch of kelp around those dirty white tennis shoes that I wear outside for 'chore' duty after the winter snows cease.

I saw loose fitting pajamas full of holes. I wonder about that. I hate pajamas. And; oh these poor feet stood out like a pair of sore thumbs.

About that time, my hero arrived on an old worn out pack mule, like the one I saw earlier on RFD TV.

Just about at the time I was about to get a clear view of the prince, a warm hand belonging to the guy that interrupted my crazy dream touched my wrinkled face.

A soft and familiar voice whispered in my ear, "It's time to get up. I hated to wake you. You looked so peaceful. Honey you wear a smile, beautifully."

Maybe, I should forget about the prince. I doubt if he could out do that.

I can be reached by phone at 812-446-4852 or by e-mail at pmlsartor@aol.com.